If one more fucking person asks me when I ‘m gonna have a baby I will not be responsible for my actions. Every time another person announces the impending birth with donuts in the teachers lounge I am assailed with questions.

“When are you gonna have a baby?”

“You've been married how long?”

“Don't you want to have a baby?“

The next time a coworker asks I‘ll say that I’m unable to conceive and would appreciate it if they didn’t constantly remind me of my failings to fulfill my biological destiny as a woman. That'll shut them up plus give people a chance to gossip about me since their own lives are either vacuous and meaningless or lived vicariously through their children. They will have nothing better to do than discuss how sad it is that I can’t conceive. Tsk tsk that poor girl. How she must suffer. This will give them a break from their usual inane banter about what their kids are doing in school or Mrs. Hart discussing in depth her babies allergy disorder or Mr. Terrill telling all about his daughter’s rotten soccer coach. I’m sure it beats scrapbooking all to hell.

Then it happened. I look at the calendar and see that I have gone the whole month of April with out a drop of blood. On Sunday I decide to take an EPT test. This is an error proof test which was negative but that didn’t convince me. There must be a mistake. I never miss a period ever. I am hyper regular and I cycle with the moon. Full moon and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. Whenever I use this term to describe my menstrual flow my husband always asks me if I’ve ever seen a stuck pig. Of course I haven't but I am sure it would look exactly like my period. Then I invite him to check out the silver dollar sized bloody piece of my uterus that’s floating in the toilet bowl and he gracefully declines.

So despite the negative error proof pregnancy test I am convinced that I am pregnant and really start to freak out. Thoughts like ,”What the fuck will I wear ? “ race through my brain. Lets face it maternity clothes suck even the maternity clothes that make pregnant women look slutty, suck. What the fuck am I gonna do if my tits which are already 34 DDDs get bigger? What if my feet swell? Can I be pregnant in heels? How do I prevent stretch marks? Then I think if I am pregnant my hot little body that I have worked really hard on will never ever be the same. My hips will broaden. I do the math and determine that on my 30th birthday I will be six months pregnant. Which means no champagne or drugs . Happy 30th Fuckin Birthday to my fat pregnant ass. No cigarettes, no coffee no alcohol no fun. My husband would have to sell his black 1975 Mercury Grand Marquis for something more sturdy and dependable like a mini van. How the hell am I gonna look sexy sitting in the passenger seat of a fucking mini van? I would have to go back to work with a double barreled breast pump while he stays home with the baby.

Holy fucking shit! Now I know in my bones that I ‘m totally rated PG. Monday at school two teachers in my department pop ‘em out. One woman even has twins. I'm in the teachers lounge on the phone with my doctor. He tells me to wait two weeks and take another urine test then suggests that I go purchase prenatal vitamins. Prenatal vitamins? Fuck! I know there is no way I will last two weeks so I ask if I can take the blood test after school.

The next day I get the results. I am not pregnant the error proof test was, well, error proof. Husband and I celebrate with a bottle of wine.

I return to work where I am subjected to pictures of Mrs. Johnson's 10 pound 8 ounces little boy who was born by C- section because he was too big to make it through the birth canal with out tearing his mother in two. This baby is so fat his cheeks are squeezing his eyes and making him look Asian. Mrs. Johnson is not Asian and her baby is not cute. Then there are Mrs. O’ Rouke and her twins . Everyone oohs and ahs at the pictures, sent to the whole department in a mass e-mail, as I plan my visit to my doctor to discuss my tubal litigation.