June 15:
Pregnant. The word ricocheted through my mind, an elusive pinball of emotion bouncing between fear and wonder. I paced around the house. I dazedly picked things up and put them back down again. I tried to listen to part of a podcast and then wandered off and paid no attention at all. Pregnant.
Moments before, I had taken an expired pregnancy test, one I had dug out from the back of the cupboard, and the result had screamed at me from the viewing window. Two pink lines. Brazen as you please.
Reason urged me to dismiss its validity. It was expired, right? I had checked the wrapper, and the best before date was 2019. Four years ago? Come on, it couldn’t possibly be accurate. I only used it because my period was a bit late. (Ok, so it was four days late.)
Well, anyway, I’d just need to buy a new one and get a real answer. Nothing to worry about. Heck, later I’d probably be enjoying a gin and tonic in the sun, laughing at my own silliness. “Pregnant.” Pfft…”Perimenopausal,” more like. Lots of people my age have trouble getting pregnant. I was surely being stupid.
Still, I found myself caught in a frantic dance of restless steps, tracing aimless paths across the familiar terrain of my home. Pregnant… I would try to put it out of my head, only to find the resounding echo bubbling up through my thoughts.
I had to be chill. I was stuck waiting until my son came home. He was borrowing the car for an errand, and I needed him to come back with it. My son. My only other child. My 20-year-old son. The last time I was pregnant.
When he finally came back, I muttered something about needing to buy cat food and jumped into the car with a singular purpose. I tried not to allow myself to follow the pinball clanging around my mind. If you’re pregnant now, the baby would be due in March. I turned the radio up.
Once at the grocery store, I grabbed a big bag of cat food and casually hit the pharmacy aisle. Toothpaste, maxi pads, condoms…dammit, where are they? After far too long (and some less-than casual hunting), I finally found what I was looking for.
Once I was out of the store (the person ahead of me needed a price check, wouldn’t you know it?), I was back in the car and guzzling from my water bottle. Pee was the next important step. There needed to be pee.
Once home, I dropped the cat food on the floor along with my keys and made a beeline to the bathroom. I took the second test. There was no need to wait the full 3 minutes prescribed by the test. The damn lines were back almost instantly.
Oh.
Oh my. This wasn’t part of the plan...
I’m 40, and I’m pregnant.
Critical Happiness 