Before I even begin this post, I feel obligated to tell you one thing: I am NOT pregnant.
We all clear on that? No babies. My uterus is still quite empty. And I am happy about that fact. Now let’s carry on with our story.
As of Saturday night, my period was about five days late.
Oh wait. Is that not what you thought my next sentence would be? Well, sorry folks. This is a story that starts with a delayed period. My (albeit small) male readership has probably already blushed an moved on. For the rest of you, here are my thoughts at the time:
I mean, it would be just my luck, right? I wait until I get married to have sex. I have sex for less than ONE year, and BOOM. Baby. BABY FOREVER.
Obviously, I have pretty specific feelings about becoming a parent at this point in my life. I love babies, but right now, you know what I really love? Not having one. There are too many things I still want to do — travel to Thailand and Australia and Scotland and a host of other places, figure out for sure where we want to live and what I want to do when I grow up, have a freaking drink at the host of wedding-related events I have on my calendar this year — that I know would be difficult to accomplish with a pregnant belly or an infant. Plus, as I always say, getting married doesn’t change your entire life, but having a baby? It changes your ENTIRE life.
We would have to find a new place to live. At least an apartment with two bedrooms. Which would mean paying more rent. Which would mean even less money. And you know what else is expensive? RAISING A CHILD.
Even the little things, like knowing I wouldn’t be able to have a drink at my best friend’s bachelorette party, suddenly seemed…I don’t know. Unfair?
I know, my reasons probably sound petty and selfish. But I had more noble reasons too.
I mean, I want to have a baby someday. Maybe even two. But I want the joy of it being something we want and plan for. I want the moment of looking at each other and being nothing but thrilled out of our minds. I mean, I want to have at least been taking a few prenatal vitamins or something. You know I’m a control freak — I just want to at least have had some say in this life-changing event.
So anyway. I didn’t mean to get so intense on you there. This is supposed to be the story of how I took my first pregnancy test. Ever.
When you spend your entire life not having sex, one of the benefits is that you never have to worry you might be pregnant. My period could have been a year late, and I wouldn’t have worried. (Well, I might have worried a little, but not that I was spontaneously growing another person in my belly.) We’re very careful, but the fact is, nothing is a sure thing. (And so ends my safe sex PSA.)
All of a sudden, I don’t have the luxury of never being concerned anymore. So when the ol’ monthly gift was a little less than punctual, I googled “early symptoms of pregnancy.” (A few are: feeling tired and peeing a lot. I’m training for a half marathon and I drink a gallon of water a day. Perfect.)
After five days, I found myself entering panic mode. I waited six days before decided to put myself out of my misery.
Joey was surprisingly calm. (We tend to have the dynamic that when one is freaking out, the other one is scarily put together.) In his words, “If you are pregnant, what is freaking out going to solve?”
Well played, sir. Glad to know our potential children will have at least one level-headed parent.
Finally, I forced myself to go to the drug store. I have been present for the purchase of two other pregnancy test in my lifetime, but I swear to God, I never remember them being this awkward.
I was weirdly self-conscious, like I didn’t want anyone else to know that I might be pregnant. As if keeping the possibility a secret might help keep if from being true. I kept fiddling with my wedding ring just in case anyone who figured it out would know that AT LEAST I WAS MARRIED OR SOMETHING. I made a big show of buying mini packs of tissues and a hair brush as if that might help the cashier completely overlook the hot pink box marked “PREGNANCY TEST.”
And let me just tell you, you are never quite so aware of every baby- and/or pregnancy-related thing in the media until you think you might be joining their ranks. As I waited in line at the grocery store, the following two items stared me down:
Subtle, universe. Very subtle.
When I got home, I nervously peed in a cup, which you KNOW I love, dipped the test stick, and sat down to wait for three minutes.
Ever feel like your life is moving too quickly? Give yourself three minutes to find out if you’re pregnant or not. Suddenly time is just crawling.
As I said in the beginning of my post, I’m not pregnant. The test (and back-up test) was negative.
I mean it! Fine, here’s the proof:
Doesn’t get much clearer than that.
The sense of relief I felt is indescribable (unless you’ve been in a similar position, in which I would imagine you get it). I still have to take a deep breath whenever I think back on how I felt mere seconds before that single pink line showed up.
One day, I’m sure I’ll be praying for the opposite result. But today is not that day.