I found out I had gestational diabetes at 27 weeks, sitting in my OB’s parking lot with a half-eaten granola bar in the cup holder, feeling like I’d somehow already messed this up. The nurse had called it in — she was kind about it, but “gestational diabetes” still landed like a gut punch. I
The ultrasound tech got quiet for a beat too long, moved the wand around like she was double-checking something, and then said, “Okay, so — there are two in there.” My husband laughed out loud. I just stared at the ceiling tile above the exam table, doing rapid, useless math in my head. Two of
I took the test standing in my bathroom at 6 a.m. because I couldn’t sleep past 5:40, and I remember thinking, before I even looked at it, “please, please.” Two lines. I sat down on the edge of the tub and cried, and I genuinely couldn’t have told you in that moment whether it was
I was thirty-nine, sitting in a paper gown that didn’t quite close in the back, when the nurse looked at my chart and said, “Okay, so you’re one of our advanced maternal age patients.” I remember thinking, advanced? I still had a booster seat in my car and a toddler who called me “Mama-Mama” for
I took my second positive test standing in my room, not even sitting down. With my first pregnancy, I’d been so nauseous by week five that I kept ginger chews in every bag I owned. This time, nothing. I actually texted my sister a picture of the test with the caption “is this thing broken.”
Six weeks pregnant, nobody told, standing in the middle of a WOD trying to decide if I should scale the box jumps or just quietly skip them and hope nobody noticed. That was me, staring at a whiteboard full of thrusters and pull-ups, doing math I had no training for. My coach thought I was
You took the test twice. Maybe three times, because the first result felt impossible. You’re sitting on the edge of a bathtub, or standing in a Target parking lot with the AC running, staring at your phone like it might change its mind. Nineteen is supposed to be about figuring out who you are —
I found out I was pregnant with my second kid standing in a Target bathroom at 8:47 a.m., because I’d timed the test around my bladder and not around the fact that I had a 9 a.m. call with a client who did not care that my body was quietly rewriting itself from the inside
