Pregnant

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON 10th JANUARY 2007

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Now I look back and wonder if everything's been some sort of punishment, because - if I'm being honest - the day I found out I was pregnant with Jessica was the worst day of my life.

That's what it seemed like at the time.

It's something of which I'm reminded so many times a day - every day - that it's turned into an ever-present background thought, the kind of thought that you don't even think about, if that makes sense. For instance, if you're sitting in your car, driving to work or somewhere, naturally, there's a bit of your brain that's constantly thinking, 'I'm in my car at the moment.' I suppose this is a long-winded way of saying that it's a subconscious thought. You become aware of it only when something jolts you out of yourself, or something around you changes.

My constant companion at the moment - my main subconscious thought - appears in the form of a voice - which sounds a lot like my own voice - and all it says is: 'You thought the day you found out that you were pregnant was the worst day of your life.'

Everything about that time was so mixed up, so confusing. At some level, I must've wanted a baby, because I'd come off the pill... so why did I react the way I did when I learned I was pregnant? I hadn't had a period for almost two weeks. I hadn't said a word to Martin. He didn't have a clue about whether I was or wasn't due one. He knew that I'd stopped taking the pill several months before. We'd discussed the whole thing. We were going to have a baby. That's what we wanted. We told ourselves that was one of the reasons why we'd wanted to get married, which came as a surprise to me, if I'm being honest.

I stopped off at Boots on the way to the office and bought a pregnancy test. The person serving me at the till was an elderly woman wearing a thick, green cardigan and heavy glasses. For some reason, I couldn't look at her face when I handed over my Switch card. I could be wrong, but I thought I saw a faint smile on her lips. I threw the test into my bag and drove to work.

I couldn't concentrate on anything that day. Maybe, in the back of my mind, I realised that I didn't need the test at all. I knew I was pregnant. But I wasn't feeling happy. I wasn't feeling excited. In fact, it all felt wrong. Maybe that's why I'd bought the test? Within myself, I had no doubt that I was pregnant, but I guess I saw the test as one last bit of hope that I might turn out to be wrong.

At first, I told myself that I wouldn't use it until I got home. I didn't like the idea of getting the news anywhere other than in the privacy of my personal space. But I kept looking at the clock and at about 9:30, I remember I decided I'd go to the loo at lunch... and then at about ten to ten, I thought, 'Sod it,' picked up my bag and walked straight to the ladies'.

I must've stared at the thing for at least half an hour. My hands were wet from the tears that had dripped onto them. I heard people coming in and out of the cubicles. My mobile rang a few times, but I put it on silent. I sat there and for the first time in my life, I was filled with one thought: 'I don't know what to do.'

It's amazing how your brain can think a million-and-one things at the same time. My friends had often told me about how they'd reached 'crossroads in their lives' when they didn't know what decision to make about this, that or the other. And I'd always found them pathetic, because I'd never shared such feelings. I thought they were attention seeking, or that all they wanted was advice, but were too proud to ask for it directly. Sometimes, I thought they were just plain lying, that this was their way of making themselves sound interesting. 'Oh look at me. The fact that I'm so conflicted (that was one of their favourite words) means that there are so many levels to my personality, it means I'm such a sensitive person, because only a complex, fascinating personality like mine is capable of being so torn.'

But there I was, sitting on the toilet, holding the test in my hand, not knowing what to do. My tears made my vision blur and smudge. I thought that maybe if I cried enough, I'd make the image of the piece of plastic in my hand blur to such an extent that it would really vanish.

And when that thought came into my head, I cried even more. But my crying was absolutely silent. I didn't make a sound. I knew that if I did, someone would've knocked on the door and asked if I was all right, which was the last thing I wanted.

I sat still and rigid for about half an hour. Then I put the test back in my handbag, walked out of the cubicle, fixed my make-up in the mirror and walked back to my desk.

The next thing I had to do was tell Martin.