PrePartum Depression and Anxiety

What if I NEVER get pregnant?

What if I get pregnant but then die?

What if I get really fat feet?

What if I want to smother Jooj RIGHT NOW and I am not even pregnant and then I get
pregnant and I want to smother her even more?

What if I get pregnant and then I go to deliver the baby but it turns out I wasn't ever pregnant, but it was a HYSTERICAL pregnancy? And then everyone thinks I am HYSTERICAL? But not hysterically funny.

What if I get pregnant and then it is twins and then I give one twin away because I can't handle twins and then they meet up at summer camp and try to get me together with another man?

What if the other man is W?

What if I get pregnant and then some crazy lady rips the fetus out of my womb and steals it and I have to travel to Iran to smuggle my baby back because the laws of Iran favor her because she is the daughter of a Sheik and I am just a Dirty American PigDog?

What if I get pregnant and it turns out I can only make ugly babies? You KNOW I won't love an ugly baby.

What if I get in trouble for making the ugly baby pick lentils out of the fireplace ashes?

What if I get pregnant and then W dies and then the house burns down and then Extreme Home Makeover Home Edition comes and makes over my home and it is just three giant great rooms and then I can't pay the property tax and I lose the house and have to sell plasma to support me and Jooj and the ugly lentil-picking baby?

What if I am in the throes of this pre-partum anxiety and I see Marie Osmond at the Chick Fil A and she shushes me and then I throw a fit becausue SHE SHOULD UNDERSTAND and then I get banned from all Chick Fil As forever and can NEVER have Polynesian sauce again?

What if the Polynesian Islands then experience an economic downturn that makes them bankrupt and have to sell themselves to the Chinese? What then? ARE YOU HAPPY MARIE OSMOND?

Maybe I should get my tubes tied, just in case.

And So It Begins

W (who is still in Kuwait) went to the gym this morning while I had a ton of medical drama involving no actual medicine taking place near me. He did not bring his phone. Which resulted in me leaving thirty-two-hundred-fifteen texts for him to CALL ME.

When he did call me, he told me he had left his phone back in the barracks.

To which I responded:

"Right. Because it is not like you have a wife with a brain tumor or anything."
Zing! You like? I just threw it right out there.

Can you imagine how awesome I will be once I finally get a real diagnosis? Break out the shrouds and the wailing, people, it will be ON!

PS: I gave eleven vials of blood to the lab. Want to see my black arm?