The Discovery

Monday 7th February

I've already done two tests both of which came back negative. Yet there is this niggling feeling. My boobs feel like nuclear submarines like they might be preparing for battle with the heaviest period of all time. I say to my husband before leaving for work, quite adamantly, "I'll either get my period today or I'm pregnant." By the end of the day I feel strange and swollen and bloated with the most intense water retention like I have gone three rounds with the salt mill. One of my colleagues, let's call her Merry, drives me back south of the city through the bumper to bumper traffic, billboard babies peer at me with knowing eyes.

Merry drops me off at Asda, she is off to meet a client and is apologetic she can't take me all the way home.  My mind is spinning, maybe with excitement, maybe trepidation. Once inside the bright strip lit store I march up to the chemist counter and pick up the test and hand it discreetly over the counter. The woman behind the counter starts waving it around like she is rehearsing waving her flag at the royal wedding, back and forth, back and forth. I peer around for any familiar faces, just discreetly, as discreetly as you can with cheeks the hue of Dorothy's ruby red slippers. Everyone seems familiar, everyone looks like someone I know. I can almost hear the whisper hissing round the office the next day and catching the sneaky knowing smiles over the photocopier. After she has finally put it in the paper bag I pull it out of her hand, not forgetting the receipt, images of being pulled over by a security guard flash before me.

I scurry through the aisles towards the toilets, my worn down heels slipping on the polished floor. First I try the disabled toilet, thinking this will give me more space and privacy. I tug at the door but a little gnome like, heavily bearded man peers round the corner, his eyes like black opals, he gently grunts and pulls the door back to. I head towards the ladies and into the electric blue lighting. I take the cubicle on the end and hang up my bag. I tear into the packaging like a child into their presents on Christmas morning. I pee on the end of the stick. I place the stick on the toilet role holder, wipe my hands, and force myself to stare at the wall. I count the seconds and then minutes in my head.

When it's time I look, I peer down. And that is when I know you are on your way. You have marked the stick with a thick blue cross to let me know.

I walk back out into the bustle of the supermarket rush hour. I feel a dazed giddy sensation, maybe like I've been hit by a stun gun. My heart thumps as if it's trying to leap up out of the chest cavity. I try to call your Dad, dodging in and out of the busy shoppers. I know he is in but he doesn't answer. I keep trying incessantly. He is asleep on the sofa, I'd bet your life on it. You see you'll get to know that about him, it's his favourite place to sleep. It's no comment on our relationship which is more than healthy. It's just something about the sound of the TV that lulls him into the deepest of sleeps. He eventually wakes and answers his voice growly and blunt, you'll get to know that too in time, to avoid him when he has just woken up. He doesn't mean it. I want to tell him, to holler the news down the phone. I am shit at keeping secrets, especially good ones. I ask him to meet me so we can do our shopping and when he eventually turns up looking all dishevelled and sleepy I give him a big hug and that's where I tell him, somewhere between the toys and the half price cushions left over from the January sale.

I spend the night researching what I can and can't do. I thought I pretty much had this sussed but the list seems endless and the more "research" I do on the internet the more I completely freak myself out. It seems like pretty much anything that I might garner enjoyment from is ruled out. My Olympian strength comfort blankets are swiped from before me; wine my first vice, coffee my second, blue cheese my third, hot baths my fourth. I fret and fear for what risks I have already exposed to you, all that wine, even the odd cigarette. I should have been better prepared. I feel like I ought to know better. I am sorry, it has been a hard month with work and all and if I am honest I wasn't expecting you so soon.