I expected to scream, or cry, or at the very least have a mini dance party.
But instead, I was in shock. After 11 months of trying and praying, 11 months of crazy periods and 2 month long cycles, 11 months of worsening anxiety and wondering where this story would take us, 11 months of negative tests... There it was. A positive. I had wondered for two days, and then, just minutes before, my daily temperature had dropped and I mentally attributed the two day late period to my anxiety and some sickness.
Cori had just come and stood next to me, chatting with me for a moment while I busied myself in the bathroom, doing anything but look at the test as the timer counted down.
And then the timer went off and I looked at the test... And it was positive. I told Cori in disbelief, confusion. Neither of us could believe it was true. Cori, true to form, took the practical route, and I left for work, armed with the game plan that I'd take another test that evening and the next morning. Maybe then we'd believe it was true.
And we are. Slowly. There are three positive tests sitting next to my bathroom sink right now, because what do you do with a peed on stick that tells you that what you've been longing for over a year is coming true?