I took one yesterday, in the afternoon, because The Suitor insisted, "come on, don’t you have to pee now?" It was the five-day early pregnancy test. My breasts have been hurting, and I’ve felt slightly naush. Negative. Then I got a little mopey. I didn’t cry or anything, and I don’t think I declared, "It’ll never happen." It was low-drama, but I moped just the same. He pulled me toward him and didn’t say anything stupid. Didn’t make a joke about "now we get to have more fun trying." I’m sick of hearing that. Sick of mentioning how now I get more sushi or wine. He just held me and kissed my head. It was a good day, I guess.
That night, I watched "First Do No Harm," featuring Meryl Streep as a mother, battling her young son’s epilepsy. "Holy shit mother fucker!" I screamed aloud three times. I bit my nails, and when The Suitor passed by the room, I’d say, "you cannot believe this movie. It’s too intense. I can’t take it!" But I could. It reminded me how lucky I am to have my health. I know people speak about how we take our health for granted, and I think we’re reminded through art sometimes, sometimes through lives around us. When the movie ended, I turned to The Suitor with, "I don’t want you to die." I had tears at the ready. "I don’t want to die." I am incredibly thankful, and aware, that my health is a blessing. I still feel naush.
I took another pregnancy test (an early one that detects the hormone five days before your spot is due) this morning because I had a dream that I was pregnant, one of those almost awake dreams, where you’re asleep, dreaming, wondering, "is this a dream?" In it, I turned to the Suitor and said, "I took it again, and look, I’m super pregnant." But then he was so excited, and I interrupted him with, "wait, this is a dream." Then I opened my eyes and realized I was right. So I took another test because morning urine has more of the pregnancy hormone in it. It’s cycle day 27. My spot is due tomorrow, just before I leave for New York (for another wedding, and for work). One thin line. Negative.
Two negatives equal a positive: I’m trying to figure out what that is. I could say, "meant to be," but I think that’s the excuse we give so we feel like it’s out of our hands. We’ll keep trying, and I know it will happen, chin up crap. But it still feels like a disappointment. Now I’ll owe my dad a real father’s day present (note to self: June 18), can’t give him the "you’re going to be a grandfather" gift. Not that he’s ever expected a gift. "Just a card, please." I guess it’s over the top to tell him I envy the way he raised us, and more to the point, HAD us. Made us, was able to make it all happen. I’m here because of him.