I like pregnancy tests. They are pass or fail and you don’t even have to study. I have taken a few in my day. OK, a lot- 4 were positive but only three ever materialized into breathing humans. But the second you pee on the stick, there is the agonizing wait to see if the “magic” line appears. That minute is a long, long minute. Confession: I have never wanted mine to be negative. There is always that tiny moment of, “What if?? Oh my, a baby?” And then, the small sigh of relief and strange lurch of disappointment when no lines appear. I now am past those days, I think.
During the recent surgeries, I had to take a pregnancy test every time I showed up for an operation. There is a Russian woman of a certain age, who works as an aid at the surgery center. Each appointment she would, in her heavy accent, request, “a tiny bit of urine.” I would donate and then wait on pins and needles to find out the results. Even though I knew I wasn’t; strangely relieved to hear her announce, “It is negative.”
Sher has asked me numerous times recently for a baby sister and I guess that’s what made me think of being pregnant. I hate disappoint her, but she already calls me her dolly’s grandma. I guess that will have to do for now. Laters.
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