It’s the day after Christmas. We’ve gone to sleep with snow falling, and there’s the hope of waking up to a still, white wonderland.
I get up, realize its the first night in a week that I haven’t gotten up in the middle to pee, and decide that this would be a good time to waste $8 and take another pregnancy test. It’s been 55 days, long even for me and my crazy long cycles.
So I take it, completely sure I’ll see that one line, just like always. I’m just taking this so I can stop worrying about forgetting to take one of my just-in- case prenatal vitamins, blah, blah, blah…
The one line shows up, right on cue. And then… another one. I am shaking.
I put on my robe and go downstairs. David is already up, a bowl of cereal in his hand, mouth full of corn flakes. Yes, we are surrounded by blinding white snow from every window, but I’m not paying attention to that right now.
I hand him the test. He joins me in being stunned.
I don’t “get pregnant”. I have fertility drug bills and records on file with two different clinics to prove it. We have always joked that it takes 3 people for us to have a baby: me, him, and a fertility doctor. I have super long cycles- 40 + days. I have no indications of ovulation.
Years of infertility, years of feeling broken, years of unanswered prayers for healing…. up in a blaze of winter white glory.
And Him whispering to my heart through my tears…. “I have always given the best Christmas gifts.”