The fact that I couldn’t stop worrying about pregnancy was driving Mr. Book a bit crazy, so finally he just said “Why don’t you just go ahead and take a pregnancy test?” Somehow “I took one several days ago, and it was positive” didn’t seem like the right answer to that question—so I agreed that the next morning I’d test. And I did. It’s still strongly positive, which made my false positive/chemical pregnancy concerns less valid. Then I waited for the Mr. to wake up.
I’m not great at handling these moments, so it’s a good thing they don’t come along that often. I told him that I’d taken the test, he asked what the result was, and I handed it to him. He said that he didn’t know what it meant. (This threw me off my game slightly—it’s not as though it’s our first time to this rodeo, and I know I’ve explained it before.) So I said (and here we have a golden moment): “It’s positive, but it doesn’t matter, because I bet it’s going to die anyway.” I’m wincing a bit just typing this. So I told the Mr. that there’s no reason to take it seriously because, you know, the aforementioned, and that we shouldn’t worry about it.
Over the next couple of hours, I’m waiting for him to say something about how he feels, and he’s growing increasingly annoyed that I’m being twitchy and spooky. Finally I explain that the “It will probably die” thing isn’t science speaking, it’s me assuming that terrible things will happen, and that it’s actually more likely than not that the human bean will not die. He asks what that means. I say that I’m probably pregnant for real. Things are awkward, and then he goes to work. Before he leaves, though, he asks whether I’m going to tell my mom—I’m undecided, and he says that I should, with an unspoken “You really need to get it together on this issue, and I think she’s better equipped to help.”
So I called my mom, and she talked for a long time about how my Gramma is doing, and the trips they have planned, and I’m waiting for her to ask me “What’s new?” as she usually does, and finally I just blurt it out after an hour on the phone, and she is ecstatic. “Honey! Susie’s pregnant!” She wants to work out my due date, although I tell her that I’ve used a due date calculator already—she has an app on her iPhone, and wants to do it herself. She gets the same result that I did. I tell her that I worry that it’s going to die, and she says that she doesn’t think it will die, which makes me feel better. She asks whether she can tell people, and graciously agrees to hold off. She wants to know about names. She said “I’m finally going to be a grandma!” and I felt like I had a split second to decide whether to be hurt and opted not to. It’s just not worth it. She asked whether my husband and I had celebrated, and I suddenly wanted to cry. I mishandled that part pretty badly, and maybe telling him before work was the wrong thing to do. We both want a child, but he worries about money quite a bit, not unreasonably. After I hung up the phone, I put a bottle of sparkling apple juice in the fridge to drink out of champagne flutes when the Mr. Came home.