I am not pregnant.
I know this because the last thing they did before surgery was a pregnancy test. I hadn’t ate or drank anything for 12 hours, and they handed me a little urine sample container and pointed to the bathroom. They had to hook me up to an IV just so I could squeeze out a couple drops and prove what I could have told them anyway. There ain’t no baby in there.
I tell you this, because the following scene will sound like my uterus is in fact, occupied.
I’m sitting in my mushroom chair, rubbing belly protectively. The Mushroom chair is the only chair in the house that doesn’t put strain on my lower back as I carefully angle myself to not stretch my belly.
“Babe, I need a favor.”
The Man is a good boyfriend. Since I got home from the hospital, He has cooked for me and walked the dog. He has made sure I don’t lift anything over 10 pounds, and he doesn’t say anything when I go days without brushing my hair. So he is on it immediately with this favor thing.
“Ice Cream. Need”
So The Man went out and got his lady some randomly requested, emergency Ice Cream (cookies and cream), while I walked around the house with my belly sticking out and coddled by my hand.
The next day I craved pickles.