After I arrived home -- I drank the jumbo gatorade I'd picked up and waited for it to kick in. Watching Jepordey, and Wheel of Fortune before the pressure in my bladder had sufficently built itself up. I unwrapped the celphane and removed the magical wand that would foretell my future. Removed the pink tinted cap and proceeded to bless it with my urine. 5 seconds only -- who knows what they mean by that -- I'm not about to start a stopwatch. I return the pink cap to the test and rest it on the vanity. Now the hard part - waiting 3 minutes. What can I possibly do for three minutes.

I could read the shampoo directions in English, French and Espangnol. Yes, that's is what it do -- read a shampoo bottle. Peaking over to the progress on the test -- the first pink line is forming, I should not be alarmed this is the line to let me know the test is working properly. Shit. Adjacent to the pink line - is a lighter line - paler in color but none the less a pink line. Maybe it will go away in the coming minutes.

I attempt to start a wordsearch puzzle. Bathrooms are wonderful places for you to catch up on a plethora of activities. I have a magazine rack in my bathroom -- books, puzzles, a note pad that says -- What's cooking and next to a picture of a spatula is the days broken down for menu ideas. Most of my dinners these days include - Hot Pocket - remove wrapper, microwave for 3 minutes. Times up -- I pick up the wand and look -- yes, it's official - two pink lines. I'm officially, with child. Shit. Shit. Shit.

When I was little I had this weird prediction or premonition of myself -- and somehow that included me, being a perfect little housewife, millions of babies crawling over me -- I think when I was eight my dream number of children was something quite ridiculous, like 12. I can't even imagine 1 -- let alone 12. What was I thinking-- I think I just wanted to say that so that I'd get an additional cabbage patch doll to play with, and not one of those homemade ones my grandma and auntie used to make. But now -- there is a real baby inside me. This is not the plan. But, I really can't see any other option at this point in my life other than having the baby. I wonder what Jack will do when I tell him. If I have the baby - he could resent me, but if I don't have the baby - or give it up for adoption -- I will resent him. This is our litmus test. How on earth am I going to tell him?

With all of this nervous energy - I have only one solution to work through it. Cleaning. I'm not a neat freak by any means, but I do find that almost all problems can be worked out in my head while I'm entranced by the smell of fresh laundry, Palmolive or scrubbing bubbles. I start my rampage along with trying to plan a nice dinner for when Jack comes over tonight. Shit. Shit. Shit. Do I have to tell him today? He'll be pissed if I don't tell him -- maybe I should call him, no, bad idea. I could have a singing tellagram deliver the blessed news. No, bad idea. I should just call my doctor and make an appointment. Can I go to my regular doctor -- or is there are special, knocked up and not exactly thrilled about it special practice? This option should really be spelled out in my benefit plan. OK, appoint is made to meet with my doctor on Monday. Now, how on earth to I tell Jack.