Posted by Anonymous.
I just found out I’m pregnant. I’m 25. I’m employed by a company that offers maternity benefits. I’m a homeowner.
I’m also single and broke. And I live in a very, very small town.
My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow morning, but the three home pregnancy sticks in my desk drawer – each proudly sporting their own pictorial interpretation of hCG – two bars, a plus sign and a thoughtfully bilingual “Pregnant/Enceinte,” – tell me what I’ve known since my nipples began begging for a cool cloth and my legs couldn’t shake that itchy-from-the-inside out feeling.
Five weeks, by my count.
Two more until I can hit up the Morgentaler clinic.
Because when I watched that first stick form one line, then two, it was all I could do to keep the smile off my face.