It was my second test; the first had been negative. Why I even tested a second time (a week later) was sort of random. I fully expected a second negative, and was more than a little surprised to read the word "Pregnant" on my little stick. (Quick word to the wise: ALWAYS spring for the tests that spell out "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant;" it is well worth the extra few bucks to have the stick read itself.) I ran into the bedroom and showed it to Josh, offering him his glasses. He declined, saying he could read it juuuuuust fine.
And then, a pause.
What now? We wanted it, we tried for it, it's here.... what now? I called the midwife's office and chatted with a far less than helpful receptionist who did little more than burst my bubble and tell me I had to wait a few more weeks to confirm my test. And then I was off to Maine to be in a friend's wedding, a silent weekend full of a delicious secret.
As Ben bounces next to me practicing his new skill (squealing/whining/screaming), I am moved to tears to think that this journey, begun so long ago, has arrived at its destination with a most precious delivery.
I love my little boy.
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