The Healing of the Rain... or a Pregnancy Test Gone Wrong!

 I was humming Heather Nova's "London Rain" the whole morning, while doing some domestic chores, like carpet cleaning and preparing a lush dinner for my o so sweet a husband, and trying to keep the cat away from the plateau of French cheeses I'd sliced and artfully arranged. I dare say, I was a pretty funny picture, if you saw me from aside, dancing around the house, singing verses in the line of:

"I can't wait to get home to you

To get warm warm and undressed"

Or my own personal favorite:

"So keep me, keep me
In your bed all day, all day
Nothing heals me like you do"

Yes, after fixing things with Michael last night, I would have loved to keep him in bed the whole day, but, alas, he had to work, so I just gave him a kiss (more than one, actually) and promised him a special treat for tonight. Yes, I'm talking about dinner. What did you think?

Leaving that misunderstanding aside, the whole morning pretty much looked like the lyrics of the formerly quoted song. The sky was dark and rain was falling silently, cold drops of water running down the windows, leaving small paths behind them, as if asking to be remembered. As if trying to leave their own little mark in the world, before disappearing ingloriously. It is kind of sad, really. Rain always makes me feel both happy and melancholic. Some days, when it's raining outside and lightning splits the sky, I want nothing more, than to curl into Michael's arms, rest my head against his shoulder, and just stay there motionless, silent, part of the world, but separate from it. In such moments, when nothing exists on our own "island" of dreams and hopes and desire, I always think that this must be Heaven. Or, at least, it must be what it feels to be in Heaven. Safe. Loved. Desired. Protected. At the end of the day, isn't that what we all crave? Starve for? Reach for? Fulfilment is bliss, if you have someone to share it with. Funny how I think I've known that for a long time, but only yesterday realised it...

I guess my "white rabbit" did not take me down a rabbit hole, but right back to where I'd started. Back home.

A little into the morning, the phone rang and my friend Monica's voice warned me that something had happened. That there was something wrong. Monica sounded upset. She's never like that. On the contrary, really. She's one of the most genuinely happy and cheerful people I know. So I asked her what's going on and, after a short, tensed pause, she told me. 

She'd done a pregnancy test and it had come out positive. She was pregnant. And she had no idea how to tell her husband Carter about it.

Now, let me explain here. Monica and Carter were a couple of Michael's friends from university. The three of them had been room-mates throughout the 1st and 2nd year of their studies, they'd rented a house together, and for a little while Michael and Monica had had "a thing". I guess you wouldn't call it "being a couple", as they'd never officially dated, so I suppose that "friends with benefits" is the more accurate term.

Yes, they used to sleep together. Regularly. Did that make me dislike Monica or not trust her with Michael? Not really. For I choose to trust my husband completely and not spend my days wondering if he isn't off with some other woman, doing who knows what... Figuratively speaking, of course. I know exactly what men and women do together.  

And, evidently, so did Monica.

Which, probably, wouldn't have been a problem, if she wasn't on the pill and Carter wasn't against having children. Don't misunderstand me - it's not that he didn't want to have children with Monica. He just didn't think that the here and now was the right time for it. Carter's a lawyer, and a pretty good one to that, so he'd been working hard to achieve partnership in his law firm. Really, really hard. So hard, actually, that he and Monica barely see each-other any more. As for Monica...

Being a chef and running a successful French restaurant in the centre of London has its disadvantages. And requires some sacrifices from a woman.

So, pretty much, as happy as the pregnancy news should have been, it was more of a shock to career-oriented Monica and was probably going to give Carter a heart-attack. He wasn't ready to be a daddy. Not yet. Not now.

And he'd have a hell of a hard time dealing with it!

So, when Monica asked me what to do, I had a moment of wandering what to tell her. What do you say to your freaked out, panicked friend, when her control on her life is slipping between her fingers and she feels off balance? 

I didn't know. I'd never been in that position before. So I said the first thing that popped in my head.

"Why don't you and Carter come for dinner tomorrow night? Maybe you could tell him then?"

Truthfully, I didn't expect Monica to accept. But she did and then hung the phone, and I was left staring into nothing, unsure what I've just done.

So I did the only thing I could think of at that moment. I rolled my sleeves and buckled down to the simple task of preparing the house for tomorrow night's guests.

Whoever said that domestic cleaning can't be therapeutic, they should think twice!