Whenever the honeysuckle starts to bloom, I’m reminded of the spring when everyone decided it was a great idea for me to ride the back seat of a tandem bicycle with my father-in-law. He wasn’t even my father-in-law yet, which made this imposed, volun-told decree even more profoundly horrible. 

When the tiny plastic tube, ironically resembling a tampon, shows a pink plus sign, I know that I have gotten the job. Urine talks and mine says, “CONGRAT-U-HADSEXWITHSOMEONERECENTLY-LATIONS.”

Now begins a journey. Now begins the transition into motherhood.