Monday, April 7, 2008


Our friends J and M had a Cinco de Mayo party at their home in 2002. We came over and oohed and aahed at their house. It’s an old home with fascinating architectural details, like a carved wooden handrail on the staircase, and a pink tile bathroom, including a pink toilet.

They served so many lovely dishes that night, and also a ton of wine and margaritas. All of it was so yummy. The girls all got very very drunk and the boys laughed at all of the stupid things the girls said and did.

I only remember having two or three margaritas, which would normally be plenty for me to get good ‘n’ drunk, but not enough for me to get sick. But I did. I spent most of the evening with my head in J and M’s pink toilet, while my friend sat in the bathtub next to me, occasionally holding my hair back and patting me with a wet washcloth, and the rest of the time holding her own stomach and vomiting down the bathtub drain.

I will tell you one of the many stupid things I did that night. J and M had some neighbors (who I must mention were Caucasian) come over and they stayed for a short time and left early in the evening. After having one too many margaritas, I thought, “I want to go see M’s neighbors.” So I stumbled out the front door, and walked to the house directly next door to J and M’s house. I walked into the house; I didn’t EVEN KNOCK ON THE DOOR, and I was like “Are so-and-so here?” The family (who I must mention were African-American) said “No, you’ve got the wrong house.” They said it so simply, as though I had dialed the wrong number on the phone, and not as though some drunken woman was breaking and entering into their house in the middle of the night. The Man was super upset, and I felt like a child as he reprimanded me. I was acting like a child though, except for I ever saw a child that drunk, I would totally feel the need to call CPS. Anyway, now I think it’s funny although I’m not sure The Man is there yet. Also, it turns out the people lived down the street and around a corner. Apparently, the term “neighbor” is used very casually these days and can mean “living anywhere within a five block radius.”

Eventually, The Man drags me out to the car, and we drove home my friend who had been sitting next to me in the bathtub. I think we took some plastic bags with us in case we needed them. And I think my friend did need them. I also think she threw up on the sidewalk in front of her house when she got out of the car.

Life went on, but I never felt right again after that party. I wondered what they put in those margaritas and why I wasn’t able to hold my liquor (classy, huh?) like usual.

When summer hits our city, it’s like the sun snuck up one night and kissed the city and when we wake up the next morning, it’s as though all signs of spring are gone and only the heat from the sun’s fiery lips remains. When this happens, I often get sick to my stomach. Until my body gets used to the heat, it's in a state of shock.

So between the margaritas and summer hitting us like a nuclear bomb, I thought I had figured out what was wrong with me.

May is ending, and I have not been feeling well for about four weeks, so I start to wonder if I could be pregnant. Someone may have even suggested it to me. There were two other girls in the office that were already pregnant. The Man and I had scares before where I would be late, but I was never pregnant. I had no problem going to the store and getting a pregnancy test, as I had done many times before, because I knew it was going to be negative. Besides, there were two girls already pregnant, there was no way I was pregnant, too. It was going to be negative, just like always.

You knew it wasn’t going to be negative.

I bought the kind that has two tests in it. I always did that, just to be sure. Getting two negatives always felt much better than getting one negative and wondering if I somehow did it wrong, or that one test was defective. I took it first thing Sunday morning (June 2nd to be exact), before we went to church or anything. Normally, the one line shows up and I impatiently wait my three minutes or whatever amount of time the box says to make sure the other line doesn’t show up. When it doesn’t show up, I heave a sigh of relief, throw out the test, and go on with my life.

This is not to say that I did not want children. I wanted to have kids in high school for goodness’ sake. I have always loved babies and kids. I loved baby-sitting (P.S. it’s totally NOT the same), and I wanted to have three kids. The Man and I agreed on names and everything. We just didn’t feel ready at that time in our lives (FYI – you’re NEVER ready, okay?).

This time on the pregnancy test, the second line, indicating a positive, showed up immediately. I ran into the bedroom and showed the little stick that was about to change our lives to The Man.

“It’s positive.” I said. My face was white, my voice was shaky, and so were my hands.

“Are you sure?” There was surprise in his voice, but The Man was calm.

“Yes.” I replied. “Wait. The instructions say to wait three minutes. Maybe it will go away.”

Yeah, that second line did not go away. I waited the three minutes though, staring at the test the entire time. I’m not sure I even blinked.

We got ready for church and I was in shock. The Man was fine. After all this time of me begging for babies and his constant reply of, “No, we aren’t ready yet,” he was the one who was fine with it and I was the one who was scared out of my mind. I called my friend from church, the one who sat next to me in the bathtub at the party. She was so excited and then I started to get excited. I was excited! I didn’t tell anyone else until after the doctor’s appointment.

I went to the doctor and he confirmed what I already knew to be true. It was June 5th.