Self-Inflicted Wounds
Stepping Through a Door

Positive Test

Tre’s birthday is Sunday. Nine. Nine on Sunday. Remind me to change that on my “about me” page, ok?
Anyhow, being as how it’s his birth week, I’ve been thinking back a lot to when he was born. Well, actually, to before he was born.
When I got married, people were raising their eyebrows and murmuring their suspicions. After all, we were only engaged for something like two months. We married one year to the DAY from our first kiss. It was crazy. So surely I was pregnant, right?
Well, no. I really, actually, wasn’t.
And our plan was to wait five years before we had kids.
We were married in July, and in November I started feeling…bad. Soooo tired and queasy. My head hurt. Now, I missed my period that month, but that’s not unusual for me, so I didn’t even think about it.
Finally, the morning of December 20, I had a day off from work. I slept until noon, and then woke up long enough to walk out to the couch, lie down, and sleep until 5pm. When I woke up to see the afternoon sun slanting through the mini blinds, I gave up trying to pretend. I sent my husband out for a pregnancy test. An EARLY pregnancy test, ironically enough.
Well, I went in the bathroom and peed accurately, then set the stick on the counter and walked away. My husband was pacing in the hall, watching the three minutes pass on his watch. I ignored him, and went back into the living room to sit down (I was just so TIRED). He flopped down next to me a moment later, and nudged me.
“Check it,” he said, grinning like a little boy. “Go on.” I glared at him, and then marched back to the bathroom.
Um, ok. Two lines. Looking at the box, two lines means….
Uh, wait. There are HOW many lines?
Yeah. Two.
And that means….what?
Ok, just a second….
I did that for a while, then set the test down and wandered back into the hall. He was waiting, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Well? What’d it say?”
I shook my head and waved a hand back at the bathroom.
“Go look. What do you think it says?”
He bounded off and came back a moment later, stick in hand. If possible, his grin was even wider.
“You’re pregnant!”
I burst into tears, and wanted to kick him for speaking it into reality. This was no time to have a baby. I was going to school, we were both waiting tables, and we had no insurance. We were young and stupid and didn’t even sit down to eat meals at our dining room table, preferring to slump on the couch in front of the TV. I’d just bounced the rent check the week before. We were not ready! I WAS NOT READY.
He took me in his arms and I sobbed into his chest,
“What are we going to DO?”
He held me tight and laughed. Utter joy.
“We’re gonna have a BABY!”
Through the whole pregnancy, at each obstacle we faced, he was unrelentingly positive. I was absolutely terrified. I took on the job of motherhood grimly, determined to do what was best. But I was so scared that I cried every night. He would hear me, crying in the dark in bed, and reach over and stroke my back, whispering, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. You’ll see.”
But I couldn’t see. It seemed like the very end of the world. And he never got mad at me for being so terrified of his baby, but kept playing cheerleader. When I was seven months pregnant we went for an ultrasound. I was huge by that time, and when they laid me flat on my back it pressed on some blood vessel running up my spine. That’s a very important blood vessel, apparently. Don’t press on it, ok? I remember lying there, feeling queasier and queasier. The room started to swim, and I tried to say something, but couldn’t put the words together.
The technician looked at me and jumped.
“Sit up!” She said. I did, and it was a bad idea. I remember sitting up…then sliding under dark water. I flopped back on the table, out cold. A few minutes later, voices started seeping into the blackness, and I heard my husband say, “She’s gonna throw up.” He’d certainly seen that look on me enough to recognize it. They rolled me on my side, and he grabbed my shoulders to steady me. In return I threw up on his shoes. By the time I was done I was awake, and looked up at him, horrified.
“Hey! You got my shoes!” He grinned, “I HATE these shoes! Now I get new ones!”
I laughed, and he wiped my face with a wet cloth.
Years later he told me I’d terrified him. But then, when I was helpless, he gave me nothing but strength.
I didn’t find my own strength until Tre was born.
But that’s a story for tomorrow.



Awww, Kira! I slipped under the dark water with you. Can't wait to read more :)


You're not supposed to make me teary before I've even had breakfast, woman! Sheesh....


Yeah, no tissue-blogs until after the coffee!!

Seriously, you are such an emotive writer... you need to birth a book.....


Wow, what a beautiful story. I hope you really will blog about gaining your strength. I would love to read that.


OMG! what a GREAT story - you're so lucky to have someone that loving and supporting. especially during that time.

16 years ago - I had my first baby - her story is soooo similar it's scary! I'll have to tell it some time ;)


I wish you had finished your story. I'll check back.



Your attitudes mirror mine and my husband's. I was sooo not ready for a baby and he was thrilled!


Thanks for the redirect.

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