One Year Ago, Part 1

10 Aug

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.

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