THIN PINK LINE
"I took those pregnancy stick tests from the store. I think it's positive," Amy had told me that Saturday night (September 8th, 2001). I remember the date because I wouldn't believe her until three days later.
We looked at them, two pink lines, one in each applicator window.
"Take more," I said.
We argued then. Amy stated the sensitivity of the tests were 99% according to the brochure. I said that 99% rating was probably obtained in a lab under a biased researchers care with exact amounts in tear-droppers with urine from people who didn't eat as much kim chee as Amy did (who knows what interferes with those tests). We didn't even know how long those EPT boxes were sitting on the store shelf.
"If I were basing changing my entire life on a test like this, I'd be pissing all over a dozen of those sticks just to be sure," I told her.
Amy was probably mad that I wasn't overjoyed, but I explained that I didn't want to be happy and then be massively disappointed later because of some cheap over-the-counter test. (It's my job to be cynical of inaccurate or unproven tests or treatments.)
She went back to the drugstore without me, and I lay on the bed in the near darkness staring at the ceiling.
Sigh. Not a good start to what should be one of the happiest moments of our lives.
Obviously, I didn't react in typical Hollywood perfect-male-in-a-chick-flick fashion. I didn't cry and scream and jump up and down like guys do upon hearing such news as seen on TV.
But how could I? This was a shock to me, despite the fact that we were trying. The woman always has more time to absorb things like this. Amy has probably been thinking about it for the past week, with her period being late and her breasts tender, long before I even suspected. She was mentally prepared for such a test result all day most likely. Yet women always expect the man to suddenly take all of this in within the first 20 seconds of hearing the news.
I was taking it in now. Responsibility and preparation mode were kicking in. Joy mode would have to wait. Until I was sure.
First, if the test was correct, then the trip to Korea was off. That was okay by me. I want to learn more of the language before I go again anyways. (But damn, I should have bought more shoes when we were there.)
Secondly, Amy being pregnant would have been a relief in a way. For a while there, I was worried that I may have been infertile. Maybe that sperm donor place didn't want my 'donations' after a year because I was infertile, and not because I had a common blood type like they had said. (Or because I was having a hard time sticking to their "just once every 72 hours" policy, even at home.)
Being infertile wouldn't bother me as much as one would think though. I mean if I were, I'd never have to worry about condoms again. I would think most guys would WANT to be infertile for that reason alone. (Of course, unprotected sex with a new partner is a different story.)
Plus, we could just adopt a baby. A darling 100% Korean baby of course. That just seemed so right. You know, I have issues with my dad's side of the family, or lack thereof.
It's not the fact that half of me is Caucasian (English and Scottish). It's the fact that my name and half of my blood belongs to my father's asshole relatives. I love my dad, flaws and all, truly. He was always good to us in every possible way. But his brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles abandoned us and stole from us when he died. They never considered my mom to be a part of their family. The same would go for my brother and myself after our dad was gone.
Those relatives took the last things our dad meant for us to have for themselves, like petty pack rats and thieves. My mom would struggle so hard for us for so many years since then. I do believe it's taken its toll on her psyche. (And yes, I have called her lately.)
So I love my dad, but I hate the family that my name represents, the half of my genome that represents them, and the fact that any good thing I do will be attributed to them somehow. (But I'll keep the name I suppose, because my mom, brother, and dad would probably want it that way as well.)
I thought I had resolved these feelings but the four unseen angry paragraphs I had removed from this entry reminded me otherwise. Such things don't belong in an entry like this.
Okay, wide tangent there.
Anyways, so, it looks like we wouldn't have to adopt if these tests were true. I was fertile and it only took … 66 tries (per the Hatless Baldman Index) despite my frequent self-love sessions!
I started thinking about savings accounts and college tuition and sleepless nights and teaching good values in a vile world and all the things that involve taking care of a helpless little life. And what if our child doesn't even like school. What if he or she is like Amy's cousins and just up and quits school? What if our child gets way too interested in the opposite sex way too soon?
Okay, I was getting way ahead of myself.
Amy took a long time. I knew she was mad that I wanted her to take more tests.
Eventually she came back. Disappeared in the bathroom. And came back out.
"I took two more tests. They're faint, but I think they are positive," Amy said.
We went in to look at the pink lines. The third and fourth sticks were even more ambiguous than the first two. One was barely colored at all, and the other was faint at best.
"Maybe we have to wait a little longer," I told Amy and hugged her.
"Yeah."
"Let's lie down for awhile."
"Okay."
Amy was still a little annoyed (or pretending to be) but not so much at this point. I snuggled up to her in bed and she didn't resist.
"I'll write you a 'script to get a beta-HCG (a standard serum pregnancy test) at the hospital Monday. Your Ob/Gyn will want one of those anyways," I said.
Amy agreed.
"I want to snuggle with both of my babies now," I whispered to her and put my hand on her belly.
… The LIGER! jumped on the bed at that point as well, nestled himself on the pillow above Amy's big comforting silky head as usual, and started purring in contentment.
"We weren't talking about you … (The) LIGER!" Amy said.
I still wasn't absolutely convinced. Frankly, I wanted to restrain my joy until I knew without a shadow of a doubt. The blood test on Monday would convince me.
But right now, it felt pretty real.
I touched Amy's belly and told her I loved them both (and … The LIGER! too). And our new family of four were happy again.
Including … The LIGER!
BABY BOOM
Amy has finally given me permission to officially announce that she's pregnant, even though I've been hinting at it since she called me with the HCG result two-and-a-half hours after the World Trade Center Towers were hit, Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. A day all Americans will remember forever. The day our entire Nation may have changed, and all of the lives within it.
A day on which I was probably the only person in this country who actually felt hope and happiness, for other reasons of course.
I read that the U.S. is expecting a baby boom next year in relation to all the post-tragedy couple loving going on. I just wanted to say that my baby is not part of that baby boom. We were booming it with the HORIZONTAL BI BIM BOP before all of this.
No longer will I have to resist the urge to steal cute little babies at the K-restaurants or malls. I'm going to have one of my own now.
At least, one that I know of.
