This weekend I am going on a trip. My horoscope says:
“You are about to enter a very busy, magical month. Travel will be a major theme, and it appears you will be on the go, jetting here, there – everywhere!”
Yes, WTF, it is 8 DPO but S has been too sick to temp, so we have no friggin idea what is going on.
I will be away on Monday, which is 12 DPO, which is when we will probably know something, but that’s only if S starts temping again this weekend. I can’t decide whether we should test or not. I would love to know it is + so I’m not wondering the whole trip back. Yet, I seriously doubt she is pregnant, so I think we shouldn’t test. I will just assume that her period will come on Tuesday.
I am leaving my son for the first time, and for 4 days. The only other time I spent the night away from him in 2 years was to help WTF deliver her dead baby this past January. I know! Crazy, stupid, enmeshed mom. I vowed not to be the kind of parent who doesn’t leave her kids ever, but here I am. So this trip is about independence and I am really looking forward to it. But I will miss my little peanut. I’ll probably sob on the plane as I’m jetting away.
I’ll sob as I sit alone, reading, knitting…oh wait, I forgot how fucking great that sounds. Traveling alone. No diaper bag. Holy crap. S and I traveled a lot before having a kid, but I have never, ever taken a trip alone (save flying alone all the time as a child).
The idea of a plane ride without sippy cups, crying and trying to change a shit filled diaper in a closed air space is sounding mighty luxurious indeed.
It would be nice to believe that S is pregnant. It would be nice to have a baby free weekend right before we find out we are having another one. Surprisingly the hope (the bastard) has not really slipped in much this try.