Huh. Having never used one before, I hadn’t realised how tricky it was to aim the flow when you’re peeing onto a stick. It’s only when I’ve finished that I remember it would have been simpler to pee into a cup and then dip the test in. Ah, well. Next time I need to use one of these, I’ll do that. Hopefully, that won’t be for a while.
The box says to leave it for a couple of minutes, so I kill time by making my bed and clearing up the green feathers from Gary’s panic attack, which are dotted all over the place. Poor boy. I’ll give him some treats in his ring ball, the one Leo bought for him.
That’s probably around two minutes, so I pick up the test, and…
And… Wait. What? No. I… No. There’s got to be some sort of mistake.
Pregnant - 8 weeks.
I don’t believe it.
I drop the test on the counter and grab the box, scanning the instructions looking for anything I might have done wrong to fuck up the test and make the result null and void, but how many ways are there to piss on something? How far wrong could you really go?
I’m on the motherfucking birth control implant. How can this be happening?!
Gary squawks, and I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin. But at least it breaks my concentration and stops my brain from looping the same words over and over. Picking up the test like it’s a stick of dynamite - and it may as well be, the way it’s blasting the life I knew to smithereens - I head to my bedroom and sit on my bed, staring at those words for I don’t know how long.
Pregnant - 8 weeks.
Cloudily thinking back, I remember all the times Leo and I fucked; him revelling in having me at long last, me exploring a delicious new possibility. It’s been, what? Two, three months, or thereabouts. Nowhere near enough time to be ready for something like this.
Unless the test is wrong - and face it, false positives aren’t a thing, the pregnancy hormone has to be present in the urine for the test to pick it up - Leo’s baby is inside me right now.Potential life. A cluster of cells that could become a real, no-fooling human baby. Our son or daughter. His and mine.
Or I could make an appointment at the abortion clinic and end it before it goes any further. I’m vehemently pro-choice, and this is a reasonable option for me.
How the hell can I be a mother? I’m a chaos human. It’s a terrible idea.
Isn’t it?
I don’t know.
I try to imagine how it would feel at the clinic, before, during, and after the procedure. The fear, the trauma…the pain. But would there be relief afterwards? After the forms are filled out and the drugs are administered and the abortion happens?
Next, I try to imagine going through with this apparent pregnancy right through to the finish line…but I can’t. I can’t picture having a baby to look after, cradling it in my arms, one that’s mine and will call me Mummy when it can talk. There’sjust…nothing. Not the faintest wisp of a daydream. I try harder, try to see me and Leo putting a child - our child - to bed, reading them a story and lulling them to sleep Because I know Leo wouldn’t ditch me to parent by myself. But my brain is too chaotic and crammed with every emotion under the sun to be able to think clearly.
And then one of them rises to the surface and drowns everything out.
Frustration.
Dimly grateful to have something to hold onto, I ride that wave, clutching it, and letting it grow.
Yesterday, everything was fine. My life was looking up, in fact. I was enjoying it for the first time in a long while: great job, an active social life with fantastic friends…
…and Leo.
It was new, and I was jumpy, but I washappy. And I was starting to relax into things with him, because it all felt so goddamnright. So natural. But now… Bloody hell, it’s way too early for something like this. We’re just starting out, just getting used to being together. We've hardly had any time to do that. It’s too soon to have to make this decision, and abruptly, I blame him. I know it isn’t rational, but there’s cells developing in my womb right now andhe put them there.
And why should I be the only one freaking out, scared for the future?
Leo fucking Mills…
I put Gary back in his cage, and he seems to sense that I’m like a powder keg set to go off, because he doesn’t mess me around and doesn’t even curse at me, just flies into his cage, as good as gold. And then I head out, slamming the door behind me.
The warm sea breeze whips around my face and tangles the strands of hair that escaped from my ponytail as I storm toWishbone Tattoos, carrying the life grenade he’s thrown at me so I can lob it back in his stupid handsome face. Stray hairs stick to my lips, and I claw them out of the way angrily, because not today, Satan.
I’m not ready for motherhood. I don’t even know if it was ever going to be in my life plans, but for damn sure it wasn’t supposed to happen right now. I know how hard parenthood is; I watched Tim and Nat wear themselves ragged when they were teenagers and Eleanor was a newborn, so I know it’s no picnic. It’s not all cuddles and laughter and baby bonnets. It’s hard graft from start to finish, thankless, tiring work that never lets up and never allows you any respite.
But now I have to face up to it: either have a baby, or don’t. It’s in me, and there’s no magic wand to let me back out of it; a path has to be taken. And whether I go through childbirth or an abortion,I’mthe one who has to deal either way. It’s happening tome.
