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The Boyfriend and I went to my mom�s to celebrate Kristy and Dave�s birthdays, a rare full-family occasion. We ordered lots of Chinese food and settled around the table until way late in an MSG coma.
Finally, Mom looked at me and said, �I don�t want to make that French toast thing for breakfast tomorrow. Will you go to the store and get some cinnamon rolls?�
The grocery store is a scary place at 11:20 on Thanksgiving Eve, full of worried, distracted women and men on cellphones, asking their wives, �jellied cranberry sauce or whole berry? There are only wheat rolls left�is that okay?� The Boyfriend and I ran through as quickly as possible, grabbing the last two Pillsbury containers on the shelf, and raced back to the house.
In the car on the way home, we started talking about a friend who had recently had a one-night-stand. The Boyfriend asked me if I�d ever had one myself.
�Umm�not technically. I had a several-night-stand once, if that counts?� I finished recounting the brief history of Jeff and Jennifer as we pulled back in my driveway.
He laughed, �I never had one of those.�
�Do you feel deprived? Do you think you need to squeeze one in before the wedding?�
More laughing. �No, Jennifer, I think I�m perfectly fine with having skipped the one-night-stand option.�
Inside the kitchen, we put the groceries away, the only people left out of bed in the house. �Does it freak you out, though,� he asked me, �to know that we�re the only people we�ll have sex with again?�
Truthfully, for a minute, the thought was a little strange. Not because it was unpleasant, but because it was new. I mean, it wasn�t news--that generally comes with the wedding vows�but it was something I hadn�t really considered in exactly those words before. I made a quick recovery, though, and smiled at him. �No, I�m fine with that.� I leaned forward and kissed him.
Despite the late hour and the fact that I was exhausted, suddenly I wasn�t ready for bed. The idea of staying up with the Boyfriend seemed much more attractive, especially since everyone else had gone to bed. We walked upstairs and into the guest bedroom, where my mom had pulled out the couch in anticipation of the Boyfriend�s staying over. Pulled it out for just him, mind you. We aren�t married yet.
Not that her admonition kept me from staying in there for a while, though. I may have slept alone in my twin bed down the hall, but by the time I reached my own room, I was definitely ready for bed.
It was the first naked moment we�d shared in almost two weeks, and the last one we�d share for another week and a half.
That night, before I went to bed, I also took the fourth pill of a new pack.
Which are both good reasons to believe the pregnancy game my head is playing with me this time is unfounded.
But damn, I�m good at playing this game with myself.
Logically, I don�t really believe I am. But logic and reason have very little space in this game.
It occurred to me last Wednesday that the last time I felt that crappy and tired, and had skin that broke out that badly, was when I was pregnant. Then I went home, and my mom said, �Why is your face so shiny? I mean, you�re glowing!�
Oh, and my breasts hurt.
None of these things really mean anything. I�ve been exhausted for a couple months. I break out all the time. My breasts hurt every month.
But I don�t remember exactly at which point in my cycle they usually hurt.
So I let myself play the game.
What if I am?
What would I�what would WE do?
I finally told the Boyfriend. He said, �Well, if you are, we�d deal with it. It would be fine. It�s not like we�re still in school�we�d find a way to make it work. Hey�look--Stripes is on!�
He asked me later, though, if I thought I�d ever get past the point where I play the game with myself. I said yes, when pregnant is something that I actually want to be.
In the meantime, I wait. And next Tuesday seems awfully far away. But, like I said, logically, I don�t really believe I am.
The chances are practically nonexistent.
Damn game.
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