And I’ll tell him, “Because I, Victoria Anne Martin, have a bun in my oven!”
We’ll laugh and we’ll cry and we’ll hug and everything will be perfect and wonderful.
He’ll be so happy, and he’ll stop being so ornery and negative about everything. He’ll see me and finally be excited about me again and we’ll be areal family, not just a couple.
This. Is. Going. To. Be. The. Best. Morning. Ever!
I’m running in place, trying and failing to suppress my squeal of excitement.
Wait. Gotta pee on the stick first, dummy.
I grab a water cup off the bathroom counter, shimmy my way to the toilet room, pop a squat, and empty my hCG-loaded bladder into it.
Whaddaya know? I didn’t even pee on my hand this time! Another good sign.
Walking back to the bathroom sink, I set the cup on the side and wash my hands before opening the test and placing it tab-side down in the liquid.
My hands tremble as I set it in place, like the weight of this moment is pressing down on me.
Three minutes. Shoot, I left my phone on the nightstand.
I sneak back into our bedroom, retrieve my phone from myside of the bed, set the timer for three minutes, and sprint to the bathroom once more.
Chase is still sound asleep and snoring, so I’m no longer worried about waking him with any noises I make. If that man doesn’t wake himself up with that freight train of a nose, there’s no way he’ll be disturbed by any sudden happy dances coming from the bathroom.
I’m pacing, biting my nails while I wait for three minutes.
Come on, come on.
I swear minutes are like hours. The timer ticks away, but every second feels like its own eternity.
As I pace, my mind wanders to various random places.
Why do people say things like, “We stared into each other’s eyes for minutes before finally succumbing to our passion”?
I can’t stare at anyone for more than five seconds before it gets weird. Do authors have no concept of time?
I wonder how many things I can think about in three minutes. Well, maybe two minutes and thirty seconds now.
What if the test is negative?
Nope. No, no, no not going there.
Positive thoughts. Only positive thoughts.
Positive. Positive. Math. Accounting.
I love accounting.
I’ll also love being a mother.
Why do accountants always feel positive?
Because they know how to add up the good things in life!Ba-dum-tss.
Nailed it.
My kid is going to be so friggin’ hilarious. With a mom like me they’re bound to be.
