I mean, maybe some people do, but we are totally not those people.
Hell-yes-and-hallelujah we’ve rolled into Sam’s Club, bought the economy-size box of Trojans, and then strolled out like THASSSSS RIGHT, but pregnancy tests?
This is how we found ourselves covert-shopping the dollar store one mid-April night, ringing up not one, but two, pregnancy tests, plus a bag of Riesens, and ALSO a box of mini Cow Tails.
BECAUSE THE STICKS NEEDED COMPANY OKAY
For being dollar-store pregnancy tests, they had a lot of very specific demands.
For starters, it’s all, PEE INTO A CUP, which is not included, which then begs the question:
Which cup do we have in the house that I never, ever want to drink from again?
But not only do you have to pee into a cup, YOU ALSO HAVE TO THEN DO SCIENCE WITH IT.
The instructions demanded I next remove the (blessedly included, because I had no other options) pipet; use it to participate in some pee-harvesting from the now-dead-to-me drinking container; then drop EXACTLY four pee-drops on to the specified window on the test, after which time I was to wait five minutes for my pee to change my life.
I read all that & then went directly to Google.
HEY INTERNETS, CAN I JUST PEE STRAIGHT ON THE STICK? BECAUSE THE DROPPER-MY-OWN-PEE PART SOUNDS GROSS
THIS IS A LOT OF ACTIVITIES
And I probably would’ve gone for the direct-on-the-stick option, too, had the horrifying thought not occurred to me that I was just going to pee-power-wash all the important elements right off the stick, completely negating the point of even taking a test in the first place.
CONGRATULATIONS YOU PEED ON SOMETHING FOR NO REASON
In light of this revelation, I decided to forge bravely onward with the instructions as written, classily subbing in a sour-cream container from the recycling bin in place of actual drinkware.
And yes, it’s my pee, and yes, urine is completely sterile & no, it’s not going to ruin our drinkware, but if I have the option to not pee in a glass I’m going to someday enjoy a delicious beverage out of?
I’m going to go ahead and not.
Minute one after peeing, I leave the test to marinate on the bathroom sink so I can rinse out the sour cream container & bring it back to recycling, because efficiency.
Minute two, I’m back in the bathroom, making faces at my gorgeous husband in the hallway.
Minute three, there’s two lines.
There’s two lines.
Minute four? Yup, the lines are still there.
Bold, dark pink lines, strong and bold and steady.
You guys, I get to be a mama.
In the weeks since, I’ve:
- felt like I’m continually getting hit by a train full of naps, which is rad, because YES, TINY LIGHT, TAKE ALL THE ENERGY AND USE IT FOR GOOD…. but also, I could fully go to bed at dusk and not even be mad about it
- viciously craved tomatoes with sea salt, gummi bears, Annie’s Bernie-O’s spaghettios, celery/cucumbers/carrots with ranch dressing
- had five vials of blood savagely extracted from my body (and by “savagely,” I mean “gently,” via tiny butterfly needle, by the gentlest, sweetest phlebotomist ever, who had really, really good lashes)… after which I promptly passed out. Husband assures me I “looked really elegant”
- heard our little dude’s heartbeat for the first time, an event during which I grandly compared this amazing miracle of life to the bass line in a techno song
& now here we are, already two days into the second trimester (!!) of baking the rad little guy that husband and I get to hang out with for the rest of our lives.
I still can’t believe that this little light picked us.
Landed right here in our lives and decided that, yup, we’ve always been meant to be his parents.
Holy wonderful everything.