One For the Road

I took the test at 4:17 a.m., 14 hours and seventeen minutes after I’d turned 35, 21 hours after my husband had left for Korea on a business trip that did not include a determined return date.
I took it knowing my four-year-old twins would be up in 90 minutes looking for someone stable to make them breakfast.
I took it following my first foray back into a complicated reporting project that demanded my every attention to detail.
I took it believing that my reproductive system was eternally jinxed, as discussed by various highly paid medical practitioners working at nationally known clinics.
I took it after assuring my parents only the previous night that “We are done…we can not handle any more.”
There I sat on the potty listening to the January wind roar, my polka-dot jammies pooled around my ankles squinting with my now-middle-aged eyes at two lines on a white plastic stick.
Huh.
I fished around inside the trash can and pulled out the instructions.
Pregnanto.
Clearly, I should have paid better attention to my professor in my college Spanish course.
I turned over the directions and looked at the diagram.
Pregnant.
Huh.
Huh?
Huh!
There was a glorious, blue streak of pure joy—after all, we had figured that if nature ever cooperated, we would gladly accommodate.
Then, a prayer of thanks to the Lord above and a request for good health all around.
I might have cried.
I can’t remember.
Next, came this tumble of thoughts:
• Oh, shit!
• Shitshitshitshitshitshit!
• I’m going to start puking any minute and I still have the Christmas decorations up. I wonder if I could strap a bucket around my neck to keep the carpet clean while I strip the living room tree of ornaments?
• I’m going to have to explain to the twins how the egg actually meets the spe rm. Elizabeth is going to ask questions. She’s going to demand diagrams.
• Let’s see, if I conceived in December, this baby won’t be due until the fall, which means I won’t have to worry about academic red-shirting come, what, 2012?
• I am going to be really, really old by 2012.
• Did Brenda already sell those really cute designer maternity jeans of hers at the last twin club consignment sale?
• Maybe I can wait to tell Jim after the next Mastercard flips. Would that be unethical?
• Speaking of ethics, would it be unethical of me to call my BFF first for moral support, especially given that my husband is several time zones (and one day) ahead of me? Technically, Jim and Michelle would be hearing the news on the same day…
• When did I take all that Mucinex for my allergies?
• When did I drink all that wine with my girlfriends?
• Just how much Diet Coke did I consume in the past four weeks?
• We’re going to have to put up a fence around the pool.
• I like the name Charlotte. And Caroline. And Henry.
• I will seriously die if triplets are involved.
• Does one save a urine-soaked pregnancy test as a memento?
I pitched the test, pulled up my jammies, turned off the light and slipped back into my now-cold bed.
A new life had begun—it was going to require I rest up.