The day before yesterday at the store I stood in that row and stared at the brightly colored boxes before me. You know the row...THAT row. The one where you stand in front of hope or pain: first Response or Tampax. I didn't expect to be standing there...looking over the aisle of broken dreams. I got tremendously nauseous last week and then this week it felt like my boobs were trying to recreate the blow-up blueberry scene from Willy Wonka. I chalked it up to impending uterus tantruming and ignored it. But the nausea got worse, and the boobs were so painful I couldn't wear a bra. Of course there was the part of my brain that wondered if said uterus had in fact been occupied by a squatter...after seven years of trying to have a baby there are some things your brain becomes hard wired to do. But I put it off. Until the day before yesterday. As I stared at the box that had caused me SO MUCH HEARTACHE over the years I almost found it comical that I once again needed it for an answer. We haven't thought about trying to occupy the uterus for years. So I grabbed it and a box of Tampax too...just to be prepared. The plan was to test this morning. I remembered from all those years ago that the first of the morning had the highest levels of the hormone you need to get a positive. As Nathan and I lay in bed last night we mused over all the what-if's. I wondered if my half-marathon in October would have to be post-poned...we both wondered how long we'd be able to keep the secret. The last slice of my dream I remember from last night was me taking the test and seeing two lines...and being so elated. I woke up, snuggled my little Miles for a minute, delaying the test...not wanting to disrupt our morning rhythm. As my beautiful little boy watched Elmo, I snuck off to the bathroom to get some answers. And then I saw it. One line.
And just like that I remembered all those tearful nights and frustrated years. And I cursed that little box for giving me a glimmer of hope...a hope I wasn't even hoping for until I bought that stupid box.