Silence. I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. Being pregnant would change everything. I had decided only months before that I was now old enough and responsible enough, that should I get knocked up by accident, I would have it. I just never believed that it would actually happen.
Makin’ Babies A sex column by Lola Vertigo When I was nineteen I bought a home pregnancy kit that I never used. My crazy Irish drug-dealer boyfriend had been in town for a visit a few weeks prior, and although my body was a little erratic at that stage, I was outside my normal unpredictable range. I bought the kit. I remember sitting in my room, staring at it. I had been told it is best to do these tests first thing in the morning, so I left it, carefully stowed away in the bathroom mirror. That night, to my great relief, I bled. Six years later, I finally used the little plastic tube. A very faint pink line appeared next to the darker one. It was practically invisible. But it was there. I read the instructions again. “A second pink line, no matter how faint, indicates a positive result.” My heart suddenly relocated to my throat. I had told my partner the evening before that I was late. He responded to this statement with a look of pure elation.
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“You mean you might be pregnant?” “No. Well, maybe.” “We made a baby?” “I don’t know!” “Oh my God.”
My man gently cupped my face in his hands and turned it toward him. “We might be having a baby,” he grinned at me. “Yup.” I am not making this up. I know that only a few months ago I was writing about jumping into the single life and enjoying multiple simultaneous relationships, but hey, life can change really quickly. The chef turned out to be the one. I am in the privileged position of being able to say that I, without a shadow of a doubt, have found the person I intend to spend the rest of my life with. And I didn’t even have to look for him. I just walked into his kitchen. Hollywood movies, romance novels and society at large have us believing that unless we’re coupled up, there’s something wrong with us. Granted there is also a biological imperative, but with divorce rates around 50%, why do so many people pick the wrong mates? I think it’s surprisingly simple. Most people look for happiness in the wrong places. You can’t be happy with someone else if you’re unhappy with yourself. News flash: it is not your partner’s job to give your life meaning. Ten months ago I was a total disaster. I was definitely enjoying life, but in an erratic,