I don’t know why I expected this one to turn out any differently. I lined up the pregnancy test on the counter where the other two with the plus signs and the six tests with the two little pink lines silently mocked me. After the first three showed “Pregnant” in the little digital window, I’d gone back to the drugstore for more. Somehow I thought it would make a difference which kit I bought, but they all kept coming up the same. Positive. Pregnant. Dammit. What was I going to do? The walls in my small bathroom pressed closer. I had a tiny little baby growing inside me. My reflection in the mirror over the sink blurred and I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. It wasn’t the time for tears, I had to figure out what I was going to do. Right now, apparently, I had to puke. I raced the few steps to the toilet and heaved the remnants of my breakfast. After several painful moments, I collapsed against the wall and wiped my mouth with a clump of tissue. Was this what I had to look forward to over the next few months?
