I was a week late. For any normal woman, that would be a sign. But for me, it was just a repeat of the last month.
In February, after being a day late, I took a test. Negative. I waited a few days, tried to relax. Nothing. So I took another test. Negative. One week after the initial “due date” of my lady time, it came. And at this point, I was more relieved than sad — just glad that everything was functioning normally.
But in March, I was a day late again. And then another day and another and another. This time, I didn’t take any pregnancy tests, and I didn’t worry about there being something else wrong with me. I was just mad.
We let a week pass, and on our way home from Bible study on Monday night, we spontaneously decided to stop by the grocery store and grab a pack of pregnancy tests. I was adamant that we not pick the same kind we did last time, the brand that read either “Yes” or “No.” That “No” was just too mean to face a second time around. So we got a nice plus, minus test.
That night, I had THREE different dreams where I took a pregnancy test, and it was negative. I also had a dream that one of my molars fell out, but I think that means something else entirely. Between 6 and 7 a.m., I tossed and turned, in and out of sleep, but at 7:03, I got out of bed and snuck into the bathroom.
After completing the test, the results were instantaneous. I stared in utter disbelief and then quickly snatched the instructions from the bathroom countertop and read them over and over again, tripped up by terms like “Control Window.” After what I think were a few minutes but probably more like 30 seconds, I opened the door and walked into the bedroom. Ryan, sleepily, looked up at me as I hovered over him, still under the covers.
“It says positive,” I whispered. Like a cartoon character, Ryan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he literally jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom; I followed closely behind. “That’s positive, right?” I asked. He was a little more believing than me and just turned around to hug me. We giddily went back into the bedroom, and Ryan prayed over our new life blessing, stammering over the word, “child.”
I want to remember these moments forever. I want to always be able to picture Ryan’s face when he saw that pregnancy test because I’ve never seen him look that way before — just every expression on his face, big. I want to remember that Ryan’s first instinct was to pray a beautiful prayer for our ch-ch-child. I want to remember thinking that during that prayer, I knew I had married such an amazing, perfect person for me, someone that would think to pray instead of just saying, “Wow, I can’t believe this!”
Thank you, God, for answering our fervent prayers for the past few months. We give this baby back to You, for Your purpose, for Your glory. Amen.