Why is it, that when you are on your way home with a pregnancy test, the second you reach the front door your bladder stops connecting with your brain? You just managed the 10 minute trip home aware that now would be a good time, but suddenly an extra 30 seconds is asking too much?
Running up the stairs you pre-empt the cellophane cover on the packet and start working on that, praying you don’t bump into the friendly, elderly neighbour from across the corridor. Through the front door, all bags thrown to the ground, a final dash to the bathroom, and there’s a split second when you have to decide between getting your pants down and THEN tearing open the foil packet, taking off the lid and being ready – but at the pants down stage your brain tells your body to relax and you might miss the crucial mid-stream moment. Or, by the time you’ve unpacked the bloody ‘pee stick’ you may well be mid-stream anyway, all over your ‘athleisure’ – that frankly until that sprint up the stairs, has seen considerably more ‘leisure’ these days.
So, frantic simultaneous undressing of oneself and the ‘stick of destiny’ ensues and the relief, dear lord, the sweet relief of letting go, momentarily distracts you from the practicalities of the job at hand. For a moment, the importance of knowing if you are incubating another human, pales in comparison to not wetting your pants as a grown woman – again.
The following three minutes pass a little something like this…’Phew, all good. So, lid on. Lie it flat. Right, well, can’t stand here watching it (a minute passes) ok, no, right, not going to watch it…I’ll go unpack the shopping…what time is it? Two minutes from now…I’ll just have a quick look, just in case. Wow, one line already…hmmm, one line…but it’s been what, one and a half minutes? Maybe the second line can’t come in under three minutes…ok, back to the kitchen…God, what if I am? It’s not a great time, with work or just life in general, but then it’s never a good time really is it?…maybe I am…we’ll make it work, right? How will we make it work? No, nope, it won’t work, this is a terrible idea, terrible. We haven’t thought it through enough. Hopefully I’m not, then we can get organised, I can join the gym and get super fit, we can save, make a plan and try again later. But then what if I’m not? I’m turning 38, it can only get harder right? I shouldn’t have waited, it’s been seven years! Maybe I put it off too long? What if I can’t? What if something goes wrong? Maybe it’s for the best if I’m not…But then I always hoped I might have a second crack at it, not feeling so overwhelmed, having a bit of a clue what to do. I’d leave the house this time, sleep when s/he slept, shower every day, well, every other day AT LEAST…we’d have a routine…it wouldn’t be so hard the second time…But what about work? There are so many changes happening there. What if there isn’t a job to go back to? We should have more savings, more space…shit, what time is it? Ok, wow, that’s it, three minutes…right, deep breath, whatever happens happens, it’s up to……oh.
Why is it, that when you convince yourself it probably isn’t the ‘best time’, in the absence of a simple second line, your heart stops connecting with your brain and for it not to ache, is asking too much?
Love, Jem x