What to Expect When You're NOT Expecting

Seemed like months and months of peeing on sticks that didn't turn the right color, or produce the required amount of lines. They wore on and on. I finally gave up and decided, "Hey, maybe I should quit being a pathetic fat ass and get back in shape." This realization came after visiting a friend at her house while she was home from college on Christmas break. Her mother, upon seeing me for the first time since my wedding, announced that marriage must really agree with me, and gestured toward my growing double chin.

So, a few days later I joined the YWCA. Actually it was January 11th. I don't know why I remember, but I do. It was two days before the due date of the child I should have had. I was supposed to be a waddling mess of anticipation, but instead I was shopping for gym memberships. So, the YWCA it was. It was three blocks away, and you couldn't beat the price. It was time to stop feeling sorry for myself. After a tour, I quickly signed the paperwork that would allow me to frequent the old, crooked, three story building whenever I wanted; to do cardio, take yoga, pilates, or swim for the bargain price of twenty five bucks a month. I bought myself a pair of new running shoes and decided to get on with it. Some people aren't meant to have babies. These people should at least look really good to make the people with babies jealous of SOMETHING while the childless women cry over the fact that they can't have babies.

I tried not to think about anything the next two days. I tried not to think about how I should be expecting a new little bundle any minute, and how I should be getting the nursery ready for the last time, and packing hospital bags. I tried to forget that January 13th was the day I was expected to have a baby (give or take a few days) and how I had failed at the most basic human function. I turned my attention to my brother in law's 21st birthday, which was the same day my first baby was due to be born.

We were going to Fast Eddie's Bon Air for his party. It is a rite of passage for anyone turning 21 within a 40 mile radius of Alton to go to Fast Eddie's when they turn 21. I was getting ready. Mike wasn't home from work yet. I was a day late and my mind was turning on me. Should I test before I go? I don't want to consume large quantities of alcohol if I am pregnant...Oh, please. What are the odds of that? You have been trying since July. Just go and have a good time. Well, no. Maybe I will just take one test before we go...

I broke out the stash of pregnancy tests I had accumulated over the last six months. Better to be safe than sorry. I took a deep breath and proceeded with the "testing." I didn't even have to wait the three minutes. Two lines, clear as day immediately appeared.

I stared for a few minutes. Unsure of what my next thought or action should be. I looked at myself in the mirror for what seemed an eternity, not able to will myself to move beyond the confines of the tiny half bathroom. Finally, I uttered to myself (a little too loudly to really be considered an "utter"), "You've got to be fucking kidding me."