Wine, pregnancy tests, and Sex and the City

Once upon a time in November of 2009, my husband was away in Arizona on business and one of my BFFs was having man troubles. Naturally, we did what any twenty-something BFFs would do and planned a girls’ night sleepover at my place. We met at the 99 for dinner. And by dinner, I mean wine. All the wine. And maybe a salad. After that we headed back to my apartment, probably to have some more wine, most likely to watch Sex and the City, and definitely to try on each other’s jeans. See we both considered the other one to be the skinnier one, so the only way to evaluate this was to try on each other’s jeans. Clearly.

At some point, my girl comes out of the bathroom with a pregnancy test telling me that I had to take it. I said no way, I definitely couldn’t find out I was pregnant with my husband thousands of miles away, plus I had just taken one a couple of weeks before and it had been negative. She somehow convinced me that this would be the best way to cheer her up and I caved. Besides, what was the risk? I had just taken one that was negative. If anything, it would be nothing more than a waste of money (man are those things expensive), and who was I not to help a friend in need?

As two pink lines started to come to the surface almost immediately, I found myself staring at the thing waiting for one to fade away and leave only one pink line which would mean negative. Not the case. I came out of the bathroom in a state of disbelief because it was almost midnight my time, I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant in AZ time, plus I’d been drinking all the wine.  Who finds out that they are pregnant when their husband is away and they have been drinking with their friend? Thank goodness for BFFs because she knew exactly what to do. We’d head out to the 24-hour CVS and buy another box of tests. We’d need a better confirmation before making any baby-news-midnight-phone-calls.

I marched into CVS wearing my hot pink pajama pants, not looking like a crazy person at all, went right over to the tests, picked out a box and headed to the counter where I exclaimed to the cashier as I handed over my purchase, “Don’t worry, I’m married!”, and flashed my ring as proof. He did not seem worried. We got back to the apartment and I immediately took another test. Positive. We needed more proof. She took a test. Negative. Ok, it was time to spread my good news! My poor husband was sharing a hotel room with a co-worker and I think he said that they had just gone to bed, I can’t remember. He was really excited, pretty sad that he wasn’t there to share the moment with me, and he definitely asked me if I had been drinking and why I was calling after midnight my time. Well, it’s a funny story…

And I did learn my lesson. The next time I took a test, my husband was only a few miles away at a gas station. But we’ll save that one for later.

All the wine