It was May, we had spent the weekend with our parents at the races, it was 2005 and our family just consisted of two, me and he who would be creating them.
I felt different, a little tired, a little sick, I convinced myself it was down to a weekend of over indulgence.
But still, as I walked into a Chemists on the Sunday morning and passed the testing aisle I paused. It had only been six weeks since the doctor had told us we would struggle to conceive, realistically I knew it couldn’t be my time; not yet.
But my bargain hunting eye spotted a pregnancy test for 99p. I would have had to have been a fool to resist such an economic purchase. I took it to the till, bought it and slipped it into my bag.
Outside the shop stood my boyfriend (the future HWHCT), my parents and my future in-laws.
“Where have you been” questioned my mum, “you were gone ages.” Deciding not to share that I had been buying a test designed to prove the success of my sexual activity I merely waved my hand in a gesture of ‘this and that’ and together we all headed out for lunch.
I am not a patient woman…..
Moments after we had settled into the pub for some lunch I excused myself and ran bag in hand to the bathroom.
Telling myself it couldn’t be, I unwrapped my 99p present. It didn’t look like those on the TV…
It looked like a PH strip.
I read the instructions, it clearly directed me to empty my bladder in a pot of some description and then to insert this thin strip of paper inside it.
I surveyed my options which included a plant pot (with a plant in) a toilet roll holder or a bin….
To be honest none of them looked particularly comfortable to take a piddle in.
I decided to just do a bit of target practice and wrapping an abundance of toilet roll around my hand I ungainly bent over the toilet and widdled away whilst waving a small PH strip between my legs.
It turned blue; bright blue…
I stared at it whilst unwrapping the ‘dry’ loo roll from my palm.
I didn’t know what blue meant.
Like a fool I had tossed the paperwork in the bin not knowing you needed a BSC to read these things.
I carefully retrieved the finer details.
I looked again at the tiny piece of paper that had cost all of 99p and watched as my jaw hit the ground.
And I was stuck in a public house bathroom about to have lunch with my parents, future in-laws and man who one day would make me his wife.
I turned and vomited into the toilet, a function that I would repeat from the day every day for another 35 weeks.
I went back to the table and spent two hours trying to telepathically communicate with He who had no idea that he had created something. His telepathic radar was crap, no amount of eyeballing, leg squeezing, wine refusing or hand holding managed to communicate the most obvious of circumstances; that I was carrying his child.
In actual fact I was carrying his two children but no test is currently on sale to tell you this yet.
We left the pub and his parents drove us home. It took forever, his Dad cruised at 25 miles an hour and stopped for petrol. We got home eventually and I ran into the house grabbed the keys to our car and told he who was utterly clueless I was off for bread and milk.
Ten minutes later I stood in the baby aisle in Tesco’s surveying the range of tests that have the ability to change your life.
I ignored the cheap ones, I snatched the creme de la creme £9.99 stick to pee on and hid it under a magazine in my basket. At the checkout I whistled nonchalantly whilst the teenage boy fumbled embarrassed at my purchase. This, Tampax and incontinence pads are the reason self-service tills were invented.
Back to the next public loo.
Now a self-proclaimed professional in peeing I weed with enthusiasm and then stared at the small square window.
One line appeared, then it’s twin followed.
Still in a state of disbelief I yanked the second test out from the cardboard packaging.
Forcing a tiny trickle I repeated step one and watched as two blue lines rapidly appeared.
And then in a Tesco toilet I broke down and sobbed.
After spending far too long in a public bathroom I eventually emerged red-eyed and overwhelmed. The queue of old ladies eyed me with suspicion, one checked out my arm for track marks.
Making a swift exit I found myself back in the baby aisle and moments later I was stood at the till clutching a baby on board sign.
I drove home in a mass of emotions, tears coursing down my cheeks and my hand seemed to be magnetically drawn to my belly. Christ knows how I managed to navigate the streets without careering into another car. Pregnancy tests should come with a don’t drive or operate heavy machine after reading a positive result sticker.
I pulled into our drive and stuck the Baby on Board sign in the rear window.
Walking to our front door I tried to compose myself so my voice would not betray me.
I opened the door…
“Darling,” I called with a hiccup…
He who was about to get the shock of his life yelled down the stairs revealing his location to be where I had spent a lot of the afternoon.
Realising that if he was armed with the latest copy of Nuts he could be some time I took drastic action.
“I’m sorry” I sobbed up the stairs “I have crashed the car.”
I heard the slap of magazine hitting tiled floor, the scuffle of a belt being fastened and the flush of a chain.
“What” cried out a suddenly angry voice.
“You’ll have to come see, I’m sorry” I said sobbing harder.
Tearing down the stairs and onto the drive the he who had impregnated me stood looking at the car with confusion in his eyes.
Then the penny dropped, he fixated on the red ladybird hanging from the window who was telling him in no uncertain terms that this car would need to be traded in shortly for a family wagon.
He turned to me with astonishment in his eyes,
“You are going to be a Daddy” I choked crying with an enormous goofy grin on my face.
I will remember the sensation of that hug for the rest of my days, the moment we both knew life could only get better and one of us had the added relief that their car was still in one piece….