The second pink line

A week … away from home, leaving on Wednesday to host four events over three days, then to stay with my aunt and uncle (who happen to live very close to where the events were held, in the South-West), then straight to my parents’ for the weekend, for a family party.

A month … where I think I mentally gave up on trying to conceive, partly through fatigue (my period was late last month, and I spent three days on the edge of my seat before catapulting dramatically into despair) and partly through some quick diary calculation that made me realise I was pretty certain I was away in Wales with work during the ‘crucial time’. Being away so much meant I didn’t count days at all this month, to be honest. I threw my fertility thermometer into my underwear drawer in a fit of pique.

A day  … when I was vaguely aware that it was probably about the time when my period was due. Texted Jack to ask him to bring a pregnancy test with him when he joined me at my parents. My plan was simple and brutally realistic: test first thing on Saturday morning. Cry. Get back into bed and cry a bit with Jack. Then go back to sleep. Wake up feeling refreshed and able to face the family (and the inevitable question, "When are you going to have children?" which is, I swear, the only thing anyone ever says to me these days) and then get smashed in the evening.

For those of you not as versed in the ways of pregnancy tests as I have become over the past twelve months, I should let you know that you have to leave it for a few minutes to get a result. A negative result is one line. A positive is two. (the one line is a ‘test line’ to show you that it’s working) I normally keep an eye on it for the first couple of second, so I can see the test line come up. This time, I flicked my eyes over in a desultory fashion to the test after a couple of seconds, and was greeted by the very clear sight of two pink lines, not one. That’s exactly 100% more pink lines than I have ever seen on a pregnancy test before.

I felt my face become a bit numb. I looked away for a moment, then looked back. Two pink lines. The test (obviously put together by people who realise how emotional this might be) handily has a little diagram on it showing ‘one line – negative’, ‘two lines – positive’. I looked at the little diagrams, wondering if I’d forgotten how to count to two.

Nope, the diagram with ‘positive’ next to it was definitely the one that represented what was going on in the results window. I picked up the test, and opened the bathroom door, and stepped out into a world that was all the same, and yet completely different.

"Jack… Jack!" I hissed at Jack’s prostrate form, "Er… I have to give this another couple of minutes to be sure. But I think I’m pregnant!"
"What?" Jack sat up in bed as though he was on a spring. "What?" I showed him the test, and climbed into bed beside him, and we sat looking at it, whispering and giggling like schoolchildren.

I had to tell my parents. I know you’re not supposed to until 3 months. But people who don’t tell anyone else until 3 months has elapsed must be automata, I swear. Also, my mother knew we’d been trying for a while (and had listened very sympathetically to me sobbing over the phone last month) and it was only the previous evening, over a couple of glasses of champagne, that I’d been mulling over whether I should give up alcohol to her, "I mean, the research isn’t conclusive. But some people reckon you should give it up if you’re trying. And I think maybe I should. But then I think, ‘f%^*ing hell, am I not allowed any pleasure in my life at all? Am I not miserable enough?!’…"

So I sneaked into my parents’ room, and found them both lying in bed drinking tea, looking rather surprised and morning-rumpled.
"Morning!"
"Morning!"
"Erm – I’ve come in because I’ve got some surprise and secret news. I’m pregnant!"
I think it’s safe to say they were both shocked. My Dad’s mouth fell open, and my Mum began to wave her hands around and utter small incoherent mewing noises of delight. They both leapt out of bed to hug and kiss me, while I said things like, "Only five weeks. I mean, it’s early days. But… yes – I just found out ten minutes ago!"

There have been more funny moments since then for me to capture properly here. They include my parents’ and my joy seamlessly segueing into a normal conversation about what we were doing that day when my little sister came into the room (Joey is thirteen, and I can’t tell her unless I know things are probably going to work out). Also me going online to book tickets to Italy for a friend’s wedding next year, then realising suddenly as I looked at the dates that … we probably weren’t going to be travelling to Italy for the weekend after all. Me suddenly tearing my eyes away from the pregnancy test to make the very odd realisation that the point of trying to get pregnant is not actually the positive test (which has been something of a focus of my attention recently) but that this meant, all things being well, we would be having a baby sometime around June next year. Me drinking shloer (fizzy grape juice) all night at the family party and trying to look as though it was champagne like everyone else’s. Me reading in a book (hastily bought this afternoon) that the baby at the moment is smaller than a grain of rice, but already has a heart, and a brain. Me remembering that I *had* actually used a test earlier on in the week, just before I went away, and I had lingered for a moment over it before discarding it. There certainly wasn’t a second line. But there was a kind of … well, a kind of place where a second line might think about being, if it was going to appear. A faint shadow of the possibility of a line. I decided I was hallucinating and threw it in the bin with disdain.

Am a bit shell-shocked. Am determined to slow my manic, high-pitched life down a bit and take things easy for a while. Am trying to strike an appropriate balance between optimism, but also recognising that it’s a very long way from here to actually delivering a healthy baby.

But also really struggling not to tell everyone I see: I’m actually, finally pregnant! It all works! I’m GROWING a baby – can you imagine anything more quotidian, and yet more magical? It seems incredible.

In fact, it seems so incredible that I’m almost not sure I believe it’s true…. I wonder if this feeling wears off? Oh well, there is plenty of time for all that. In the meantime, just rest assured that I am the happiest person in London.

with love,
therumtumtugger
xxx