So S get’s back from East Timor on Thursday night. It had been raining all afternoon and the Jakarta traffic was at a complete standstill. Occasional sms messages drift in while I’m slowly preparing what turns out to be inedible.
“In taxi and macet maak maak (bad traffic in a combo of Indonesian and Thai). I don’t know where I am.”
I’m simultaneously watching the latest episode of American Idol (Bucky got kicked off) and relaying the results by sms to S — never a single mention from she who is destined to be in a taxi for over two hours of what news she has.
Finally S arrives, straight through the door and off to the bathroom — politely turning down a glass of wine. I go wait on the lounge.
Eventually S returns, and, while behaving rather oddly, makes a few vague statements then reveals;
“I think I’m pregnant”
The wind whistled, the clock ticked… somewhere in the distance a dog barks.
“Wow” I say.
Wow turns out to be the only word of substance I’m able to get out of my mouth for the next ten minutes.
background — we’d been trying to have a baby for over two years without luck. In the end I got tested in late 2005 and was told in no uncertain terms that I was a non-starter. The lazy, confused, mall-formed malcontents masquerading in my body as sperm would struggle to find their way out of a wet paper bag, and while theoretically possible, the doctor politely slid some IVF for dummies papers across the table. We decided to keep trying — hell its not like trying isn’t fun — but we’re also pretty resigned to the fact that what we were doing was for fun alone.
It turned out S was had been feeling awful in East Timor and so, on an impulse popped into a shop at Denpasar Airport (you have to stop there whe flying from Dili to Jakarta) for a DIY pregnancy test — then dashed into the loo.
The result: positive.
S then gets to Jakarta, sits in a cab for two hours and stops at another shop to get a more expensive pregnancy test. When she gets home, sweeps past me and does the test.
The result: positive.
I’m still on the lounge, slowly progressing from “Wow” to “How”. S gets me to run off some pregnancy symptom sheets off the web — the best one is a thirteen point checklist. S has 11 of the 13 symptoms. Nausea, backpains, sore boobs and an extreme sensitivity to smell are the big ones — she keeps telling me I smell (I don’t).
I say “Wow” a few more times.
We decide that tomorrow morning we’ll head to the doctor’s and get a learned opinion from somebody whose vocab extends beyond “Wow”.