Just under a year ago, the first positive pregnancy test. “Keep everything,” the woman on the phone said not much later, Mother’s Day. “Put any pads and the tissues you use to wipe yourself in a bag.” We carried it around the hospital, sat with it in the waiting rooms. We asked the doctor discharging me what to do with it. He threw the bag away. There wasn’t much to see then; but the second time there was no mistaking what was happening. I felt it going, let it lump into my hand, looked at it and flushed it down a toilet in Brooklyn.
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