Supertitions

So the Spurs won their series against the Mavs, in 6 games, as I had bet on. It was a fun, exciting, physical, hard-fought series that I wouldn't have predicted in March that they could possibly win. By game 4, I had no doubts.

But you know what? I didn't see more than a handful of minutes of live action in any of the winning games.

Superstitious.

We watched game 1, they lost. We didn't watch game 2 - instead we tracked it via box score on the internets and ESPN crawl - they won. Same for game 3, and same for game 4. We watched during game 5 - they lost. Reverted to the non-watching following for game 6 - they won.

Logical? Of course not. We are fans in a different city. Other than some faint cosmic thought-as-physical-weight-which-carries-some-import sort of thing, we have zero outcome on the game. Whether we watch or not is merely coincidence to the outcome.

Still, we were excited to see them advance, and are prepared to only watch the first quarter to determine how the series against Phoenix will go.

Same is true in other ways. Little superstitions throughout the day, adding up to make me superstitious despite my black cat and the love of his life who is mostly black with some tortoiseshell amber.

For instance - always quick-pick the lottery numbers and never look at the ticket until we know whether or not the jackpot was won. In fact I still don't know about last night. And I feel like our chances are better when we use a dollar bill rather than coins to buy the ticket. Ludricrous? Obviously. We have never won the lottery. So perhaps I should investigate totally changing our strategy. . .

I avoid stepping on cracks in pavement, though bricks are fine.

I cross my fingers for certain things and always say 'Bless You' when someone sneezes (even me).

I try to apologize mentally for unjustified bad thoughts so as not to leave them out in the universe to return to me.

I think I'll have a better chance getting pregnant if I ovulate from the right ovary than the left.

I eat chicken soup when I'm feeling sick.

I listen to my instincts when it says 'Something is in the wind.' even though that often turns out differently than I might have interpreted it.

So now, either 3 or 6 dpo, depending, I am sitting here once again in the two week wait, knowing I cannot possibly effect the outcome at this point, and I am reviewing the superstitions. Didn't have pineapple, will that make a difference. Ovulation was very late, must mean I'm out. We had sex at least 5 days in a row before I ovulated, that is a good sign. Overall, we had sex at least 12 times, that has to be good. My boobs are sore, that's a wash. I am nauseated, that's good.

Round and round we go, where we stop . . .

I know, logically, that I have done what I could do. That this is and always was out of my hands, save for having sex at the right times. I know that it means nothing this would be a pregnancy of the same timeline as Gabriel's. I know it means nothing that it has been 8 months, and that that feel in April, which is the fourth month.

Emotionally even, I know these things.

And yet. A feeling persists. It's been around all cycle long, that this cycle Means Something. That there is a Portent here, a Sign if only I could read it.

Honestly, though, I'd settle for finding out this afternoon that my lottery ticket was the winning one.