Off to Glasgow for a night out tonight. As is my wont, I would usually purchase some cigarettes for the evening, being a social sort of smoker. Decisions decisions. Want cigarettes, don't want them if there's going to be an actual baby. Baby probably isn't going to be. It might be.
I'm a bit rubbish at not smoking, but I didn't smoke when I was pregnant before, I won't do it again.
Solution.
Stop and buy another test, nip into the loos, buy cigarettes on the way out when levels confirmed as not high.
And bing! Up pops the dark blue line instantly. That's a definite positive. That's a proper dark line that exceeds anything a chemical pregnancy ever had.
I am pregnant. Yikes. Cost of tests so far £20.50, but £6 or so (and counting) saved on cigarettes. Deal struck with life/fate/god of traffic lights/the stork/anyone that if I didn't smoke, I would have a healthy baby.
Obviously "had" to tell the friends I was out with. And the two people with them that I don't really know. But I won't tell anyone else.
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