Positive

I knew I was pregnant while I was on vacation in Hawaii with my mom and sisters. Sitting in the sand and listening to the waves was actually a pretty great distraction from the reality of what a pregnancy meant, and besides, I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test yet (nor was I going to, with my mom and sisters sharing a bathroom). I told my sister that I had drank too much over the holidays, and was taking a break from alcohol when she wanted to share a cocktail that came in a pineapple. I know, I’m a liar, it’s fine.

We pulled the goalie - so to speak - in April of 2017, and weren’t exactly trying to get pregnant, we just weren’t trying not to anymore. A decision made after months and months of back and forth with my husband over timing and a lot of sleepless nights admitting to myself that the distant future of having kids, wasn’t distant anymore. The Viking always wanted kids, and had been ready for them for about 5 years and had been so patient with me.

It took us nine months of “not trying not to” before I got pregnant. Nine months that I thank sweet baby Jesus for, because any sooner and it would have been more difficult for me, and any later, my husband would have been really impatient. God’s timing or whatever *grumbles.*

When I got home from my week long Hawaiian distraction, I took the test. I left it on the bathroom counter and buried my head in a pillow and made my husband go look at the results. He came back in the room with a poorly disguised goofy grin on his face, and said it was positive. I cried, and he held me, but I’m pretty sure that goofy grin stayed on his face the whole time. He was so excited.