We decided it was time to start our family quite abruptly. We had been happily enjoying the freedom of being DINKs (Double Income No Kids) for four years, until I suddenly caught The Bug in January of 1999.
The baby bug, that is.
Every month for five months, I waited anxiously to find out if I was pregnant. Every month I imagined symptoms of pregnancy and took a pregnancy test or three. Every month for five months, I was disappointed with one lone blue line. Husband threatened to take out a second mortgage to pay for all my wasted pregnancy tests.
The month of May rolled around. I was having typical PMS symptoms, so I resigned myself to another negative pregnancy test. In fact, I didn’t even bother taking one. I decided to take a break.
I was a schoolteacher, and I signed my contract for another year of teaching. I loved my job and was glad to put all my focus and energy on the next precious batch of third graders assigned to my classroom.
Two days after signing my contract, I woke on a Sunday morning with a sudden realization. I was on Day 30 of my cycle. I run 26 day cycles, or so I discovered during the five months trying to conceive.
Could it be?
I didn’t have a pregnancy test sitting around. Pregnancy tests are like oreos in my house; the temptation is too great to leave them alone for long.
My husband was still asleep. I knew he’d be annoyed at me for spending money on another stupid pregnancy test, so I snuck out of bed and drove to the nearby pharmacy and smuggled an EPT into the house while he was still snoring.
I went into the bathroom and followed the directions on the package for the umpteenth time that year. There was no need to read them; I was quite familiar with the procedure. I waited the three minutes and fully expected to see one lone blue line, as I had so many times before.
But there were TWO.
I couldn’t believe it. Two dark blue lines, there was no mistaking them.
I ran into the bedroom, waving the stick around like a maniac, and jumped on my poor unsuspecting husband who was just waking up. He was beside himself, as was I.
Exactly 36 weeks later, on a Sunday morning in November, I woke up and felt my first contraction. Five hours after that, our son entered the world and filled our home and hearts with a love unlike any we’d ever known.