March 18, 2012. A Sunday. I got up and went to my CPR renewal course that I have to do every 2 years for work--mine expired in April so I was just getting in under the wire (as usual!). I sat through the class with a silly secret-smile grin. I had a plan. I dutifully learned the new regulations, passed the skills test, passed the written test, hurried home. Steve and Wugs were already napping and instead of joining them in our big bed I excitedly made a beeline for the bathroom cabinet under the sink, where one last pregnancy test sat, waaaay at the back. Waiting. Waiting for me.
I could hardly wait to pee on that thing. I didn't allow myself look at the test windows but left the bathroom with every bit of willpower I could muster. Five agonizing minutes went by, and then heart racing, I crept back. Took a deep breath, and looked.
Double lines.
Double lines means positive.
I was pregnant. The soul of our second child had finally come to us. Shortly after my little family woke up from their nap, I slyly snuck Mila the (capped) stick and had her bring it to Steve, and he examined it casually at first, then equal parts excited and shocked as understanding set in. And then we took on the Golden Gate Bridge.
In my world, besides the one that Mila came into this world on, there has never been a more perfect Sunday. One year ago. Just look at that perfect soul now.
I could hardly wait to pee on that thing. I didn't allow myself look at the test windows but left the bathroom with every bit of willpower I could muster. Five agonizing minutes went by, and then heart racing, I crept back. Took a deep breath, and looked.
Double lines.
Double lines means positive.
I was pregnant. The soul of our second child had finally come to us. Shortly after my little family woke up from their nap, I slyly snuck Mila the (capped) stick and had her bring it to Steve, and he examined it casually at first, then equal parts excited and shocked as understanding set in. And then we took on the Golden Gate Bridge.
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