I didn’t know how he would react if I told him the truth. It’s a negative, I said, opening the door. Oh. He looked positively heartbroken. Are you sure?
I rolled my eyes, made my how stupid do I look face at him, and stepped out, proceeding to throw the stick into the bin. No! Don’t. You should give it a few minutes. Sometimes these tests take time.
Several eyerolls and maybe five minutes later, I told him it was still a negative.
But how can that be? What about all the symptoms?
I don’t know. Let’s not talk about this anymore. He looked really sad. I hadn’t realized that he wanted this baby so much. Hell, I didn’t realize I wanted this so much. My own words echoed in my ears: Is it strange to feel the loss of a love you never really had?
It took us a few hours to get back to being “normal” and just a few seconds to snap back out of it. Not because we were upset about what had happened, but because we were still excited about our future as parents.
We talked endlessly about the things we wanted to teach our kid. How to think, not what to think. Perseverance. Patience. Tolerance. Sensitivity. Kindness. All human beings are equal, equally deserving of love and compassion. That it is not ok to use words like “retarded” and “black” and “servant” casually in conversations; that these words are offensive and derogatory.
We’ll raise a happy, secure kid, won’t we? Our baby will go through none of the shit that I went through.
I shuddered, physically, thinking of some of the horrible stuff I have talked about before on this blog. And in that instant, I felt a physical manifestation of a pain that often tugs at my heart when I think about my childhood. Two seconds later, I realized it was my breasts hurting, not my heart. I let out a gasp.
What, are you still in pain?
The following week, none of my symptoms had dissipated. In fact, I felt giddy and nauseous when I woke up on at least two mornings. Needless to say, I didn’t wait to take another pregnancy test.
Another negative. But something’s not right.
It sure as hell wasn’t. A blood test told me that I was definitely not pregnant. In fact, a visit to the gynae told me my symptoms could all be attributed to dysmenorrhea.
Let’s just call it an aggravated form of PMS.
Just what I needed. Thank you universe.