On July 13, 2009, my life changed forever. That afternoon, out of sheer boredom, not suspicion that I was actually pregnant, I took a pregnancy test. I fell in love as soon as I realized there really were two lines.
In my imagination, I had always pictured that Dave and I would be hovering over the bathroom counter together, waiting to see if the second line would appear. Then we’d hug, kiss, and laugh, then get back in bed and daydream together about our baby. Instead, I spent the rest of the day trying and failing miserably to concentrate on work. I called Dave at one point to see when he was coming home. He didn’t seem to think anything of the call and didn’t notice that I was crying or had become abnormally clingy and wanting him to come home as soon as possible.
In an effort to carry on our little family’s tradition, I taped the positive test to a can of beer and put it in the fridge before he came home. The night we got engaged, he tied my engagement ring around the neck of a beer. It took me ages to notice because if my drink is not in my hand, I forget to drink it. He was tortured the entire time and his odd behavior made me think there was something wrong with him. He unknowingly paid me back for it that night. I kept trying to get him to have a beer, but he kept putting it off. We had already decided to go out to dinner, and at one point he suggested just waiting until we got to dinner to have a beer. Somehow I finally convinced him to have one before we left, and I had to turn around and pretend to do something in the kitchen because I started crying as soon as he opened the fridge.
When he finally noticed the test, he asked if that meant what he thought it did. Then we hugged, kissed, and cried the way I’d imagined we would. He later admitted that he was absolutely terrified when he saw the positive test, which is fine, because my first thought before falling in love with the baby was “oh, shit, what have we done?” It was what we both wanted more than anything, but even when you’re trying for months and hoping for that exact result, it’s still scary.
The next several months, fewer than five, were a mix of elation and fear, but that fear was nothing compared to the terror that would soon arrive. Despite being as sick as a dog for about seven or eight weeks, I loved every second of that pregnancy. There was nothing like feeling my sweet girl moving around inside me or watching my belly pulsate in the same spot every night as she had her regular hiccups. Even when I was traveling very frequently for work, I was never lonely because I had one of the loves of my life with me at all times. Even before she was born, I loved her more than I had ever known was possible. I still do, and I’m so thankful for the time that we had.