pink plus

I ripped open the cheap Kroger pregnancy test and followed the instructions. The pink intersecting lines materialized quickly before my eyes. In disbelief, I hollered to M and begged him to run to Freddies for another test, just to be sure. (False positives almost never happen, I told myself, it's the false negatives you have to worry about). "The presence of a PLUS sign in the Result Window and a vertical line in the Control Window means you are probably pregnant. The lines may be different shades. They do not have to match." It was pretty clear. Different shade alright, but it was definitely and unarguably a plus sign.

It was a routine maneuver meant to permit the possibility of excessive drinking on our anniversary. My period was due that day and I had originally planned to wait a few days before testing, figuring that if it takes up to a year to conceive (as is the average), I could blow a pretty penny on Kroger 2-for-1 tests in the time it takes. Besides, before this whole whirlwind baby-dream came upon me, I had never been one to pay much attention to my cycle. 28 days? 29 days? I had no way of knowing whether or not I was late -my period was always an awful surprise. But I figured I might want to celebrate my 6-years over a jug of Sangria at Nuestra Cocina later that evening and it would be best to know beforehand than feel guilty tomorrow if I found out I was indeed pregnant.

I made a few frantic phone calls, to C first and then to B. B said she knew all along. I guess it was my raging bitchiness that gave it away. C just chuckled and welcomed me to her world.

M returned with the 2nd test and force-fed me a giant glass of water to stimulate the whole process. I choked back a giant glass and waited for the urge to pee. Another test, another instant pink plus.

"Ohmigod, I feel nauseous!" I exclaimed. I theorized in jest that all first trimester nausea is probably just nerves and little else.

I whined half-joking, "Now I'll never have another chance to be skinny!" to which M snarkily replied, "Well, you were pretty much beyond that anyhow." And he's right.

And I had never in all my life wanted to binge drink more than I did at that precise moment when binge drinking was forbidden me.

We made a few phone calls. I know many are of the opinion that one ought to wait through the first few months before announcing a pregnancy to the world, but I am not in agreement. If I miscarry, I will need the support of my friends and family. I can't imagine keeping my joys and griefs secret for long from those that I love. And so we told them all. My family, M's family. It was sheer joy to hear his mother scream and beg him to take good care of me (I think I could get used to this gentle solicitousness!). I laughed to hear his sister, muffled and fuzzy over the phone line, yelling "I'm so psyched!!" over and over again.

At the restaurant we took our seats and I swear I felt like I was glowing. I imagined that everyone in the place knew my secret. I felt like I belonged to a club that had always excluded me. I felt regal, important, precious, munificent, unstintingly kind and gentle, delicate and graceful as a queen. It was a wonderful feeling.

Later, we lay in bed, talking, dreaming, wondering what the hell we'd done. We flipped through a few books that C had lent me when I visited her in California. We read about what I can expect next week (nausea), and in the weeks to come (massive and unimaginable changes). We asked each other if we were happy, after all our angst and denial and strange, mixed feelings about the whole thing. And I think we are happy -and excited, astounded, terrified, delighted, bewildered, buoyant and blessed.