Since finding out about the unplanned pregnancy, I have been sitting on (metaphorically) an episode that's needed to be blogged.
I had a little problem with buying the test. I was in a fluster, I'd done a test the week before it had been negative, but I still was being hounded by nausea and haunted by the missing period. On a saturday morning, out the blue, I stood up and said to The FH "Right, I'm going to buy another test." and left him catching flies as a flounced out the house.
I didn't want to go to the local chemist as our neighbour works there, I wasn't bothered enough about being discreet to drive out of town. So I thought I'd try the local supermarket on the premise they have self-serve - the perfect invention for shopper's discretion. However, I didn't realise pregnancy tests, in our little town, are a crime hot spot, as it was enclosed in a security protected contraption. Right, a cashier it is then. The only cashier free was a lovely old dear, who tried her best to pretend she was passing through a mundane shopping item, but was really thinking "bloody hell you're going to have your hands full." We talked about the weather, as she scanned the "elephant" we were both ignoring and then had a very problematic five minutes trying to remove it from its contraption as we both pretended it was a packet of dishcloths.
Eventually, I was free to leave. Or so I thought, as soon as I walked through the doors, carrying my one item in an orange plastic bag (a heinous act against the environment) the sodding security alarms went off. This is a very busy shop entrance for a small supermarket, I felt surrounded by glaring eyes, as the security guard, came over, "Ok what've you got?" he joked.
"It's a pregnancy test." I said in my notorious stage whisper. To which nosey passing shoppers analysed me to see if they knew my face. The security guard turned crimson and shooed me away with his hand "no worries, off you go."
That was 7 weeks ago, every time I enter the supermarket I catch said security guard eyeing my stomach for clues. I was tempted to hire a mock 8 month pregnancy bump, adorn it, and enter the shop, catch his eye and say "Yes it was negative. Thank god eh?" and then go an buy a bottle vodka and 20 regal King Size.
So said pregnancy test was positive. I sat on the stairs in shock (this has actually been the acquired pose after each positive test) and The FH stood in front of me repeating "Right. Well then...Right. Well then..." for a few minutes. Then we mooched around each other, discussing practical things like who do we tell first and when it would be due and where we were going to live to avoid turning into The Pontipine Family. Then we talked about what we were going to have for dinner and who was going to pick the children up from the Grandparents and I suddenly was overwhelmed to check the result again. But the pregnancy test had vanished. "You must have put it in the bin?" The FH said. It wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. To this day, we haven't found it. We hope it had sunk into the bin, out of view, otherwise there is a plastic stick with my wee on festering somewhere in this house - another good reason to sell!