As I drove home from work, I thought about it hungrily. Were my boobs usually this sore on Day 26? Surely they weren’t last month. I would have remembered. I could do a test. I had two in the drawer next to my bed. Even though I said I wouldn’t do a test until a missed period, even though my husband wasn’t home and we always did them together…
But. I just had this unshakable feeling that that I wouldn’t be let down this time. My boobs were prickly sore. It wasn’t just normal pre-period tenderness. I gently squeezed them just behind the nipple and winced with the pain.
I opened the door, kissed my daughter on her forehead and went straight to the draw and ripped open the pink plastic packaging. It was better off knowing either way. I pee-ed messily all over the stick, put the cap on and wiped it clean. The moisture sucked its way up to the window. A faint smudge of pink was already appearing where the second line would be. Was it? Yes. Yes! The control line became dark pink, and there was definitely a second line emerging. Pregnant. You can’t be a little bit pregnant. You either are or you aren’t.
Last month there was nothing. Pure, empty white next to dark pink.
I took the stick to my bedroom to see it properly in the light. Yes, it was a second line. Indisputable. Not even smudgy – a fine, pink line.
I wasn’t going to tell my daughter – not yet – but I was going to tell my husband of course. How delicious! What a wonderful set of thoughts to be suddenly available to me! How would I tell him? Tease him? Make a joke? Say to him something like, “Well I won’t be having any wine tonight hon. Or for the next nine months actually…”
But we had been through so much already. It wasn’t that simple for us. I settled on just telling him however it came out. No puns. I would just tell him straight away.
I picked him up from the station.
“I did something silly,” I said.