Getting Pregnant

My friend Elizabeth got me thinking about The Test. So far, all I've really said about the day I found out is that I freaked Bobby out when I called him hysterical at work at 7 in the morning. It's probably something I'd like to remember though, so here it is.

I can't remember exactly what tumblers fell and clicked me into thinking I was pregnant. I know I was planning to ask for a birth control prescription at my next doctor's appointment. But I seemed to go directly from "Hmm, back on the pill, or try something else," to "Oh, fuck, it's too late." And once I started thinking that I was, I started thinking about the fact that my breasts were kind of tender and that I'd been pseudo-nauseous for two weeks. I wasn't thinking about the fact that it'd been almost 2 months since I'd had my period, because it had been induced by drugs, and I'd gone nearly 18 months prior with just two incidents of spotting for a few hours.

Once it had popped into my head, it was stuck. It was about midnight, and Bobby was dead asleep. I snuck into the bathroom and peed in my test cup. (I am totally crap at peeing on sticks, so I designated a cup during the early days of trying, when I was taking a test a week.) It felt different than the 20 times I thought I might be. The last one, I knew. And while I'd watched the little pink or blue lines like a hawk for every test I took before, I couldn't watch the one I knew would be positive. And two minutes later, the test had two of the faintest, barely there pink lines ever. I flipped out about its indecisiveness, thinking it had expired or something, sitting under my sink for 3 months. I wanted to go right out to the pharmacy and get another, get another SIX, but it was late and I couldn't wake up Bobby.

I went upstairs and talked to my friend Nick for a couple hours. Mostly I said the same thing over and over, about how I'd just lost my job, Bobby's work was all hectic, what if I was, what if I wasn't. Nick is awesome about letting me babble on like that, and eventually I was exhausted enough to go to bed and stare at the wall for a while. I got up as soon as Bobby left at 6 something, brushed my hair back, and went to buy more tests.

I got two boxes, but one had a digital sample, so I had three different kinds and took one of each. I couldn't watch those develop either. I sat on the floor in front of the cabinet, watching the clock and taking deep breaths. The results were definitely more conclusive than the midnight pee stick, and I took a picture to keep the proof even though I knew without them. As I dialed Bobby's number I stared at the digital image of my three tests arranged on the bathroom counter: a blue plus sign, two pink lines, and the last just said pregnant. And staring at that picture, I was perhaps less than tactful shouting, "I'm pregnant!" shrilly into the phone before I'd even said hello. It wasn't exactly what I'd imagined on the many hopeful occasions since I'd gone off the pill.

So, that's how I managed to have a pregnancy that was a planned surprise. When it finally happened, I was so positive it wouldn't. Isn't that just the way of things, though?