**Note to my male readers: If you’re uncomfortable with any discussion to female body stuff, you may want to skip this one. Or if you want a new understanding and perspective on what women go through, you’re welcome to keep reading. I just don’t want to hear any “Ewww” comments later.
I hate filling out those forms in the doctor’s office that ask about personal history. Besides the annoying redundancy, I really can’t answer one question: How old was I when I got my first period? I honestly don’t remember. I know I was in seventh or eighth grade. I remember it was a Saturday and I was shopping at a craft store like Michael’s and I had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t know what was going on, but when I opened up to my mom about it, she laughed and got me some feminine hygiene products. Since that moment, my cycles have never been regular. Once in my senior year I went almost two months without a period. Even though I was a virgin, I had a lot of panic about somehow being pregnant. I obviously wasn’t, but this was the beginning of me realizing the heartache that comes with being a woman.
I’ve had many episodes where my cycle was late and then had to undergo the wondrous time that is known as taking a pregnancy test. They always came back negative (I have actually never gotten a positive on a home pregnancy test).
Not too long ago, I started having all the symptoms that screamed pregnant. My boobs were sore, I had cramps, nausea, you name it. I was certain I was pregnant, but I really, really, really did not want to take a test. Something about the little plastic stick does something to you. Your mind races to what could happen, a potential future. That small inanimate object that fits in your palm can make and break dreams. It tears open a vulnerability that is hard to bear. It doesn’t matter if you want a baby or not. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a committed relationship or not. All that matters is the feeling of anxiety and nerves that you feel as you stare down at the plastic stick that holds your future in the balance.
I hate the fall out of taking a test and the answer is negative. Yes, there were times where it would have been absolutely the worst thing ever to get pregnant, yet with the negative, I felt broken hearted, sad at the loss of the life that never was. At times I took the test really hoping for a positive, and the negative was more crushing than ever. It made me feel like I was broken, like I wasn’t a true woman.
With all these past issues, I really didn’t want to take time out of my morning to take a test, especially when I was so far out from my Aunt Flo actually visiting. I finally caved. Not knowing was worse, having the continued what if was worse. I knew how to glue myself back together after the negative. I put on my big girl pants and drove to the Dollar Store (I had read that the tests were just as good as the $20 ones at Target). I bought four (along with a few other random things to make it less weird). The next morning, I snuck into the bathroom to take the test. Negative.
As I wallowed in sorrow, Princess Pea checked on me. She told me that she loved me. She showed me how cute and smart she is. She was her perfect self. I had been mourning over a nonexistent child when I had my perfect one right here. I held her close and tried to focus on her awesomeness. Negative is ok. Looking past the plastic stick, I have so many blessings, so many ways that Heavenly Father has given me more that I could have ever thought possible. I could have what I want, or I could have something better. I know that by trusting in Heavenly Father, any negative can end up a positive.
How has something negative helped you to see your blessings?