Oh, the sacrifices...
It is that hopeful/painful time of the month for my trying to conceive self when I will my period not to come and my mind's eye pictures a wee zygote making a home of my womb. In a few short days I should know either way; in the meantime, my husband is planning to lock all of the home pregnancy tests in the safe. We don't have a safe. My compulsion to pee on those things is so problematic that he will need to go out and purchase a safe just to make good on his threat.

Pregnancy tests aside, there are other worldly delights that don't fit in the plans of a pregnant woman, and as I am hoping to be one, I am practicing removing them from my system and my psyche. Do I miss having the option of having a glass of wine? Sure. Did I want to set up an IV of Pinot Noir following my crappy work day today? Absolutely. But, I contently poured myself a glass of ginger ale and lost myself in a plate of triscuits with cheese. It is the absence of coffee, however, that will be my undoing.

I'm pretty sure that the only reason I get out of bed 9 out of 10 mornings is because there is a promise of coffee on the other side. Sometimes I think it is the only sign of beauty in a cold, ugly world. I tried cutting back to 2 cups a day back when the baby making plan started, but inevitably, my consumption crept right back up to 3 or 4 cups and my standard cup measurement was somewhere between "thermos" and "fishbowl". Well, this month I've gotten serious...by force. As I was enjoying my second cup on Sunday morning, my husband rudely read me a statistic about the dangers of pregnant women drinking more than one cup a day during their first trimester and well, I just lost the taste for those next few sips. Later that day at the grocery store, I broke down and bought a container of decaf. Even if I ended up not being pregnant this time, it was becoming clear that this addiction was getting the best of me. And I hate losing.

So this week is weaning week. I am allowed one cup of regular coffee a day. My plan involves tricking myself into thinking I'm getting more by having a first cup (of which I consume one half) at home and a second cup (which I allow to get cold and unappetizing part way through) at work. The change hurts...and I'm not even on decaf yet! I wish I could explain to my colleagues the reason for the reduction of bounce in my step, and the increase in sudden violent urges. God help my self-pitying ass when I reach the point of needing to make actual important changes in my routine. A java-lite existence will surely seem insignificant by comparison.