Today is a momentous day. One that will go down in the history books. Or at least the annals of my life.
Yes, today is the day I got a faint line on a cheap pregnancy test from Wilkinson’s. And a day before Official Test Date at that.
I celebrated in hedonistic style, dancing (walking. Didn’t want to dislodge the blastocyst) around the room for a good hour, mostly to I Need a Hero by Bonnie Tyler and a selection of the songs from Grease 2. Then off to Pret for a celebratory breakfast of superfood salad and peppermint tea (I do hope peppermint tea is safe for blastocysts).
I am a bit scared, of course. Correction: I am TERRIFIED. Have to keep resisting the urge to stand on balcony with a megaphone bellowing the news to the whole of London whilst displaying the urine-soaked pregnancy test triumphantly as though it were the FA Cup as, after all, it may be (lowers voice to a whisper in case Blastocyst hears and starts getting ideas) a chemical pregnancy.
I am also a bit worried about this whole “positive thinking/visualisation” thing. I mean, if you can make your womb lining grow by visualising it as a big fluffy duvet, as my acupuncturist suggested that you could, does this mean that you can also make your embryo die by imagining your period starting and ruining the whole thing? If this is the case then Little Blastocyst is in big trouble, because I am visualising blood every time I go within a mile of a toilet, and since one is never more than one mile from a toilet unless travelling through remote desert lands on the back of a camel, this is quite clearly all the time.
And with that, I am off to the toilet. Just checking, of course.