I have a confession: I took a pregnancy test last night.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I started getting the kind of cramps I associate with bleeding. Maybe because I just wanted to know. Maybe because I actually thought I might get to carry around a happy secret all to myself for a few days. I don’t know. I did it and I feel bad because I didn’t tell La and that’s such an asshole move.
It was negative, of course. I mean, there are good non-indicative reasons for that: it was 11DPIUI and not first morning urine. And, of course, no conclusion can be drawn yet. But, it still feels miserable, which makes me wonder once again why I decided to do what I did.
The test I bought was a cheap store brand, the kind with blue dye and a plus sign for pregnancy, the kind that all the boards say are notorious for false positives or dye runs or indents or whatever. After I waited the requisite 5 minutes and nothing appeared, I tore the test apart and looked in every crevice and from every angle for something, anything. It seems like all kinds of women get those dumb dye runs or indents or whatever, or at least the damned baby center board is full of pictures of them. And maybe it sounds stupid but I fucking want that. Even if it isn’t real. I want that level of hope for a day or two. I want a test that I could squint at and maybe make something out. I have never seen anything but stark, white, nothing. There has never been a glimmer, a pool, a whisper, a hint.
Its dumb, I know, to want something so silly. And maybe its foolish to feel so miserable when there is still time for a line to appear. Maybe I’m being self indulgent. If so, I guess I’ll have to eat some crow and apologize for being so morose. More tomorrow.