In Her Words
The Sticks and the Stories
Why they are not trash to me
I collect ’em.
In our closet, there are four or five peed-on sticks, with the double-purple lines fading away, and my handwritten comments on them, with the date I took the test.
Is it strange that I have saved these reminders of the moment I learned I was to become a mother for the first, second or third time? That I even saved the one that came out negative?
I don’t know why I just don’t throw them away. Once, when I was early-on pregnant with Luke and not showing, I toted AJ and McKaelen into the dry-cleaners to pick up my husband’s suits and crisp, medium-starched shirts.
“You pregnant?” the cute little Chinese lady asked.
Oh my God, I was like six weeks pregnant, not telling anyone, yet here this little lady must have been able to tell! Or maybe she was psychic?
I touched my belly, and asked, “You can tell already?”
“No,” she said. “I found this in the laundry you brought.” She showed me the test stick, one I had written my name on. It must have fallen into the pile of clothes I had brought in the week before. She knew it belonged to us.
“Can I have it back?” I asked.
I don’t know why I wanted it back. Like maybe the sticks are symbolic of my pregnancies. Maybe I’ll give them to my kids on each of their 18th birthdays, or on their wedding days, or the day they tell me that I will become a grandmother. But for whatever reason, I’ve kept them all. And now, 11, nine and seven years later, the sticks are still there, in my closet, a reminder of the days when I first knew my babies would become mine.
Tell us: Did you keep your pregnancy test?
Stephanie Elliot writes as Manic Mommy at www.manicmommy.blogspot.com.