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 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.”
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 —
