This seems like such a cliché post, but, you know, I have to write it. I just have to.
One year ago today, on a chilly Sunday morning, I woke up
bright dark and early with my heart a-fluttering and the most intense butterflies I had ever felt in my life swimming around inside my tummy.
I had done what I was about to do a few times before in my life, but it was never like this. This was the first time that I actually *honestly* suspected something might come of what I was about to do.
I crept to the washroom, careful not to wake the Dude (although, um, hello … a freight train can’t wake that guy), and did the deed.
I peed on the stick.
I knew from experience that I would drive myself bonkers if I stood there at the counter, counting the milliseconds, and watching.
So, I jumped in the shower and tried to stay calm.
It was going to be negative anyway.
Obviously it was going to be negative. I was crazy to think it might be positive.
A few minutes later, I got out of the shower, forced myself to dry off, comb my hair and put lotion on before I even dared take a sideways glance at the little white stick sitting beside me.
And then it was time.
I peered down.
And I saw it.
I rubbed my eyes.
Surely my vision was just blurred because it was not even 6 am and I should still be sleeping.
But it was still there.
A plus sign.
My plans for an elaborately planned out drama production to tell the Dude he was going to be a father were gone as I ran back to our bedroom, flipped on the light, jumped on his head, and yelled, “We’re pregnant!”
And in that moment, everything changed.
Our lives changed.
In that moment, we became Mommy and Daddy and we have never been the same.