You would be a terrible mom.
My bare feet stuck to the linoleum as I paced back and forth in the bathroom. Panic was in full bloom, or perhaps it was the anxiety of the unknown. This was a test of will; days of waiting to confirm what I already presumed to be true, were tormenting. Empty boxes littered the floor, proof of my determined perseverance, I wanted it to happen. It had to happen and needed to happen. Then it did, two blue lines.
Leaning against the counter, I tried to process what I was seeing; was this real? The first of five the past three days, and I was not sure if it was wishful thinking, or fear. Tossing the pee-stick into the trash, I opened yet another box with shaking hands. Staring at the new test, I questioned if it was necessary. It was my disbelief which made the ultimate decision; yes.
Again, two faint blue lines appeared. I sank to the floor, crying. Happiness swelled, paranoia grew, and I was overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. This was something I had wanted for so long, and after several disappointments, I was not sure I could go through it all again.
I had been pregnant before with my ex-husband, three times, and each ended prematurely due to a physical anomaly I did not know I had. Surgery was the only way to fix it and give me a chance, but there was no guarantee. He and I never tried again after the surgery, and to this day, I count it amongst my blessings nothing came from that relationship. And yet, his heartless words still stung after all these years.
Now, it was happening again. Who knew, at this point, how it would end. I could only hope and pray for a positive outcome. All I wanted was the opportunity to prove him wrong; so very wrong.