Crikey...

I am one of those annoyingly lucky folk who has super-regular periods. Like clockwork: 28 day cycle, 3pm – you could set your watch by my time of the month.

So when I was just one day late – seriously, one day – I casually slipped it into conversation with T:

Me: So… erm, what would you say if I told you…
T: Hmm?
Me: …I’m late…
T: I wouldn’t be surprised
Me: I mean, it’s only by one day so… wait, what? What do you mean   
    ‘I wouldn’t be surprised’?
T: I’ve just got that feeling.
Me: You’ve got ‘that feeling’?

So yeah, I’ve already failed at the whole empathic motherhood thing.

Because we’re sensible, we decided to wait another couple of days before doing a test, because I could just be late. And because we’re slightly sadistic we decided to do the test first thing in the morning, on my birthday.

Happy Birthday…

I think I went into catatonic shock: leaving my teeth half brushed I ploughed into the bedroom and practically threw the stick at T, who was slumbering peacefully, before curling myself up into a ball as he curled himself around me.

I can’t remember what I said, apart from several swear words, but I do remember telling T that he should have kept the receipt for this particular birthday gift. I was joking… Kind of...