Two Pink Lines
December 4, 2013.
“I’m not pregnant”.
I had taken enough ‘negative’ tests to know better than to stress over a late period. At this point in time, it would be more of a mystery if my period had come within a typical 28 day cycle.
I took the pregnancy test from my ex with a brief eye roll.
He had insisted I was pregnant after a prolonged period of being sick (another completely natural occurrence in my life, as I have the immune system of… Well, something with a poor immune system). Living on our 20-year-old (aka next to nothing) incomes, the test, of course, was of the science experiment variety. You know, the type often found at your local dollar store or Wal-Mart.
I carefully dangled the dropper over the test and diligently counted out 4 drops as if one drop too many could potentially ignite a volcanic eruption (or some other scientific faux pas present at your local 3rd grade science fair). Before I had time to dispose of the now useless dropper or even pull up my pants, two lines had appeared on the test.
I held the test up and took a closer look for reasons unknown to me as the lines could not have been more clear. I stood briefly in the beige-on-beige bathroom with absolutely no thought running through my head other than, “Huh”.
There was no sappy surprise to be planned for the father, and no running off to the nearest baby store to bask in my new home away from home. I didn’t start pinning every cute maternity shoot possibility on Pinterest, or start planning some huge social reveal. I didn’t stop at the book store and get the oh-so-necessary What to Expect When Expecting book every pregnant women since seemingly the beginning of time has read- I didn’t even know of its existence.
Instead, I hesitantly exited the restroom to my ex hovering around the kitchen and my roommate looking extremely uncomfortable as he tried to pretend he had no idea of the impending question at hand.
“It’s positive.” I tried to discretely take my once-filled-with-urine glass into the kitchen, and wondered what one was supposed to do with a glass that had once held pee; will it ever be the same? Should I throw it away? Burn it? It seemed presumptuous to assume my roommate would be okay with me just washing it out and placing it back in the cabinet…
“I knew it…”
I didn’t know if I should fixate my confusion on the fact that he was right for once, or the fact that I was pregnant.