Positive

It is very early on the morning of Saturday, November 7th, 2009. I awake in my warm bed with a sense of urgency - I have to pee. My husband is beside me on his back with his arms over his head, elbows bent, mouth wide open, dead to the world. On any other Saturday, I would've made my way to the bathroom, taken care of business and returned to my warm bed to rejoin my husband in nappy land and snag a couple more hours of lazy Saturday slumber. But this is not any other Saturday because I am late. Six days late.

"Honey, you're totally pregnant." My drunk husband said this to me as he collapsed into bed only four hours earlier. (I will later learn that alcohol induces moments of psychic clarity). He had been out with friends and stayed uncharacteristically late for any sensible married man and I awoke at 2:30am to find him singing Johnny Cash in the middle of the kitchen, wielding a burrito.

I, on the other hand, enjoyed a much tamer evening, meeting my marathon running buddy for dinner and splitting a bottle of red before returning home by 9pm. It was a pleasant dinner and we enjoyed re-hashing every glorious and painful moment of our 5 months of training and eventual completion of the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. Neither one of us had ever completed a marathon and we did it for different reasons: she wanted to prove that she could do it, and I wanted to do something for my cousin Diana who had been diagnosed in March with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It was, to date, the hardest and most exhilarating thing I have ever done.

Back in bed, I lie there and wonder if I should take the test. More than a week earlier, I had purchased a home pregnancy test and peed on one of the sticks prior to popping an Imitrex to thwart off an impending migraine. I did not want to take an Imitrex if I was pregnant. The test was negative. I think of our fridge that holds a bottle of Moet Chandon Champagne, an anniversary gift from one of Dave's clients. We were planning to pop it open that night over appetizers, before moving on to one of the bottles of Cakebread that we purchased in Napa, pairing it with a home cooked steak dinner. I think about all of this and then I wonder...well, what if I am pregnant? I will feel terrible in retrospect after all that imbibing.

Screw it. I'm taking the test.

I rip open the remaining EPT home pregnancy stick, pee and wait. As I sit there, I say a prayer. I ask God to help me to be ok with whatever outcome. I ask that I not be disappointed if it's negative and I ask that I be granted confidence and strength if it's positive. I think of my parents who have watched all of their friends welcome grandchildren and who have waited so patiently for their 30 plus year old daughter to find herself, find a husband, find a home. I think how happy this will make them. And lastly - but not least - I think of my husband. The man has been wanting babies since before we said our "I do's", more than a year ago. And in the four and a half years that I have known him, I have spent enough time watching him interact with nieces and nephews, friends' children and even our dog to know that he will be a remarkable father.

I reach down to pick the stick up off the bathroom floor and take a look. It is the sort of test that gives you a "-" sign or a "+" sign. I can feel my heart rate accelerate immediately and my hand starts to shake. There, in the window, is an unmistakable "+" sign. No dangling chads here. This result means I am positively pregnant. I jump up off the toilet seat before realizing my underwear is still around my ankles and I need to wash my hands - both tasks seeming alternately impossible and never ending. Finally, I am sprinting back to the bedroom, life-changing instrument in hand. I look at my sleeping husband and pause in this moment, knowing that when I wake him up, his life will never be the same. I crawl across the bed and my movement causes him to stir.

"Davey?" I call to him, and I am already crying.

He opens his eyes and lifts up his head. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are embedded with the seams from his pillowcase. He squints at me, then his eyes open wide.

"What's wrong baby? What is it?"

I begin babbling and saying something like, "I know we wanted to wait to enjoy our Cakebread but I really had to pee and I didn't want to wait so I took the test and.... we're pregnant!"

I thrust the stick into his face and begin bawling unabashedly. He takes me in his arms and we lie there for a bit, both of us crying and happy and in shock. After awhile he falls back asleep (after all, he has had only 3 hours of post-guys-night-out slumber) whilst I couldn't go back to sleep if I tried.

Later that day, I drive to CVS Pharmacy to pick up two more pregnancy tests - the more accurate 'digital' variety. One says Pregnant / Not pregnant and the other simply: Yes /No. After both of these tests come back "Pregnant" and "Yes" respectively, and we are 'three for three', my husband remarks, "If you take another test the stick is likely to get annoyed and say 'Stop asking me!! You're pregnant, alright? What do you want from me?'" Too true.

And even though this scene has played out millions of times with countless couples over thousands of years, it is so exquisitely new and miraculous for 'this' couple, that we can't help but feel very blessed and special and humbled and grateful.

Oh, and terrified.