I glance down at my toddler, squeezed into his crappy umbrella stroller. He looks tired and fed up with his shopping experience. Then I eye the three shopping bags I have and imagine squeezing all of us into a bathroom stall. I look down into one of the bags and catch a glimpse of the First Response box.
No way am I doing this here.
I start to rush home as fast as I can, but the umbrella stroller sucks big-time and the trip takes me longer than I'd like. Seriously I'm about to pee myself. I've almost made it to 40 without experiencing this. I'd like to maintain this small victory.
We get to the base of the brownstone steps. I take Lucien out of his stroller and fold it up, hoist him on my hip, and somehow manage to hang three heavy shopping bags from my free shoulder. I grab the stroller and start the climb. Destination - third floor.
I fucking hate New York.
I get the wrapper off the stick in record time. Years of trying to conceive our first child had made me very prolific with these little things. I had gone through damn near 20 of them before I got my first, very faint line. I remember holding it under the lamp on my nightstand trying to convince my husband it was there. I don't see anything. I'm pretty sure I only convinced him that I was slightly obsessed and a little crazy.
Anyway, back to the peeing. I set the Rolos on the sink, remove the pregnancy test from the package, and commence with the testing. A very dark line begins to appear.
One line. There's only one line. Phew. I sit down on the toilet, take a deep breath and grab the Rolos. At that moment, my toddler comes walking into the bathroom, dismantling his potty. I get up to help him with that, turn back around, and two lines are staring me in the face.
Oh shit. I'm pregnant. I grab my toddler and walk him to the kitchen to unpack all of the groceries I just bought. I crumble up my receipt and glance at the coupons I earned from my day's trip. Buy one get one free Coffee-Mate and two dollars off Tampax Gentle Glide tampons.
Very funny, universe.