I don't know about you, but every so often when my period is a day or two late, I will take a pregnancy test. The test is negative, and then, like magic, my period arrives soon after. I think it's my head (and heart) hoping for the two pink lines that signal a baby is coming. My husband and I have been on the fence about taking such a step again. It was on one of these days that I was visiting my therapist. (That sounds so big-city, but I see her in the remodeled smokehouse of a farm outside Nashville that is owned by Garth Brooks' former manager. If that isn't living in Nashville, I don't know what is!)
We were discussing my thoughts about another baby and all the scary stuff associated with it: turning 40, money, work, and all the other usual concerns. Later, I drove to the grocery store to pick up some Benedryl for my very itchy dog, but also to pick up a pregnancy test.
My husband and I work from home, so as I passed him in the kitchen, I said a casual hello before heading up the stairs and into our bathroom. I fully expected to have a big negative and get on with the day and my menstrual cycle. Instead -- almost immediately -- there they were! TWO PINK LINES! To say the shaking and tears signaled shock on my part underestimates how my body felt -- still poised on the toilet and staring at the test in disbelief.
I had thought that if I did get pregnant again, I would tell my husband in some cutesy way -- send him a letter, do a treasure hunt. But it was all I could do to pull my pants up and stumble down the stairs clutching the test, screeching "Oh my God! Oh my God!"
There he was, wide-eyed behind the kitchen island, probably thinking I was overreacting to some nominal piece of information. Then I did it. I held up the stick. You could have knocked him over with, well, a pregnancy test!