So I woke up at four in the morning for no apparent reason one day back in February. No loud noise, no bad dream, G wasn't snoring, the dog hadn't barked. Just sat up in bed and gazed into the dark and listened to a quiet little voice whisper, "Girl, you are SO pregnant" inside my head.
I didn't go to bed worried about being pregnant. I wasn't 'late' yet, we hadn't had a big, memorable contraception ut-oh or drunken whoops lately. But apparently something found it necessary to drag my ass out of a sound sleep to tell me lies. There was no going back to sleep afterward, certainly. Not with the voice. I remembered we had a pregnancy test laying around somewhere, the second of a two-pack from ages ago when I had been a few days late. My plan: I'd get up, take the test, it'd be negative (like last time), I'd laugh at my neurotic night terror self and then down a few celebratory/sleep inducing fingers of red wine and go back to bed. In five minutes life would return to normal. G and I would laugh about it over breakfast, which--to cure the near-miss shit-scareds--would be whiskey and cigarettes.
Instead, five minutes later I was online looking up accuracy statistics for the brand of test I had used, since the one reading positive in the bathroom was obviously faulty or had expired. G woke for work, I handed him the test, we did the "is this?" "yep" "this means you're..." "uh-huh," and then he retraced my steps online for another hour or so. Because there was no doubt the test was wrong. The only way to be sure, however, was to run to the store for another test, which we did, which was also positive, like we knew it would be.
99% accurate times two, eight am.
Posted by Antigeist at April 12, 2006 11:52 AM