When I found out I was pregnant with LB, it was just me, home alone on Martin Luther King Day. I worked for the state, so I enjoyed nearly every holiday off. Cambre was at work so I had all day to let the news sink in and to prepare a surprise for him when he got home. I made a cute little note and hid it in the cabinet so he would be surprised when he opened it. I made brownies and had ice cream to celebrate our good news. We talked and shared our excitement together, dreaming of how life would change with a baby.
Fast forward almost two years.
I run into town for a few errands, grab a test while I’m out, come home, try to keep LB occupied for a few minutes, and go see what the verdict is. It wasn’t long before two pink lines showed up and I sat in the bathroom floor in complete shock. “No way!” I couldn’t help but say out loud. Apparently that triggered my boy to come see where I had disappeared to, so he comes toddling back to the bathroom to join in on the fun. In a complete state of shock I sent the picture to Cambre and said “does this say what I think it says?!”
Two very different scenarios.