peeing on a stick for the LAST time

I woke up this morning convinced I was pregnant.  At some point upon awakening, I realized I was 5 days late.  And absolutely terrified.  During the recent trip to Baytown I had decided definitively that I did not want another child.   Chris had been pretty resolute on the subject, but I was still on the fence.  I kept feeling like we should have another child “just in case”.  Just in case something happened to Izzy, we needed an extra kidney, she became a crackhead, Republican or left home at 18 to become an actress in L.A.  Chris did not feel like this was reasonable cause to bring another human into this world, and after a week spent with 4 children, I came to agree with him.  So when I awoke with the knowledge that I was absolutely pregnant, I became a mess.

Suddenly all signs pointed to pregnancy (any woman who’s experienced this fear knows exactly where I’m coming from).  My overeating.  My crankiness.  The horrible luck we’ve had since June 1^st.  Of course I was pregnant.  Of fricken course.  I started thinking of my options.  As my mother has told me since the ripe age of 13, I had 3 options.  1.) Give birth and love that “bundle of joy”, while watching your dreams become even harder to attain; 2.)  Give that “bundle of joy” up for adoption and always wonder what happened; or 3.)  Kill that “bundle of joy” (those were never my mom’s exact words, she’s pro-choice afterall, but option 3 always resulted in a far longer explanation than I’m willing to go into at this time.) 

The first option was the most acceptable, of course, but also the most terrifying (especially since I realized if we couldn’t afford a pregnancy test, we probably couldn’t afford a pregnancy).  I immediately decided that I couldn’t give my child up.  After 9 months of dealing with it, you do become somewhat attached.  That left abortion.  I’m a supporter and all, but I’m also a 33 year-old married woman, not doing that bad in life.  It seemed a bit irresponsible.  I mean, it’s not like I have any life goals I’m trying to achieve that a child would keep me from.  Besides Europe.  And of course, that’s the first thing I thought when I realized I was pregnant.  “There goes my damn trip to Europe.  Again.  Mother fucker…”

So I worried and I stressed all day.  I’d go back and forth thinking, “no way I can have this child, I need to get to Europe before the Earth is destroyed in 2012.”  And then Izzy would be all cute and kissy and I’d think, “how in the world could I NOT bring another beautiful, genius child into the world.  We have great genes, obviously.”  I was on this ledge when Chris got home from work.

Now here was my original plan:  Father’s Day is on Sunday.  We’re broke and I thought this pregnancy scare would totally solve the gift problem.  I’d take a pregnancy test, and no matter what the outcome, I’d gift it to Chris.  “Surprise!!” Either way, right?  But we are too close and that always ruins surprises between us.  He was home for a total of 5 minutes before I blurted out, “I’m 5 days late.”  And within 7 minutes he was out the door on the way to Walgreens.  He was home 10 minutes later with a pregnancy test (I have an extra if anyone should need one…) 

While peeing on a stick I made several deals with God.  1.) If I’m not pregnant, I’ll become a better mother.  I’ll try harder.  I’ll control my frustrations better.  2.) If I’m not pregnant, I will immediately make an appointment for Chris to take care of this problem, once and for all.  (He’s a good guy like that.);  and 3.)  If I’m not pregnant, I will go to Europe next year come hell or high water.  I realized my deal with God was rather selfish, and I didn’t really offer Her much out of the deal, but I’m past the point of trying to pull things over on Her.

I immediately saw that the test was going to go in my favor (it rarely takes the full 2 minutes).  But because I’m not the nicest person in the world, I decided to let Chris sit on it for a little longer.  It was probably 8 or 9 minutes before I let him in on it.  I thought during that time we might have some serious talk on “what if’s”, but he seemed pretty unphased by the whole thing, so I let it go.  When met with the news of the test, I believe his words were “okay.”  (As if we didn’t already know he’s a man of few words.)

As it turns out, I’m not pregnant and I will be calling a doctor for Chris tomorrow (today as most read this).  I am relieved in a way that only a woman truly knows.  Europe is still on the books for next year and Izzy has the opportunity to grow up as a spoiled only child.  Life is good, hopefully our luck has turned and there’s going to be one less Dawson in the world (for which I’m sure many will be grateful.)  And seriously, if anyone needs a pregnancy test, tell them to call me.  Because I guarantee I will not be peeing on a stick again.