I know it…
* * *
I knew I was pregnant before it was possible. Before it was reasonable. For me, it was just a matter of waiting until there was enough of the hCG hormone in my system to prove it.
We had just been through the expecting parents’ nightmare: miscarriage. If you’d like to read about that, you will be able to find more [as soon as I get around to writing that story]. We had been devastated. Doctors, the internet, everyone said to wait three months before trying again. Yet, here I was in the following month, impatiently waiting for the days to pass so that I could find out if my ‘knowing’ was true.
Three days before my period, I couldn’t stand it any longer. My impatience was rewarded by a faint, barely-there, positive. Beside myself, I contacted my sister before even exiting the bathroom. I didn’t want to tell Mike until I was sure.
Not wanting to get too worked up over a false positive, I vowed to wait until I was ‘late’ before testing again (so as not to torture myself) I, of course, didn’t and tested twice the following day. All were Big Fat Positives. It was true.
We were happy. It was a different sort of happiness from the wonderstruck, giddy innocence of the first pregnancy. More of a cautious joy. Particularly for Mike who, I think, didn’t want to see me suffer again the way I just had.
But we were officially on the road to becoming parents.