Oh God. Oh God. Oh shit. It’s happening. This is it, guys. It’s finally here.

In my hand I’m holding a stick with my wee on it that says “Pregnant 1 – 2 weeks”.

Yes, it’s the Clearblue one, which besides being horrifically expensive (TWENTY EUROS JESUS CHRIST), at least tells you not only whether you’re up the duff or not, but approximately how far (isn’t technology wonderful?); whereas the other, cheaper test we used yesterday – which was still 9€ of wasted money – showed nothing for a few minutes and then turned up this faint shadow, not even an actual line, leaving us in horrible doubt as to whether we could celebrate me no longer having any periods for nine months, or console ourselves with beer and sushi.

The thing about the first test was that you were supposed to look at the result precisely between three and five minutes after peeing on it. Unfortunately, Bf and I were sharing the one neurone that day and had forgot to time it. So for what seemed like ages, nothing came up, and Bf (who was a little less disappointed than I was) was all like “ah well, let’s get you some beer and sushi” when I looked again and saw the tiniest, most ambiguous of shadows, so ambiguous that I had to ask Bf if I was imagining it, and he wasn’t sure. Some small troll had tampered with my pregnancy test, and I was in for 24 hours of nail-biting hell.

I didn’t know that, though, because I had a prescription for a blood test just in case I got really late, and I was something like nine days late on my average 33-day cycle. That said, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d skipped a month or three, either. This fact hadn’t really worried me all that much up till then, because my mum was having something like two periods a year when she got pregnant with me,  so until then I’d pretty much disregarded it. But what if I wasn’t pregnant, and my being late was caused by something else? Suddenly I became terrified that I was having some kind of early menopause or I’d caught some symptomless disease that made you infertile (Bf had the neurone at that point). Needless to say, I slept very little.

Turned out I could have eaten breakfast before getting the blood test done. I wish they’d specify these things on the form.

Now Bf has a bit of a needle phobia. I don’t particularly like being pricked in the arm with a needle even for a vaccine, but what I really hate is the sensation of blood being sucked out of a tiny hole in said arm. I needed Bf with me to distract me and keep me from grabbing the needle and stabbing the poor nurse in the eye with it (you can see the difference in our reactions because Bf would have simply fainted).

So, turning his back to the nurse as much as he could while still facing me (which wasn’t easy), Bf was very brave and distracted me from the feeling of the needle going in and extracting my precious life force (EURGH) by attempting to make me laugh.

“I’m gonna say random words, ok, and I want you to visualise them. Ready?”

“Go on.”

“Flying squirrel.”

I think hard. “Ok, got it.”

“Good. Now: BRICK WALL.”

The nurse complained that my laughter was making the blood come out in spurts (EWW).

When it was over, the lab informed us that our doctor would get the results and ring us that afternoon, so we went home to wait.

Only it was Saturday. So of course she wasn’t working when she got the results (she only works Saturday mornings) and so she didn’t know she’d gotten them. By the time we realised this, it was already past 6pm and our nerves were pretty frayed. The lab had closed and couldn’t tell us anything. Bf, who had been dealing with my jitters and irritability with the patience of a saint for the past couple of days, took pity on me and went to the chemists to buy the most expensive, technological-looking test he could find, which of course was our good friend Clearblue.

[Please note that this blog post is not sponsored by Clearblue. If, however, they want to sponsor it, and perhaps help me re-earn the many, many euros I’ve paid for pregnancy tests over the past ten years*, they should know that I have no shame whatsoever and would be happy to promote them]

With trembling hands I ripped open the packaging (of which I feel there should be less, or at least it should be easier to rip open, in case anyone from Clearblue ever does read this), but there was another problem: I didn’t need to pee all that much. Definitely not for ten seconds. Discussing this conundrum with Bf, he finally came up with a brilliant solution, which consisted of me peeing in one of the cute little coffee cups someone gave me once, that we never drink out of because we don’t drink coffee (I use them as tealight holders sometimes). Then, theoretically, you can hold the test in the pee for ten seconds, or maybe twenty, and it’d work just the same. I was a bit hesitant about peeing into a coffee cup, especially one with a cute little dog drawing on the side of it, but I had to pee in something and we had nothing disposable, so…

The Incompetent’s Guide To Pregnancy Tests

So you pee in the cup. And on your fingers, because girl pee is wild and unpredictable, you cannot but think to tame it, and also my body seems to like playing nasty tricks on me.

When you’ve peed in the cup (and on your fingers) you put the cup on the side of the sink, rinse your fingers, mentally thank whoever decided to put a tiny sink in your toilet, and dip the pee stick in – TAKE THE CAP OFF FIRST. Dip the pee stick in the pee for ten seconds, or however many it says on the packet. You probably should have read the packet before you used it, moron.

…eight millenium, nine millenium…

Now you take it out, put the cap back on, and very carefully place the test on a flat surface. You must never ever tilt it backwards otherwise the whole operation will be ruined. It says so on the packet you didn’t read properly.

Empty pee into the loo and flush. Wash hands with soap. Wash coffee cup with soap, inside and out. Go outside, take test and cup with you, give test to Bf (if anything goes wrong now it’s his fault), take coffee cup into kitchen, find sink and tap underneath mountain of rotting dishes, wonder if foul odour is due to pregnancy sensitivity or you’re just that irresponsible, wash hands and cup again with dish soap, decide cup is still gross, throw away cup. Ponder the paradox of feeling that a twice-cleaned cup you just wee’d in is too gross to keep, all while letting dishes pile up until they have their own ecosystem.

Go see result. Bf is staring intently at the screen, which has a little blinking clock on it. Wait with bated breath.

“Plus means I’m pregnant, right?”

“I think so.”

“Why is it telling us to wait, still?” Will it suddenly change its mind??

No, the test says “1-2 weeks”.

I am 1-2 weeks pregnant.


There is lots of hugging and jumping up and down and quite a bit of squealing on my part and quite a lot of breaking out in a cold sweat and trying not to hyperventilate on Bf’s part.

He’s smiling, though. It’s a bit of a panicky smile, but sure, he’ll be fine.

One hour later he has taken well-deserved refuge in the world of League Of Legends (or possibly Hearthstone, I dunno what he plays these days) and it’s my turn to freak out.

I’m pregnant. About five months earlier than we’d decided to start trying.

What the hell are we thinking?

*I calculated. A combination of long, highly irregular periods and severe paranoia have led me to spend approximately 200€ on pregnancy tests over the past ten years, with an average of two per year.


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