7 years ago today I was determined to break out of the depressive funk I was in. I took 3 of my 4 kids, who were 5, 3, and 1 to the downtown library storytime (instead of the base one). The 7 year old was in school.
It was 40 below with windchill.
The baby, who was a 20-month old Hammy, peeled off his socks and shoes on the way to the library and SCREAMED at the top of his lungs the rest of the way there-- because he was probably getting frostbite in the van.
I was determined to be positive and happy and bust the down, depressed, guilty feeling I had. I had kids who needed puppet shows and books from the library and I had errands to run afterwards.
My period was late. I was pretty convinced it was messed up since the miscarriage in May. Or maybe it was hibernating. I had been hibernating after all.
After the library, I went to Target. I picked up a pregnancy test. It was a double pack. I had to use the bathroom so I took it right then in the Target bathroom. And it didn't work. I slipped it back in the box and took it home intending to call the company and get a refund.
I called the company from home and they apologized and promised coupons would come in the mail.
So I threw the defective one in my trash.
5 hours later, when Danny was home and I was able to use the bathroom again, I noticed that pregnancy test that didn't seem to work at all, now had two lines. Dumb defective test. I mentioned it to Danny. He said he saw it in the trash and figured it was past the 10 minutes as is written on the box-- so it couldn't be accurate. We decided I'd give my period a few more days to show up before testing again.
But then I ended bawling over something insignificant and decided to just test again that night.
I tested. It was positive before I even set it down on the bathtub.
It would be another 2 1/2 weeks before I found out I was carrying triplets.