I come up undecided.
There is nothing to do but wait and test again. I try to do my normal routine, play with the dogs, shower, make a lunch for tomorrow, that sort of thing, but I keep going back and looking at the one test like it might change. Not knowing if it’s actually positive or negative is driving me up the fucking wall.
About an hour and a half later, I’m staring at a counter full of tests. I flipped them all upside down, not wanting to look at them until the full amount of time has passed. On some level I know this is crazy, taking so many tests. I can’t believe I spent so much on them all. I should have gotten the expensive digital one from the start and would have known one way or the other without analyzing every little shade of blue.
I’m sure I’m not the only one, and I know there have been countless women on both sides of the fence desperately wanting to know if there is a tiny life force inside of them or not. But I have to know. One way or the other, I’m finding out. I check the time. Five minutes have passed. I stand and slowly walk the two feet from the edge of the tub to the sink, feeling like it’s D-Day.
I want to call Katie and have her come over, holding my hand as I flip the tests. I hate doing stressful stuff like this on my own, though if the tests turn out all negative, then I’ll have gotten her all riled up for nothing, and she’ll never let me live it down.
Because I’m Lauren Winters. The responsible one. The one always prepared, always early and on time. I’m not crazy or spontaneous. I like to stay home and watch Disney movies, play video games online, and chat with my friends via Facebook PM rather than face to face. I’m the last one you’d expect to worry about an accidental pregnancy.
Things like this don’t happen to me.
I reach out, hands shaking as I flip over the tests.
I’m Lauren Winters. The responsible one. The last one you’d ever expect this to happen to.
And I’m fucking pregnant.
Chapter 7
LAUREN
ILOOK AT my name on the clipboard, my handwriting nearly unreadable because I can’t stop shaking. I took the remaining tests this morning and all came back positive, of course. I called the OB/GYN office on my way to work and was able to get in for an ultrasound this afternoon. I wasn’t expecting visual confirmation that quickly, but since I wasn’t sure exactly how far along I could be the doctor ordered an early ultrasound. I was hoping I could live in denial for a little longer, though the million positive tests were making that hard to do.
The receptionist smiles at me and hands me a packet of papers to fill out. There are a slew of questions concerning this pregnancy. Checking “yes” or “no” is making it seem more and more real.
I’m close to a full panic attack.
I’ve told no one about the positive tests yet. Of course, I did more internet research online and found that a positive test doesn’talwaysmean there is a living baby inside of you.
I focus on answering each question, guessing on the date of my last period. I turn in the info, then wait. I had to leave work an hour early to make it here on time, and I knew it raised questions when I slipped out the door. I told my boss I had a doctor appointment and that was it. Still, I felt like I was walking out of the clinic with a big letter P on my face.
P for Pregnant with my brother’s best friend’s baby.
Oh. My. God.
I flip through aParentsmagazine as I wait, just looking at the pictures. I’m too nervous to concentrate on words. Fifteen minutes go by and I relax just a bit. Then the door opens and a young woman in gray scrubs calls my name.
I stand, holding my purse for dear life, and move one foot in front of the other. I feel like I’m trekking to Mordor as I cross the waiting room, and my fate lies ahead of me. I want to tell myself I’m being dramatic, but I’m not.
“Hi, Lauren,” the ultrasound tech says. “How are you?”
“Nervous,” I admit. I follow her into the room and hop up on the table. She reviews my paperwork, gives me a minute to prepare, then comes back and starts the ultrasound.
“Try to relax,” she tells me and moves the transducer around. There is a TV screen mounted high on the wall in front of me. I hold my breath and will my stiff muscles to loosen. The screen is just a blur of black and white, and I have a slight idea of what I’m looking at from doing ultrasounds on pregnant animals at the clinic.
Then she stops moving the transducer and hits some buttons on the computer in front of her. There is a shrimp-shaped blob in the middle of a dark lopsided circle. Something flickers inside the blob. I know what it is before she says it.
The little blob is my baby and the flicker is the heart beating. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I feel a connection to the little thing, and at the same time I’m panicking.
The tech types “HI MOM” onto the screen and takes a picture. It prints out. Then she turns up the volume and lets me listen to the heart beating away. I can’t think, can’t form a logical thought as she finishes the ultrasound, taking measurements and more pictures.
“All right,” she says and hands me three black-and-white images. “Baby is measuring eight weeks and two days, making your due date December third. Are you seeing the doctor after this?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. I have an appointment Monday with the doctor. I have days to agonize over everything. Again.
“Okay. I got all the images I need, so you’re good to go. Congrats!”