I think it’s funny that, once I reached a certain age, I can never just be sick anymore, there is always a hint of suspicion. It seems, because I am a woman of childbearing years, any whisper of nausea or flu-like symptoms earns a “tsk, tsk,” “wink, wink,” and a dramatic head nod toward the womb region. I mean, I know I have a shady track record with such things (Whatevs, I wear my “two kids in a year badge” with pride), but I understand the basics of human reproduction. What I don’t understand is that instead of getting me some ginger ale and a nice warm blanket, you are trying to get me to pee on a stick. You have all forced me to become a closet-sickie, keeping my symptoms to myself for fear of unjust persecution.

My mom calls…
Me: Hello.
Mom: Hey whatcha doing?
Me: Um….just resting.
Mom: Well get up and come help me repaint the spare bedroom.
Me: Uh, well I can’t today, I am…tired.
Mom: What? Why? What’s wrong? Tell me!
Me: Ugh, nothing mom, just feeling under the weather, I think I may have the stomach fl–
Mom: Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Do I even need to ask? Do I EVEN need to ask!?
Me: What? No, I am just sick.
Mom: And you are sure you are not pregnant? Better take a test to be sure, I can’t wait to tell your father.

Mom, seriosuly, we are NOT doing this today. I am not peeing on anything today! Now someone get me some effing ginger ale and make my skin stop hurting.

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