My eyes stalk the tiny screen—as if staring harder, more intensely, will somehow morph those three letters into something else. Anything else.
I show it to my husband, who’s been standing anxiously by the bathroom door. I look at his face, studying his lips, eyes, and brows like a kid spying on their neighbor’s test to see what the right answer (or in this case, the right reaction) should be.
“Holy shit!” he says, then smiles. I smile back, I think—or, I attempt to curve my lips upward to form what is universally recognized as the human smile.
Holy shit indeed.
It’s not like I should be surprised. And in fact, I’m not surprised. But that doesn’t make reality any less dizzying, paralyzing, terrifying. This whole week I’ve been thinking I might be pregnant, my emotions strapped to a cart on a roller coaster, waiting only for the conductor—that little pee stick—to give it the ol’ green (or red) light. And now, the roller coaster is thrusting full speed ahead, jolting and jerking my emotions in a million directions.
After seeing my husband, I suddenly realize I’m not having the reaction I should have—or the one that a happily married woman with a house and a stable job should have. Shouldn’t I be ecstatic? Elated? Or, at the very least, just a little bit excited? But no, I’m none of those things. I’m terrified. Yes, terrified—and quite honestly, a little sad. Actually, sprinkle a little guilt in there, too, just for good measure. After all, so many couples try for months, even years, to have a baby. And yet here I am, all pathetic and scared and pregnant, and we barely even had to try.
I shame my own ingratitude. If my baby (or blastocyst, as I later learned it’s affectionately called at this gestational time) could read my mind, he would be so disappointed in me. Mommy, why don’t you love me? Aren’t I your perfect little miracle?
Not now, my little blastocyst. Mommy needs some time to think. Absorb. Breathe. Actually, what mommy really needs right now is a sexy, fat glass of pinot, but oh yeah, file that under 100 Previously Awesome Things You Can’t Enjoy While Knocked Up.
Holy shit indeed.