I’m writing this post with the understanding that I will probably replace it with something far more benign before it ever gets on the web. (My disclaimer to my psyche.)

Yesterday I took a pregnancy test.

Most people who know me know that having children is as far from my five year plan as battling fire-breathing dragons and traveling to Neptune. I do what I can to prevent it from happening. But there I was, peeing on a stick, heart pounding as I waited for the result.

It was negative.

During the 24 hours leading up to my taking the test, I found myself imagining myself, a mom. We’d have to move to a 2-bedroom apartment, at least. And, well, if we were going to do that, we might as well rent a house in the suburbs with a yard. And if we were going to do that, then maybe we could get a dog too. And a barbecue. I’d have my dream life, years ahead of schedule!

I thought about my travel plans for the next couple of years – Outer Banks, July 2009. Acadia National Park, July, 2010. Germany, October, 2010. New Zealand, April 2011. Could I bring a baby along on those trips? Would it be as miserable as I thought? In the end, I thought not. Imagine, being 2 years old and already having been outside the country twice! This kid wouldn’t have the good life – it’d have the GREAT life!

I thought about my mom. Maybe a grandchild would bring her back from the series of nervous breakdowns she’d suffered a few years ago. I could have my mom back.

It’s not that easy, of course.

When I saw that single line, clear as day, a huge rush of emotion washed over me, pulsing through my veins. I never wanted children as much as I did last night. But now I see that all I really wanted was the family I’ve lost over the years.

I never felt more alone.


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