One year ago,
I peed on one little stick,
and two little lines appeared.
I was pregnant.
Easy peasy.
Except, not.
One year ago, my husband and I packed for the shore.
I tucked a box of E.P.T.s in with my u.n.d.i.e.s, because I hadn’t been feeling quite right.
I had been having dizzy spells,
and extreme fatigue,
and there were two very specific parts of my body that were very, uncharacteristically sore.
Plus, that week, I had seen a few feathers.
And by a few, I mean dozens.
And, when my sister and I had met that week, and cuddled up in a dark movie theater for a day-time showing of “Julie & Julia”, she just so happened to have rubbed my belly and gasped.
But, she recoiled, and zipped her lips.
It was then, she later told me, that she knew I was pregnant. She said that when she felt my stomach that day, she felt
life.
In any case, we went down the shore, to my family’s beach house,
and I decided to casually take a pregnancy test.
Except, it wasn’t casual, at all.
I was a wreck.
Shocking, I know.
I felt like that month, every star had aligned.
I felt like that month was the month.
Did I mention that when my mom became pregnant with me,
her first child,
a daughter,
(duh),
the first day of her last cycle (sorry, TMI, but really, you have to hear this) was
July 11?
Did I also mention that the first day of my last cycle,
on this day,
last year,
was,
(you guessed it!)
July 11?
Something was just meant to be.
I can remember, so vividly, waking up before sunrise,
and creeping into the bathroom to,
(why is there no delicate, literary, beautiful way to say this?)
pee on le stick.
I then,
not so quietly,
scurried back into the bedroom,
hopped on my husband,
and begged him to wake up,
to get out of bed,
and to check the test for me.
I could not bear to look.
I think that the next 90 seconds were some of the longest 90 seconds in my memory.
I sat, perched at the edge of the bed,
as he waited in the bathroom
for a line,
or two,
to appear.
With every rustle,
my heart stopped.
I knew that I would know the answer by the way he walked back into the room.
And so, can you imagine how I felt when he walked in,
slowly,
and asked,
“How long is it supposed to be before the test is ready?”
I was deflated.
I melted.
“So, I guess that means there was just one line.”
I could barely get the words out.
He walked back into the bathroom.
“Wait,” he called out. “There is a second line. It’s very faint, but it’s there.”
I sprang out of bed and ran towards him,
towards that little, white stick….
Stay tuned for part 2,
where one faint line causes one big meldtown.