By the time this is posted, it will be past that time of the month, but as it is… right now I’m in it.
The last one or two or three days of my menstrual cycle. Wondering if, this time, maybe I won’t get it. Telling myself not to hope for that because the next time I go to the bathroom there will more likely than not be a rust stain on my underwear. Feeling a tickle and wondering if it’s blood or just routine cervical fluid. Debating whether to keep sitting on the couch or to walk to the bathroom to check. Feeling a stupid sense of relief when there’s nothing there, and immediately chastising the feeling. Feeling the tickle again when I sit back down and resisting the urge to return to the bathroom. Checking my period-tracking app again to see if it’s too early to think about buying a pregnancy test. Six dollars for either an abrupt I told you so and resigned waiting for the inevitable red gush or a lottery ticket to keep hoping on. Deciding it’s worth it. Preparing for the hope bubble to swell in the next few hours until it’s burst with a single blue line. That won’t stop my heart from beating faster while I wait for the designated two minutes.
Where is God in all this? With me, I guess. He hears my worry and sees my restlessness. He knows if I’m getting my period in the next minute, in one day, in one week, or in nine months. He knows if I will get pregnant again or if I will go on, month after month, with a regular cycle of blood.