The "Wait, How Old Am I?" Pregnancy Test

I was strolling through the aisles at my local supermarket when I turned a corner and landed right in front of the feminine hygiene products. It hit me like a lightning bolt: When was the last time I actually had my period?

Panic set in. I frantically searched my brain for the last holiday or outing my cycle had ruined, but came up completely blank. So, there I stood, pacing in front of pads and tampons, pretending to study new products while my mind raced through the calendar.

February? Yes, birthday month. March? Had it. April? Check. May? Well... definitely not on Memorial Day. June? Total blank. July? Absolutely not. 

It was August. That meant almost four months without a period. Oh my God. Am I pregnant?

I am 51 years old. I already have four kids, ranging from 26 down to 13. I could not be pregnant. The frantic thoughts immediately took over. What about maternity leave? How does this work with my job? How am I going to tell my husband? What will people say? How did this even happen?!

All the while, I was frozen in the aisle staring at period products, wishing desperately that I actually needed them. My eyes drifted over to the pregnancy tests. Trembling, I grabbed the first one I saw and tossed it into my cart before rushing to the checkout.

I placed the test on the conveyer belt, praying the cashier wouldn't notice or judge me. Yes, I’m older, but I can still get pregnant! Yes, my husband and I still have sex... though, wait, when WAS the last time?

Then I remembered: Spring Break. Oh no. Doing the quick math on my fingers, the timeline fit. I snapped back to reality just as the cashier scanned the box. To cover my shame, I blurted out, "It's for my daughter."

Great. Now I was a horrible mother passing off a pregnancy test to my 16-year-old.

On the drive home, my mind shifted into full organizational mode. I began making plans for the "new baby," convincing myself everything would be fine. The older kids can help out. I’ll take maternity leave. We’ll make it work.

Pulling into the driveway, I prayed no one would come outside, I needed to hide that test. I jumped out, popped the trunk, and immediately heard the front door open. "I don't need help!" I yelled back, frantically rummaging through grocery bags. I found the test, shoved it into my purse, and walked into the house completely empty-handed.

My husband looked at me, confused. "Where are the groceries?"

"In the car! I need to use the bathroom!"

I locked the bathroom door, ripped open the box, took the test, and waited. The nervous panic from earlier had somehow transformed into cautious acceptance. Time was up. I looked down.

Not pregnant.

What? How could that be? Suddenly, I felt a weird sting of disappointment. Okay, maybe it’s a dud test, I thought. I’ll go buy another one.

I walked back into the kitchen where my husband was putting away the groceries. "Forgot something at the store," I muttered, grabbing a bottle of water so I'd be ready for round two.

I drove back, bought a different brand, once again shamelessly blaming my poor 16-year-old daughter and sprinted back to the bathroom at home.

Not pregnant.

Now what? I did what anyone would do: I Googled it.

The search refreshed, leaving me with one single word: Perimenopause.

Wait, what? Sleepless nights, mood shifts, body changes, hot flashes, and irregular periods. It explained every single thing I’d been experiencing over the last few months.

I walked out of the bathroom, marched back into the kitchen, looked my husband dead in the eye, and said, "You think I'm bad now? You just wait!"

-Jackie