Mother's Day

On Mother's Day, I tried it on the sly- pretty late at night, so the results were due to be iffy- you know, you're supposed to take it with first morning urine. The line was there, the second pink line, but it was the palest pink. I wrapped it securely in its packaging and in toilet tissue, and buried it in the bathroom trash.
The next morning was test #2, and a much clearer pink line. Tuesday, the same. Or was it slightly paler?
Scott has already picked out a name, which is just what he's done every time- the first time I waved one of these sticks in front of him he said "ahhh! Hannah!" and the second almost-baby was Max. Scott is the picture of hope- a perfectly-weighted counter-balance to my pessimism.
I guess I'd better call the doctor. The first time I was pregnant, and apparently this is true for all first-timers, they said "hey congratulations! Call us in 3 months!" After the first miscarriage, it was very different- "Can you come in today? Tomorrow?" There were blood tests and vitamins and more blood tests. It seems like it should be the opposite- the first timers, who are freaking out, and need lots and lots of support, are left on their own with only scary websites to read. Veterans get the red-carpet treatment.
So, just as I get to unload my mouth-wrecking secret, another one plops into my womb.