Insights From a Superhero's Mom

This morning I woke up and felt like all of my insides were going to come out of my mouth.  I immediately turned to my husband and said, “I’m pregnant.  It’s all your fault.”

“You can’t be,” he said, “you’re on the shot.  Besides, Wayne had the stomach bug just a few days ago.  You probably just have what he had.”  Of course, I didn’t listen to him.  I never do when it comes to these things.  Afterall, he’s never been pregnant before.  He’s never had that vomit-like feeling before, you know the one that feels like someone’s churning butter right inside your stomach, right before you spill all your guts out into the toilet bowl (or floor if you’re not fast enough to make it to the bathroom).  I knew I had to be pregnant, shot or no shot.  It’s happened before when I was on the pill.  How could it not happen again?  Besides, each time we have moved, I’ve always been pregnant.

The last time we moved from Wisconsin to Arkansas, I was eight months pregnant, and the time before that, I was six months pregnant.  Both times, I felt like a tired and bloated hippopotamus as I packed, and unpacked every little knick knack that we had acquired during our marriage (believe me, it was too much).  This time, moving from Arkansas to Texas, I somehow wasn’t bloated with a balloon glued to my belly, so I was sure the pregnancy would come after the move.

Worriedly, I dug through the bathroom cabinet looking for that last pregnancy test that I had stashed away for a time like this.  I finally found it hiding behind the rolls of toilet paper I had stacked away. I ripped apart the white, plastic packaging and did my business.  Nervously I waited and watched as the pee moved across the two clear-colored windows.  “One line, one line,” I kept praying to myself.  It seemed like forever for the first little pink line to show up in the second window of the pee stick, but I knew I had to wait a bit just to make sure the second line didn’t sneak up on me later.  After a minute, no new line appeared.  I breathed a sigh of relief as I threw away the pee stick.

“Guess what?” I asked my husband, “I’m not pregnant!”  He groaned.