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And I think that’s what made the tears sting a little bit more, as they rolled down my cheek and onto the floor. The same floor that I’d shimmied around naked with my husband after we’d... well, you know. The same floor that I’d stood on talking into the mirror, practicing my “we’ve got news” face. The same floor on which the pregnancy test wrapper still lay, taunting me.
It was our first month of ‘trying’. And even though my realistic head was telling me this could take a year – if we’re lucky at all – once we agreed we’d start to try, it’s all I thought about.
Deep down I knew that I wasn’t pregnant, but a teeny tiny little flicker of hope inside of me, still believed it could be possible. The test I took four days before my period was due because I ‘couldn’t wait any longer’ said negative. The test I took the day my period was due said negative. The test the doctor took three days after my period was late said negative. The blood text I insisted on getting “just in case they were wrong” wasn’t negative, but wasn’t positive either... Along with a now four-day-late period, frequent peeing, a runny nose, and more positive vibes than a hippy community, it gave me hope.
At the end of day four I felt the familiar cramps in my tummy and I knew it was coming. I crossed my legs and elevated my hips to try and make it go away. I know it sounds so silly – ridiculous in fact – but I so desperately didn’t want my period.
I wanted a baby instead.
Even when there was blood I frantically Googled if it was possible…
But I knew.
When I told my husband about my sadness, his response filled my heart with joy, and equally made the lump in my throat grow that little bit more; he would be such an amazing Daddy. He told me: “You are beautiful. Be kind to yourself and enjoy today for what it is...”
And that’s how I got my hope back. He’s in this with me, and we’ll carry on being kind to ourselves and to each other… and enjoy each and every day bonking away and enjoying the lie-ins… until it’s our turn.