Page 34 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas

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Terrified would be more fitting.

This wasn’t the plan, but plans change for a reason.

I press my hand to my stomach.

A baby. My baby. Luke’s baby.

I see it then, when I close my eyes. The future. Holding an infant in my arms in the hospital. Cheering a child on when they say their first word and take their first step. First days of school and bike rides and days at the beach. Birthdays and scraped knees and soft kisses to their head.

My fear isn’t gone, and there’s a good chance my emotions will never recover, but I’ll be okay.

We’llbe okay.

But what if the test is wrong?

Panic swamps me all over again.

Stupidly, I dumped out the little cup I peed in, so if I want to take another test, I’ll have to start again.

Standing, I smooth my shirt, then I shuffle to the table and scoop up the whole assortment of tests and head back to the bathroom.

I need to be sure before I…

A. Continue to freak out.

B. Plan out a child’s whole future, only to find out that,oops, the test was faulty and I’m not pregnant.

C. Tell Luke I’m pregnant and then have to tell himoops false alarm.

D. All of the above.

While I wait to look at the handful of tests I’ve taken, I do a quick Google search. Within three minutes, I know. Not only is every test positive, but the internet has made it clear that false negatives are far more likely than false positives.

It’s true, then.

I’m pregnant.

Fuck.

The extra tests were supposed to make me feel better, but here I am, bursting into tears again.

I cover my face with my hands.

It’s going to be okay.

But today, I’m allowed to freak out and sink into my feelings.

Tomorrow, I’ll feel better.

Tomorrow, it’ll be okay.

Tomorrow isn’t better.

Neither is the next day.

I freak out about the what-ifs.

What if I hurt the baby when I drank a few weekends ago?

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