Thirteen doesn't sound like very much when compared to forty. However, in retrospect, at seven I never thought I'd get here.
*Disclaimer: I'm not going to paint a pretty pregnancy picture here. Please discontinue reading if you don't want to read about it.
The day we found out I was pregnant was pretty surreal. I was about four days "late" and decided that it was time for a HPT. For those who have been TTC, the HPT can be your best friend or your worst enemy. I think it was good for me that the Captain's theory is that I am my own HPT and if I just wait long enough, I'll know soon enough if it's going to be negative, so this was only the second stick I have ever stuck under the stream, if you know what I mean. He wouldn't let me get obsessive about those darn tests. I'm sure you can imagine the scene in our apartment that morning.
This is me staring at that stick on my bathroom counter waiting for the minutes to tick by.
Not a very attractive shot, but there you have it.
Once it had cured and I saw that blue plus sign, with one line significantly lighter than the other, but there none-the-less, I tip toed to the bedroom where my sleeping hubs lay in the dark. He heard me coming, propped himself up and turned on his lamp with squinty eyes. He looked at it, "what's it supposed to say?" I grabbed the instructions and came back to show him. "Well, there's definitely two lines...but one's so faint. Are you sure that's okay?" We decided since the darker line was the indicator line, it must be positive. We just kind of smiled and then I went back to getting ready while he studied the instructions. I'll be honest, it still didn't seem real. We tried to not get too excited. I mean, the chance of miscarriage of a first pregnancy is high, right? At least, that's what I've heard. Isn't that why we don't tell anyone the good news until we're "out of the woods" and well into the second trimester?
Those first few days were like a dream!