A week ago this morning, Diana woke me up at 6 a.m. to tell me that the pregnancy test she took was slightly positive. I say slightly because it was just a faint line on the pee stick. She took the test because she was a few days late already.
We weren't expecting it at that point. My most important reason for going to spend a few days with Diana in Buffalo two weeks before wasn't for tourism, it was for ovulation. The door was open, and at this point in our lives, and with uncertain reproductive health for both of us, we had to get busy as much as possible. The ovulation test said it was time. There's a lot of pressure for that kind.
In any case, a week after ovulation day, they say it's possible to get a positive pregnancy test. So she took one, and it was negative. A day or two later, she also had some minor spotting, so we figured that Project Make-a-Puzzoni did not succeed this month. A part of me was not willing to accept that sticks you pee on could out-smart nature, so in the back of my mind I wasn't willing to let go just yet.
My birthday came, and she should have started her period. A few days later, she took the slightly positive test, and it seemed awfully likely that she was in fact pregnant. Over the course of the last week, she's bee reading many books about nutrition and what not. It hasn't become entirely real for me, because I don't have all of the physical weirdness that she's already enduring, however subtle it might be. That I will likely be a dad by the end of March seems too impossible.
Of course there's the expectation right now that it's very, very early, and things can still go wrong. I guess some part of me is still in the hope for the best, expect the worst mode, as a way of protecting myself. It's not something I even want to think about. If we get to the end of September and all is well, then I'll feel confident.
And then we can actually tell people too!
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