Last night we learned that L is not pregnant, and, equally important, neither am I. For surprisingly uninteresting reasons, we ended up with a couple of home pregnancy tests in the apartment last night. Obviously, we had to try them out. And I came to the conclusion that a home pregnancy test is like a gun in a couple of ways.
First, if you have one around, you're going to use it. After L told me we had an extra one, I obviously dropped whatever I was doing to try it out. I was impressed with its light weight and comfortable grip. I decided it would be easier to use if I sat down, but I quickly began to worry about how much time you had to spend peeing on the stick to get an accurate sample. As a result, when I was finished I held the test at an awkward angle, lest a flood of unnecessary urine rush past the sample area, window panels, and out onto my hand. Fortunately this didn't happen, but there was a tense moment where the liquid (which somehow turned blue) seemed to meander through the whole thing, revealing both a control stripe and the results panel, which indicated that I am ... not pregnant. Damn. Kind of bittersweet.
The second way a home pregnancy test is like a gun is that practice makes you more comfortable using it. What happened last night, with me liberally peeing on a stick while yelling through the door to my wife, is like a trip to the firing range. I got to know the home pregnancy test, to understand it, to feel comfortable with it. So that when the real moment arrives, if and when we ever have occasion to use one -- like (God forbid) the day I need to shoot an assailant or a wild boar to protect myself and my loved ones -- I will be ready to go (and not freeze up or get confused, ending up peeing on my assailant, or throwing a home pregnancy test at the boar).
Here's to a great, non-pregnant weekend -- sushi and beers for everybody.