I wake up at about 5am with an awful sicky knot in the pit of my stomach. I try to keep calm, do some deep breathing and let DH sleep as long as possible – I know it’s going to be a long day and want him to be in oblivion for as long as possible. By about 6am I can’t wait anymore and wake him up and then we cling to each other for a while and tell each other we’re scared – he tells me he’ll always love me no matter what. By about 6.30am I work up the courage to pee into my specially appointed test day plastic cup, which was all washed out and left to dry the night before.
I dip two different brands of pregnancy test into the pot – making sure I face them away from me having learnt after test day number 2 that if you dip them and see just the test line come up straight away you know its negative and have to go back to the bedroom knowing already and DH will see it on your face. So I dip the tests, close my eyes and put them down on top of the loo then go back to the bedroom to wait 3 excruciating minutes with DH.
When the time is up we go into the bathroom together, holding hands and gingerly walk towards the tests. They say what they always say. Not pregnant. One line. Pure, pure whiteness. I throw at least one test across the bathroom before animal noises escape from me. DH holds me up before I can crumple to the floor. We go back to the bedroom and cry. And cry. And cry.
An hour or so later I call my sister. She coos soothing words to me, she crys with me. Then I call my mum – the worst call to make. I know where I get my animal cry noises from. My mum is not a crier normally – I’ve heard her cry way too much over the last year. She crys because her little girl is in pain and she can’t do anything about it. I will never have a little girl to love so much. I hate that I make her feel this way, I know it’s not my fault but she’s sad because I’m sad and I hate it.
We send our texts to friends and family. I let my twitter family know. I prefer to get it all done and out the way in one go. We try to sleep – DH usually does but I never can.
We get up about 11am and have something to eat, potter round the house. Random bouts of crying ensue. By about midday I run a bath and open the wine. I realise that DH has thrown away the tests and all packaging, tipped away my pee and washed the cup out. He goes out and buys lots of naughty food whilst I lay in the bath – he’s so brave to go out into the fertile world and I’m so grateful I never have to go with him. What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man.
We bumble through the afternoon. In the evening we cook a special dinner together, radio on, rather tipsy. We watch Game of Thrones. We cry.