I drive home from the gym and my thoughts are all over the map. I’m not pregnant. This is just a cruel joke my body is playing on me because I’m making it function properly again. Andrew is a nice name if it’s a boy. We could call him Drew or Andy. I hope it’s not a girl; I hear sisters fight more than brothers. Although Lexi or McKenzie or Brooklyn would be cute names. How will little Henry react to being the middle child?
How will big Henri react to having a third child at 50? He’s going to look at me and say, “Ah, hell no!” and he’s going to blame this on me, as though I was the only participant in this situation.
I go inside and pretend that everything is fine. Henri takes Rylee to school and I decide to look for the extra pregnancy test that was left over from when I found out I was pregnant with little Henry. It’s in the upstairs bathroom. I will take the test…
…after I do a load of laundry.
Or maybe five loads of laundry. I keep trying to convince my family to join a nudist society in an effort to reduce my housework but no one seems interested. Except little Henry. He will strip naked anywhere.
I bring the test into my bathroom. I wonder if the asparagus I ate will affect it? Or the supplements? Maybe protein powder increases HGH levels? I’m not pregnant. This is just from the exercise. And this test will put my mind at ease, so I’m going to take it right…
…after I vacuum.
Housework is tedious and soul crushing so I like to wear my wedding tiara when I do it, that way I can pretend I am a princess. Four hours later the house is spotless, the wood cabinets are polished and I finally take the stupid pregnancy test.
It says it will take 3-5 minutes…
…it’s flashing now.
It will say NOT PREGNANT very clearly….
Unless, it says PREGNANT…Oh come on stupid thing just tell me what I have to deal with!
ERROR???!!!!!?????? How can I have an ERROR message?!?!? What does that even mean?!?
It’s 6 p.m. and my husband comes home from work. He’s got a funny look on his face. “Hi, honey, the house looks beautiful…Is everything ok?”
He knows something is up; the house is only this clean when I’m pregnant or my mom is coming to visit. “Remember how we discussed having a third child?”
He looks at me with a half smile and I feel calmed because he’s smiling and not angry, which makes what I’m about to say even easier.
“Well, thank God it was just hypothetical because I’m not pregnant!”
He exhales, “thank God,” and laughs. “I saw the pregnancy test box in the trash and got nervous…but hey, at least the house is clean.”
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