My Body Is a Shared Space

I made a rule about a year ago that I would not take a pregnancy test until I was at least a week late because excitement of testing and subsequent disappointment of having a negative result was too emotionally devastating.  I broke the rule last night because I was supposed to go out for drinks with some friends in a post-celebration of my husband and my recent birthdays.  I had taken Clomid during the beginning of the month, but my gynaecologist told me that she didn't think it address my undiagnosed infertility issue as I menstruated regularly.

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One Day Late

My menstrual cycle was one day late.

Ten years ago, this statement would have filled me with dread.  It would have been spoken, not written, and hushed tones to a close confidant.  The nineteen-year-old version of myself would have gone to bed with nightmares of stretch marks, fussy babies, and dirty diapers.   

Fast forward ten years.

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