I was going to wait to test. A few more days at least.
"Should I take a test?"
"You should wait until tomorrow," the Husband said.
"I keep asking myself whether I want to live in false hope for a few more days or know for sure now."
"I think you want to know."
"I'm taking one."
I snatched it up off the bed and went into the bathroom, only to emerge seconds later looking for the instruction sheet.
"I want to make sure I do it right," I told the Husband.
Hold stick downward...5 seconds...replace cap...wait three minutes.
A pink link crept across the screen. One lonely pink line. I sighed. It was what I expected. What I should have expected. What I'd come to expect. I began my mental pulling-myself-together routine.
Then I took another look.
Was that? Could it be a bit of pink emerging alongside that bright lonely line? I stared at it and - I couldn't help myself - a grin spread across my face. Shoving the door open, I expected to see the Husband sitting on the bed, but he was gone. Padding down the hall, I could hear the water running at the kitchen sink. I ran down the stairs.
"I think it's positive," I said with a mix of wonder and bewilderment.
He turned around.
"I think it's positive," I said again, with a laugh of shock, and turned to go back up the stairs.
We both bent over the plastic stick, me pointing at the ever-more-clear pink line that had materialized in the minute that had passed.
He turned to me and grabbed me and kissed me fiercely. And my tears came. Ugly sobbing tears of gratitude and joy and disbelief.
"I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" I said it again and again.
"I can't believe it!" I sobbed and stared adoringly at the test as though the baby itself was growing inside those little pink lines. Two little lines that I thought I'd never see again. Two little lines I had all but laid upon the alter. Two little lines I had truly drawn on my last bit of faith to hope for.
How many times had I stared at a solitary line, willing another one to show up? How many times had I wrapped up the disappointing results, washed my face free of tears and steeled myself to face the world? How many times had I been sure that my symptoms were pregnancy only to have them dissipate in the following days?
I had given up hope.
Or at least I thought I had. I must have had a smidgeon of hope at the bottom of the barrel. A stubborn remnant that refused to abandon the dream that my body could grow another baby.
I must have, because only Hope buys four pregnancy tests at 10:30 at night and takes one in the face of disappointment. Only Hope looks back - double checks - to be sure it's wrong.
Only Hope would believe that we would be pregnant with our third child.
That wily stinker, Hope.
Hope was right. The dream is waking.
We are having a baby.