Positive

Last night, I drank about four cups of decaf and had to go to the bathroom every 20 minutes. On one of those occasions, I stared at the box of pregnancy tests in front of me. There were three in the pack, so I reasoned that using one wouldn't hurt anything. So, I did. As soon as I did, I cursed myself. Of course it wouldn't work because I was peeing nonstop. How could there be any hormone in my urine? Dang it.

Still, I wanted to look and just see what the test said. After all, the box claimed that 100% of pregnant women test positive four days before their missed period (I bought a new brand). I waited and waited and finally looked. Negative. I never thought I'd be so disappointed, but I just wanted to cry. How silly, I know, especially since I knew I'd retest in the morning.

I kept pathetically looking at my test to see if it would change when I decided I noticed a very faint, almost non-existent line. Seriously. If I held it at a normal angle, I couldn't see it at all. But, if I held it up to the light and turned it just so, I could see a faint line. It was so faint, I wasn't certain. I grabbed the box and looked at the illustration. Sure enough, the line in the illustration was exactly where I was seeing the kind-of line on my test. I ran to Andrew and asked him if he could see it. At first, he couldn't. Then, he took it to the kitchen where the light was bright and played with the angles. Finally, he agreed with me, "I do see it!"

Unlike the last test, the lines on this one were pink. The last test was blue, and the color of the faint line looked like a shadow. You can't mistake pink for a shadow! I was excited but also wondered if our eyes could be playing tricks on us. I mean, seriously, I'd look at it and not see the line at all, and then I'd turn it every which way and finally get a glimpse of a hint of a line. I knew we wouldn't be convinced until the morning.

So, this morning, after Oliver woke me up at 6am, we made our way downstairs. I took the test right away. The control line popped up, and I couldn't help but stare at the test to see if the "pregnant" line would pop. After about 30 seconds, Oliver got frustrated with me for not helping him make coffee, so I set the test down and got to work with Oliver. Two more minutes passed quickly, and I went back to the bathroom.

Positive.

No confusion, no shadow of a line, 100% positive. I felt surprise, delight, anxiety, overwhelmed, wonderful. I looked at Oliver who was shoving Froggy and his music toys into the washing machine and I said aloud, "Two. We're going to have two."

I gave Andrew another half hour to sleep, and then Oliver and I went upstairs. He wandered off to play with his gears (a toy he loves), and I crawled into bed with Andrew. I cuddled him and announced, "You're going to be a father of two."

He rolled over, snuggled me, and asked, "Was it clear this time?" I told him it was, and he fell back asleep. Later that morning, he insisted he knew he'd be successful after the first try. I said, "Now the only thing I want to know is if you gave me a little X or a little Y!"

Andrew had joked previously that he can only make boys. His parents had two children, both boys, and his father has only one sibling, a brother. His paternal grandfather was orphaned after his family died from disease, so Oliver's whole paternal lineage has had only male children.

Obviously, I know that it's nearly 50/50 to have a boy or girl (actually, I think the statistic is 53% chance to have a girl), but it seems like some people really do seem more likely to have one sex over another. I have a first cousin, Dina, who has eight children, and they are all boys. All of them. Isn't that wild?

I really am dying to know if we'll have a boy or a girl (16 more weeks until we find out!). For me, I'd like a girl. I have a good relationship with my mother, and she was always close to her mother, who was always close to her mother. I see these relationships, and I want it to continue. I want a daughter. On the other hand, having a daughter means we'd have to move eventually (we live in a two bedroom townhome). I don't want to move. I love our townhome, and I could picture Andrew and I staying here our whole lives. Seriously. Plus, if we have two boys, they have the potential to be best friends, whereas a boy and a girl will be in separate activities (all sports and activities seem to be divided into boys and girls) and have separate friends. A girl would also involve buying a whole new wardrobe.

I know my personality, and I know I'm going to be happy with whichever we have. I know if the doctor says, "It's a boy," I'm going to be instantly relieved and happy that we won't have to change our lives much, that we won't have to worry about moving. However, I know if the doctor says, "It's a girl," I'm going to be delighted to know that I'll have a daughter to raise and know. I won't say our boy's name now, but I will say our girl's name. If we have a girl, her name will be Joanna Elizabeth, named after my grandmother.