Another child isn't such a bad idea, even though my son gave up on asking me for a Chinese sister. Only, I imagine if there is to be another screaming piccanini swinging on my left boob, punctured as it is, I should at least not be surprised. I am 36 for crissake, and actually pull my own panties off!
So, you can imagine the drama at the hospital casualty department this past weekend when a nice little old doctor told me my pregnancy test is positive... and she wasn't stuttering.
The ambulance had dropped me off at a maternity hospital. And I was on my period. Periods, the part where you have wasted two more good eggs without reproducing.
I was using all my mathematics and accounting skills. Statistics. Biology. Nuclear science. My majors is research, so I'm trying to gather all data on my sex life and...
"No. I am not pregnant. Me? No! Hhhayi. What?"
"Yes you are darling...," she said, showing a file written in scribbles, symbols and dots - triggering a staring contest because I wasn't about to blink, or breathe, again.