It’s two days before your period. The vision swirling in your mind of the “accident” that happened while making love penetrates your every thought. You begin to wonder: Are my jeans tighter? Am I suddenly hungrier than normal? You see pregnant women everywhere you go—at the grocery store, the hairdresser, walking down the street. It’s as if they are attracted to you, and they all look bloated, uncomfortable, and far from glowing. You contemplate hiding the at-home pregnancy test under your groceries next time you shop, spending days pondering life with a new child. What will my partner say? What will my parents say? How will I handle being pregnant? Is life as I know it over for good? Finally, you buy it, dropping a significant amount of money on the latest, greatest, and clearest pregnancy test on the market. The choices are numerous: some show lines, others plus signs, while still others talk to you or spell out words. There’s nothing left to do but muster the courage to actually take the test.
Other women have completely opposite feelings about taking a pregnancy test. They buy several packages a week or even 10 days early, taking them repeatedly until they finally see what they are looking for. In either case, taking a pregnancy test can evoke a whirlwind of human emotions—from stress to tears, disappointment to elation. Taking a pregnancy test can feel like the longest two minutes of your life.
I remember my first pregnancy test vividly. Predictable in my monthly cycles, I was one day late and convinced something must be wrong. My husband and I had never discussed having children and, to be frank, we weren’t expecting to have kids for quite a while. Reading the directions felt like rocket science, and I locked myself in the bathroom with the unopened box. I peed into a Dixie cup adorned with green and yellow flowers. As soon as the stick went in, pink obscured the whitish windows. My heart leaped out of my chest, and sweat poured down my cheeks (or were they tears?). It felt like running from the cops in high school during an illegal party. I closed my eyes, hoping the pink would subside. When I looked down and saw two bright, distinct lines, I knew what I had already suspected. How was I going to tell my husband? How was I going to admit to my father that I was having sex? I sat on the toilet crying, feeling the first wave of morning sickness.
Taking another pregnancy test several years later was much different. I wanted another child to add to my family. After experiencing a miscarriage, I was almost desperate to rejoin the “mommy club.” We had copulated at the perfect time of ovulation, and I just knew I had to be pregnant. As a seasoned pro by this point, I sat down on that same toilet, crying and thanking the heavens for the two pink lines I was witnessing. I ran out of the bathroom, waving the “urine stick,” as my husband calls it, in the air, showing it to my children and husband as if it were a million-dollar lottery ticket. No one could have been happier than me, and certainly no one else seemed quite as excited.
Over the years, I’ve taken my share of pregnancy tests, all of which produced an enormous amount of emotional fuel—perhaps too much! The minute we see those lines, we become mothers. The first time around, we aren’t fully aware of what all this means. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose! As we gain experience and understanding, the results of taking a pregnancy test can have a lasting impact on our relationship with the baby and ourselves. If you don’t want to be pregnant, there’s guilt for feeling nervous or upset. If you want to be pregnant, there’s elation if it’s positive and gut-wrenching disappointment if it’s not. The power of our maternal minds is a complex mix of nurturing, pain, nerves, and apprehension. When the kids are born, that emotional roller coaster never changes.
The last pregnancy test I took was eight months after my husband had a vasectomy and a whopping seven years after my last child was born. The last thing I thought about was having more kids, enduring another nine months of pregnancy, gaining incomprehensible weight, or suffering through yet another C-section. I had finally gotten all the kids to school and landed the job of my dreams. I bought the test while my older kids (who hate babies) were home with their father. Almost in a fit of shame, I hid in my minivan, peeing into an empty McDonald’s cup—eight days late this time! Could it be? My husband would think I cheated on him. Our family would think we were irresponsible, and my father would again be painfully aware that his little girl was having sex. Ugh! Taking the pregnancy test on the side of the road a few miles from my house, I never looked at the results (perhaps I didn’t have to). I dumped out the cup and drove home. As I pulled into the driveway, I glanced over to see those telltale pink lines that can change your life forever. This time, tears spilled from my eyes almost unconsciously. What would my kids think? Am I too old for this? Could we sue the urologist who performed my husband’s vasectomy?
I walked into the house and parked the bottle of wine in the garage, knowing it would be a long while before I could enjoy it again. I didn’t tell a soul, figuring I had plenty of time. I hugged the kids waiting at home and spent a few hours on my bed reliving life through old photos. Perhaps one more wouldn’t be so bad. Again, motherhood meant giving up some things and putting the wants and needs of my life aside for the greater good. Hmmm. This time around would have much less fanfare, but obviously, this child was somehow meant to be. Even with all the frustration, dread, stress, apprehension, fear, and nerves I felt while taking that last pregnancy test, I instantly decided what her name would be: Gracie! In my heart and soul, there had always been room for her, and a certain part of me always knew she would come one way or another. Gracie—synonymous with the thanks and gratitude I feel for all my children.
