One year ago today, we found out we were expecting our precious Eleanora.
I had my suspicions that I was pregnant because I had been so overwhelmingly tired the last several days, but I assumed it was just the change in seasons. I so badly wanted to be pregnant that I had been testing for days and had yet to see a set of double pink lines. Over and over, just one single pink line.
That particular afternoon, I came home from work, put on my workout clothes, grabbed my tub of no-egg cookie dough and a spoon (perhaps that should’ve been a clue, but even that isn’t abnormal for me), and decided to test one more time. I could do it one more time before I would label myself a Crazy Person. I stood at the bathroom counter while the timer on my phone counted down. Three minutes, five if I wanted to be extra sure. Every other test I’d taken, I watched like a hawk as the timer counted down, just waiting for a second line to appear. It never did. So this time, I focused on the cookie dough. It was Toll House Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Monster—chocolate chips, M&Ms, peanut butter, and oats. Delightful.
When the timer got close to running out, I snuck a peek.
And there it was: the faintest, tiniest second pink line.
I remember almost choking on the cookie dough. I yelled for Daniel to come into the bathroom. He rushed in in a panic, thinking I’d hurt myself. I held up the test and said, “LOOK AT THIS! Do you see this? Two lines! I’m PREGNANT!”
He picked up the test and squinted at it. He looked at me. “Mmmm, I don’t know,” he said. “That line is pretty faint.”
My jaw hit the floor. I said, “Sir, it doesn’t matter how dark the color is. It just matters that there are TWO lines, and there are DEFINITELY two lines.”
He couldn’t be convinced. My husband is the thinker, the logical one. I lead with my heart. It’s one of the reasons why we make such a good team.
I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe it was a false positive. I got out another test and took it. We both ate cookie dough while we waited. He commented that the plain chocolate chip (without oats and M&Ms) is better. I squirmed, wanting him to just be quiet, because I was PREGNANT AND I KNEW IT.
Two more pink lines.
He still was not convinced.
By that point, I was absolutely determined to prove him wrong. I said, “Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to CVS, and we’ll get a couple of the expensive tests (the kind that very clearly say they words ‘Pregnant’ or ‘Not Pregnant’), and then we’ll know for sure.” He agreed.
The next morning, we went to CVS as planned, bought a couple boxes of the non-cheapos and brought them home. The plan was that I’d take one before going to work so that we would have our answer ASAP.
Let me tell you, I CHUGGED water that morning. Proving that I was pregnant had become a mission. I needed Daniel to join me in the euphoria that is HOLY MOLY WE ARE PREGNANT Land.
I drank glass after glass, and wouldn’t you know it? I could. not. go. No matter how hard I tried. I was Irritated with a capital I. Eventually, I had to leave for work. I packed my bags, cursed my body for acting like a camel, and went to work knowing that the INSTANT I got there, I’d have to pee.
That’s exactly what happened. Exasperated. Capital E.
I waited eight hours in pure agony to go home and take that test. I was in a daze all day knowing, just KNOWING, that I had a tiny, poppy-seed-sized child sitting there with me, just existing. Just already being my miniature best friend. Just waiting to grow. Waiting to form a heartbeat. Waiting to have a name and a nursery and a whole giant family to love them.
Eight. Hours. You can imagine what a Test to My Patience this was. I imagine that God was absolutely rolling over with laughter.
When I came home, I marched RIGHT to the bathroom, took that expensive test, and wouldn’t you know it?
“Pregnant.”
I held it up close to Daniel’s eyes, triumphant. I might have even smirked.
“I told you,” I said. “Please tell me that NOW you believe it?”
He paused a moment. Then, he wrapped his arms around me and picked me up and said, “YOU’RE PREGNANT!!!”
We cried together, we laughed together, and we took this picture together. Our very first picture as a family of three.
We spent the next nine months living and breathing that child, who would come to be named Eleanora James Main, and we will continue to do so until we find her again at the gates of Heaven, smiling and waving.
And maybe holding a tub of cookie dough for Mama, and a wink and a sign for Papa that says, “I told you so.”
