• author
    • Shannon Mortenson

    • September 3, 2014 in Columnists

    “Are you there, period? It’s me, Shannon”

    Thinking a thousand more thoughts a minute than usual, I look down and realize I have no fingernails left. Worried and unaware, I have chewed them down. Great. I wish I was worried because I ran out of tampons or something. Problem is, I have an assortment sitting here waiting to be needed.

    “There’s no way.” I think back to the previous few weeks. “I can’t be pregnant…” (Sigh.) Right? I wonder if I should just bite it and pick up a pregnancy test on the way to work. Nahhhhh, last time I did that I wasted 15 bucks. Shoulda waited one more day….

    I continue to mentally argue with myself. My brain tells me maybe this is a good time to quit smoking and save more money. I tell my brain to make my uterus do its monthly job, and decide black pants are probably a good idea. You know, just in case this is that ONE time something goes my way.

    I glance at the calendar and try to do the math. Fuck math, I’ll probably screw this up somehow. Hope my calculations are correct, don’t wanna go freakin out for nothing, right? (Nervous laughter.)

    “Okay, so… I shoulda been due… hmmmm… right around… here. Wait, what’s today?” I yell to the kitchen, “What’s the date?”

    From the opposite side of the house I hear “The 24th!” Shit. Already? I mean, a baby wouldn’t be so bad right? Everyone has kids now. Some shouldn’t, but that’s another story. I have tons of childcare experience. It’s not like I’m 16 or on welfare. I have a good boyfriend, we could totally do this, nooooooo problem. I’m not getting any younger, and these eggs will only dry up further.

    I quietly ponder the last week. Do I feel different? Hmmmm, crazy bloated? Check. Insatiable appetite? Ughhh double check. This isn’t helping at all, these symptoms could go either way. I tell myself not to be ridiculous, there’s no way I could be pregnant. I try and think scientifically. I feel like a doctor — “Well, Shan, you can breathe easy. The numbers just don’t add up.”

    I reassure myself that my period, will in fact, be here soon. I’ve been stressed, it’s been irregular the past few months. Shit happens. I’m sure this is nothing. It has to be nothing, I don’t have the room to start couponing like those crazy Midwestern women do.

    I picture myself with twins; a boy and a girl. I have already mentally decorated their nonexistent nursery. A lot of grays, very chic. DIY designs on their cribs, and crocheted booties from Etsy. Their names each have an “x” in them, because I’m super cool. I snap back to reality and realize I’m smiling. Will I be upset if “Shark Week” does come? Will I freak out if it doesn’t? My boyfriend is convinced it won’t.

    “You’re pregno.” he says simply.

    I laugh, but say, “Fuck you! There’s no way!” I still believe that, but then again, why the hell didn’t I get my period yet? He looks at me as if to say “Yeah, okay guy… whatever you gotta tell yourself.” Maybe I should start couponing. Wait until he finds out he’s building the massive shelves for my collection of toothpastes and marinades.

    The pros and cons are seemingly endless. Con, I’ll have to have a fucking Swear Jar in my house now. Pro, baby selfies!! Who doesn’t love those? Con, pregnancy will dessstroyyyyyyy my body. I’m doomed, seeing as my mom gained 80 pounds with me, the firstborn. It’s a shame I have a mild distaste for the stretch marks I already have, because after a baby (or two) I’ll be wishing for this bod back. Pro, baby shopping!! Con, I’ll never sleep again. Pro, our cat usually has me up before 6 a.m. anyway. Thank you Dex, for the training. Mama loves you, Stinks.

    I know that regardless of the outcome, it’ll be bittersweet. I DO wanna be a mom, but at the same time I guess I’m not in as much of a rush as I thought. If I am pregnant, it’s my time. If not, maybe I can finally go on vacation.


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