In honor of Bean's approaching due date, and because I wasn't blogging when we got pregnant, I wanted to document the day I got my first BFP (big fat positive) on a pregnancy test. As DH will readily attest, I have a horrible memory, so this is more for my own reference than because I believe it'll be interesting to anyone else. Sorry, but it's my blog, and them's the breaks.
First, a tiny bit of background. Specifically, DH's marriage proposal. Back in June 2001, the two of us were in Cincinnati on internships. I won't get into the details of the romantic evening he planned, but the critical piece of info is that he had wrapped a bridal magazine, and as I unwrapped it and stuttered "wha...?", he got down on one knee with the ring. After some hyperventilation on my part and a year of planning, we were married.
Fast forward to June 2007. It was our last month of injections and IUI before we faced a difficult choice: IVF, adoption, or back to the breeder for more dogs. Wouldn't you know that DH, Evey, and I each had different ideas of where to go next. For that final try, were repeating a treatment protocol that had failed in the past, even with 3 fabulous eggs (triplets, anyone?), a lining to die for, and an "Olympic gold quality" contribution from DH, so I was entirely convinced that this final cycle would be a bust. My attitude was negative, I took my shots whenever it was convenient instead of rearranging my life for the sake of timing, and I was extremely stressed at work. So much for "The Secret" and all that TTC nonsense about relaxing, I was going through the motions because the doc felt the treatment could work. But I was just counting down until I could start getting coffee at QuikTrip every morning again. (Damn, I still miss that stuff.)
After 21 previous months of hopes dashed, I was pretty in tune to the symptoms indicating that AF was on her way. This month, however, my radar was thrown off by a mild case of OHSS. I was convinced that it developed because my doc had given me a higher dose of hCG to release the eggs -- but it can also happen when fertilization further boosts hormone levels. When my normal pre-AF cramps began a few days later, I cried over the failed cycle (okay, so obviously there was some hope in there I hadn't been able to squash) and geared up to have a giant margarita. Or several.
But before I could drown my sorrows , one of my online TTC buddies wanted me to take a home pregnancy test anyway. On Monday morning, June 25, I broke down and did it. I had one lone test in the cupboard from the dollar store, and I decided that the "I told you so" was worth a buck. When DH was downstairs eating breakfast, I put that final stick to use and laid it on the bathroom counter.
After the control line lit up, a second pink line appeared next to it.
I stared at it.
And stared at it.
And looked away.
And then stared at it again.
I heard DH coming up the stairs, so I quickly hid the test behind a picture frame in our bedroom. Normally, I am the worst at keeping secrets. I don't think I've ever made it to DH's birthday or Christmas without giving him his gift several days in advance. (Yeah, seriously.) I'm also a horrible liar. But I wanted to be absolutely sure I was pregnant before I told DH, as false positives are quite common, and it was a cheapie test at that. So as not to get his hopes up before I was sure, I managed to kiss him goodbye and wish him a good day without raising an ounce of his suspicion.
As soon as he left, I ran back to the test and looked at it again. I could hardly believe my eyes, it still had two lines.
My work schedule at that time was very erratic because of the private practice, and fortunately, that happened to be one of my short days. Only 5 hours at the office (not the most productive 5 hours of my career) before I could bust out to Walgreens to get more tests. I was in a state of utter confusion as I left work and ended up spending $65 on HPTs and a parenting magazine before I finally made it home. I was certain the tests would be negative, but from the cheapies to the digital tests, it was unanimous: I was pregnant.
I somehow managed to keep from bothering DH at work and telling him to come home early. He finally called me on his way home, and after a brief greeting, he asked what my temperature had been that morning. (For those of you lucky enough not to be familiar with this, a woman's body temp increases after ovulation and then dips right back down a day or two before AF arrives. So a consistently high temp indicates that AF is nowhere in sight and a BFP could be in the near future.) I was able to respond that my temp was lower than the day before. Which was the truth, although I sneakily noted to myself that he didn't need to know it wasn't a significant dip, he he he. I thought I had successfully dodged that topic until he asked specifically how much lower was the temp than yesterday. That's an engineer for you! I was annoyed that he was inadvertently testing my flimsy resolve, so I didn't have much trouble snapping back that I couldn't remember exactly and it was low enough and the cycle was over and just come home.
He still pulled into the driveway despite my faux moodiness, gotta love him. I told him I had a present to give him before we made dinner. I sat him on the couch and handed him the wrapped parenting magazine, with two positive HPTs hidden in my back pocket. He unwrapped the magazine, froze, and responded in flat disbelief: "No ****ing way." I broke into a huge smile at his uncharacteristic reply and handed him the pee sticks. He stared at them in dumbfounded silence for a full minute before blurting out, "I don't know how to read these." The plus means positive, sweetie. A baby.
We eventually collected ourselves and decided neither of us had the capacity to cook at the moment (no comments, please) so we went out to eat. We spent the whole time smiling and giggling across the table. I couldn't have asked for a more magical day, I still can feel the tingling throughout my body as I anticipated sharing the news with DH. My heart felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from it, like it could rise from my chest at any moment. The next day, I was firmly planted behind an armor of self-protection in denial, thanks to a combo of normal preggo fears and IF scars. But the day of the BFP was filled with unbridled excitement and emotional celebration, and I count it among the most special of my life. Now it's just about time for another special day -- meeting the beautiful creation that was once a microscopic speck of a bean, turning that line pink and changing my life forever.