The dreadmill was proving to be my enemy. Two weeks ago, I was walking and jogging six miles per day. That was before the kids came down with the flu, before I came down with a milder version of it.
I was a mile into the three-mile workout I had planned, and I was winded, exhausted, and feeling like I'd really overdone it. I typically felt a little nauseated after the fifth mile on the elliptical, but at a walking pace on the dreadmill? No. Maybe my flu wasn't gone.
Guilt tripped me up as I considered Lyn and Timmy being sick for nearly two weeks. They'd each had a relapse with their flu. Apparently it was my turn. At least I'd lost three pounds over that time, down thirteen from where I was six weeks ago.
As I walked into the locker room to collect my belongings, I looked into the mirror. Blond highlights, I whispered, but I knew the truth. My normally auburn hair was losing its battle with gray, so much that I'd be bald in spots if I tried to pluck them. I didn't trust myself to color it on my own. I'd learned that lesson my senior year of high school and couldn't imagine that green hair would look so good on me now. Twelve more pounds and you can have it colored by a beautician, that was the deal and you're sticking to it.
"That was a quick workout," the childcare worker said as I walked into the nursery.
"I just didn't have it in me today. Hopefully tomorrow will be better," I said. "How was Timmy?"
"Smiling like always," she said. "Timmy, it's time to go."
The two-year-old didn't even look up from the train set.
"Come on, Timmy," I said. "We need to go. You'll be able to play again tomorrow."
This time, he dropped the train onto the track then raced toward me, leaping into my arms at the last second. I smoothed his blond hair and pecked his cheek. "Did you have fun? What did you play with?"
"Wheels," he answered. It was pretty much the only word he would say. Trains, bikes, cars, trucks...they were all wheels according to Timmy.
"Can you say 'train,' Timmy?"
He shook his head, smiled, and repeated his trademark word to the childcare worker's laughter. Thank goodness this didn't work with his speech therapist.
Once Timmy and I were buckled into out seats, I drove away from the YMCA. I needed to go to the grocery store, but decided that it would wait until tomorrow. Surely, it would be a much better day for me. We drove straight home, Timmy falling asleep in the mini-van. I eased him out of his seat and tiptoed inside the house. If he woke up, there was no way I'd be able to take a nap, and I needed it desperately.
A wave of nausea smacked me as I placed Timmy onto the couch and my lurching woke him. I bit my tongue to keep from cursing.
Nausea. Fatigue. Nausea. Just feeling puny.
My chin practically grazed the floor. Nausea.
Could I be pregnant? No. I'd had my period.... When was it? The end of August or was it that first week in September? I couldn't quite remember. Either way, today was October 6.
I rushed upstairs in search of a pregnancy test. I removed it from the wrapper, peed on the stick, and waited, hoping desperately for a negative sign.
The negative sign quickly appeared...along with a really faint horizontal line over the damn minus sign.
No. No. No. NO! I looked at the wrapper again. The test was old, I'd bought a two-test kit when I suspected I was pregnant with Timmy three years ago and this test had expired in June.
That had to be the problem because I had the flu. I. Was. Not. Pregnant. No way.
I let out a sigh then grabbed Timmy so I could buy another test, one that was not expired and would not have a minus sign that turned into a plus sign.
Twenty minutes later, I tested my urine again, cringing as I awaited the results.
Shit.
