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“You don’t feel warm. And you look better now. Maybe it’ll be a quick twelve-hour thing.” Earlier she looked pale, but her cheeks are rosier again now and her eyes are clearer.
“Yeah. I am feeling a bit better. I’m actually hungry. Oh, I could go for some tacos right now.”
Those words stop me in my tracks. I’ve known my wife for almost twenty years, and she has never liked to eat after throwing up. If she even thinks she might throw up, she’ll avoid eating or or only eat bland food. On the rare occasion I can get her to eat after throwing up, crackers or mashed potatoes are the name of the game.
I turn and look across the room at the calendar on the wall. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but…
“When was your last period?”
Her brow furrows as I look back at her, then her eyes widen. “Why? Do you think…”
“When was the last time you wanted tacos after throwing up?”
Her eyes light up. “Never.” She pushes herself upright and launches off the bed, hurrying over to the calendar. She flips it back to November. Though she used to keep very careful track of her period, over the last year or so, she’s been less concerned about it, and especially since we started trying, she hasn’t wanted to hyperfocus on it.
“Just before Thanksgiving. Because I was excited it ended the day before we were going up north. Oh my god…”
“You really think—”
“Only one way to find out.” She dashes into the bathroom and pulls out a box of pregnancy tests. She rips it open, tossing the packaging aside, then opens one of the tests and sits down on the toilet.
This is really happening. She might be pregnant.
I lean against the counter as she pees on the stick, still trying not to get my hopes up too high, but something about this makes it impossible. There’s a feeling I can’t shake. This is it. I’m going to have a baby with the girl I’ve loved my entire life.
“Okay,” she says, standing up and putting the test on the counter face down. “Three minutes.”
“Can’t you technically look before that?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to. I want the clear-cut answer.”
“Okay.”
“Oh my god,” she whispers, tears creeping into her eyes.
I pull her into my arms and hold her tightly.
“No matter what that test says, it’s going to be okay.”
“I know, but I’m scared. What if I have another miscarriage? Or we can’t get pregnant? What if we keep trying and it tears us apart?”
“Stop,” I say, pushing her out of my arms so I can look into her eyes. “No matter what the outcome of that test, it’s the start of our journey to having children together. I don’t care how that happens. Naturally, IVF, adoption—whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that I get to raise a family with you. That could never tear us apart. This is the beginning of something joyful one way or another.”
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too, Beautiful.”
She breathes out a shaky breath, then turns off the timer and grabs the pregnancy test. “Screw waiting.”
She flips it over, and there they are. Two dark pink lines.
I sweep her into my arms and kiss her with everything inside me. She’s pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. I’m so excited I can barely breathe.
She loops her arms around my neck and leans into me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I carry her back into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed before climbing on next to her.
“I love you so fucking much,” I whisper, resting my hand on her stomach.
“We’re going to have a baby,” she says, looking back at the pregnancy test that’s still in her hand. “Assuming it lasts.”
