After a disastrous family trip to Kohl's this evening, I asked Josh if I could run into the Dollar Store real quick.

"Sure, what for?"

Silence.

"Hello?" he tried again, while I tried to figure out how to respond.

"I can't tell you," I said defensively.  "Christmas is coming."

The truth was I didn't want to give him a false sense of hope.  Again.

I'm cheap.
I compare prices.
I buy based on what's on sale.
Paying full price for something is a foreign concept to me.

So, when I found out the Dollar Store carries pregnancy tests I started buying them there.

No sense spending a whole lot more to get a name brand from another store.
Especially for something that I literally pee on and throw away.
Truthfully, I don't want to put a lot of investment in it because it always ends up disappointing.

For some reason our Dollar Store now moved their pregnancy tests to behind the cash registers.  As in, you have to A) already know they carry them and then B) ask an employee for it by name.  While closely surrounded by other people.

My husband has a public job and is known by a lot of people in this community.  Being married to him makes me also susceptable to being known by a lot of people.  People who I've never met.  There's no privacy for me in this town.  I never know when I'm known.

Sometimes I just don't want to be known.


I wait in line and smile warmly at the young girl behind the register when it's my turn.  I try to use a hushed tone and turn my back to anybody behind me.

"Could I get a pregnancy test?" I'm suddenly timid and nervous.

"Just one?"

I hate that question.

The answer to it is dependent upon the result of the first test.  Which is, obviously, unknown.  That's kinda the whole reason I'm there.

My frugality wins out and I always end up just getting one.
And then regretting it the next time I need one.
Because it means I have to go through this whole scenario again.

"Yah, just one."  I feel I have to provide some sort of explanation, as additional words tumble out of my mouth.  "I don't know why I just get one..."

The young girl tries to be empathetic, "I hear ya.  I hear ya."  She smiles.  I smile.  And pay her my $1.07.

She has no idea.

Does she know the eager anticipation mixed with dread when I prepare to take the test?

Does she know afterwards I quickly put all the contents back into the bag and stuff it into the trash, trying to forget all about it?  Again.  And again.  And again.

Does she know I loathe the term "only child"?

Does she know I cringed filling out a paper this week for my daughter's pre-school class that said,
"My name is     Catherine    .
I have    0   brothers and    0   sisters."

Does she know the paralysis I have currently while wondering what to do with our four year old's outgrown car seat, stroller, crib, and highchair?

Or does she think, "Her period's late; hopes she's not preggers."?

Some people can time out their pregnancies perfectly, "We decided to have February babies so that my maternity leave will coincide with ....." or "We wanted our children to be two years apart."

That amazes me.

It amazes me because I have very little control over our situation, and to think someone else can control theirs so perfectly is unfathomable.

Some friends recently shared with us news of their pregnancy.  It's supposed to be an exciting announcement.  Our response is supposed to be elation and surprise and joy.

And instead it was sadness.
Emptiness.
And a feeling of loss and missing out.

I don't know why this is the path God has us on.
But I know I felt compelled to share this tonight.
Maybe someone walking this same path needed to read it.

If that's the case, please allow me to extend to you, "I hear ya.  I hear ya." And a smile.
Know you're not alone in this sad struggle.
May we find fulfillment and wholeness in our identify in Christ, rather than the size of our family.

photo by Peter Ringenberg