I paid a visit to the doctor yesterday. My post-baby body has been playing a few tricks on me, and the doctor wanted to make sure everything is working the way it should.
While I was there, the doctor had me do a pregnancy test--a standard precaution--to make sure we weren’t overlooking something really obvious.
As I waited for the results in the soft leather chair in the waiting room, I held my breath and allowed myself to consider, for a moment, the possibilities.
When the nurse appeared at my side and whispered in my ear, “It’s negative,” I was not at all surprised.
I was surprised, however, by the disapointment that washed over me, and the sudden realization that, given the chance, I would do it again.