When Sally was seven weeks pregnant, her doctor said he was 99% sure she’d had a miscarriage. But she didn’t want to believe him. So in the restroom of a restaurant in San Francisco, she peed on a stick (or seven) and against all her expectations, got two blue lines.
Meanwhile, my friend Cat was so eager to find out whether she was with child that she dashed into the local Burger King toilet to take a test, despite being a vegetarian.
And Linda took her test in a supermarket restroom on the way to a Weight Watchers meeting… which she never got around to going to.
I used to think that pregnancy was a pretty private thing – at least until the belly starts to pop and strangers want to rub it. My mom and other women of her generation all went to their gynecologist or the privacy of their own bathrooms if they wanted to know if they were knocked up or not. Keep reading »