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.