Birth Story Part 1…or, You’re Not Crazy

Wednesday, March 4th, 2015 (35 Weeks and 3 Days)

I woke up that morning feeling crampy and stiff.  I didn’t think too much of it, because honestly, sleep had been difficult for weeks.  Usually, after getting up and moving around, the crampiness would go away.  I got up, poured a bowl of Pops, and settled down to read my Bible and journal.

The crampiness was not going away, though, and I was trying to pay attention to see if there was any kind of pattern or rise and fall to the discomfort.  There didn’t seem to be, so I decided to keep an eye on it throughout the day.

Later that morning, I texted my sister to let her know how I was feeling.  We planned on her being there during delivery, so I wanted to let her know just in case.  I just wasn’t sure what to make of the discomfort.  Do I chalk it up to the last few weeks of pregnancy?  Do I go in to get checked?  She suggested that I go in to get checked-better safe than sorry.

Josh was getting ready to take the car to go to work, so she offered to take me to the hospital.  My brother in law was working from home that day, so it would be possible for her to leave her two boys with him and go with me.

As we circled the parking lot trying to find a spot, I kept thinking, it’s probably nothing, and I’ll feel dumb if it is.  But we’re already here, so there’s kind of no going back.

We walked into the Emergency Room, and I told the receptionist, “I’m 35 weeks pregnant, and I might be having contractions, but I’m not sure.”

“Ok, follow me.”

They led me back through the ER doors, and my sister had to go around through the main entrance.  We wove through several hallways,  “Have you ruptured?”  She asked me.


I was taken to the labor and delivery floor, and the receptionist had me sign in.  They took me to a triage room, and when I saw the hospital gown on the bed, things got real.  I mean, I just wanted to know if I was having contractions, not actually be admitted.  Memories from my ER experience during my miscarriage came flashing back.

When the nurses came in, they asked me what was going on.

“Ok, I just want to clarify,” I told them, “that I don’t think I’m actually in labor.  I think I’m having contractions, but I’m not sure, so I just wanted to get checked.”
They took my vitals, including my blood pressure.  It was elevated as it had been for the last few weeks.  I normally run in the 110s over 70s, but my blood pressure had lately been something like 135/90.  So not an astronomical number, but high for me.

They strapped the fetal monitors around my belly, and I watched the screen as they asked me questions about medical history.  I could see (with some relief) that I was having contractions, but they were not strong enough to be able to feel clear divisions between them.  It was justifying to see it on the screen, though, and to know that I wasn’t crazy.

The doctor then came in to check cervical dilation and take some swabs.  She said I was dilated 2 centimeters and 50 percent effaced, but that did not necessarily mean that I was in labor.  Many women can walk around at that stage for weeks before delivery.  They decided to monitor me for a few hours to see if I would progress at all.  I was given a big jug of water to drink, and at first I just thought it was a courtesy.  How thoughtful of them.  Come to find out, they wanted me to drink it like crazy to see if that would stop the contractions.

My sister and I got to know that triage room pretty well as we waited.  The nature of my contractions was not changing, so they told me they were going to give me IV fluids.  Until this point, I had never had an IV, at least not that I could remember (I did have one as a baby).

Two nurses came in to give me the IV, and I could tell that one was a student.  It took her a few tries to place the IV, which was not fun, but I just tried to stare at the spot I had picked out on the ceiling.  I could tell she felt really bad, and although it was definitely not fun, I didn’t want to freak out and make her freak out.

Eventually, the IV was placed, and they started the fluids.  After receiving the fluids for awhile, my contractions slowed and my blood pressure went down.  They concluded that it was probably an irritable uterus that was causing the contractions.  The uterus, they told me, is a muscle, and when I get dehydrated, it starts contracting.  So apparently I was dehydrated.  I guess I should not have had that big glass of sweet tea the day before.  Oops.

I was sent home with instructions to drink tons of water, rest, and to come back in if I started bleeding, if my water broke, or if I started having stronger contractions in a pattern.

Thursday, March 5th-Friday, March 6th (35 Weeks and 4 Days)

Sometime overnight, I began leaking amniotic fluid.  I didn’t recognize what it was at that point, because honestly I just thought I was getting really sweaty overnight.  By late morning on Friday, when I had had to change underwear again, I started to become suspicious.

I kept an eye on it for a few hours, but things were not changing.  My contractions were about the same as they had been for the last few days, but I was beginning to be able to feel a bit of a rise and fall with them, rather than a continuous background of discomfort.

By early evening, I was starting to think that we needed to go back to the hospital.  Josh was off work that day, but he had gone out on a walk, so I waited for him to get back.  I had started to write down the times of contractions, and they were ranging from three to seven minutes apart.

When Josh got back, we decided to go in to get checked again.  If it was still nothing this time, I was really going to feel stupid, but again, better safe than sorry.

We were taken into triage again, and I ended up seeing the same doctor that I had a few days before.

“So tell me what’s going on,” she said.

“Well,” I told her, “I think I might be leaking fluid.  And my contractions are getting a little stronger and more defined.”

She told me that she would check my dilation again, and take a sample to look at under the microscope to see if it was indeed amniotic fluid.  I was still dilated to a 2, but now I was 75 percent effaced.  After a few minutes, she returned with the results.

“Well, it is fluid.  Once you are ruptured, there is a risk for infection, so we will be admitting you and inducing you tonight.”

Ok.  It’s happening tonight.  I’m going to have a baby.  I felt strangely calm.

I really had hoped not to be induced with pitocin, so I asked her if there was any form of induction that we could do that was one step below pitocin.

“There are other methods, but at this point the infection risk is high so pitocin is your best option.”  If that was what I would have to do, then that’s what it would have to be.

With shaking hands and climbing adrenaline, I called my Mom.

“Well, they are inducing me tonight.”

Part 2 Coming Soon…


Journey to Motherhood-Part 3: The Loss

I know that I skipped Part 2 of Journey to Motherhood, and I do plan on writing it, it would just be a little too painful right now.

I wanted to go ahead and write Part 3, because writing is a huge way that I process, and sometimes I don’t even know how I feel about something until it comes out of my mouth, or until my fingers find the keys on the keyboard and the words appear on the screen in front of me.  I also want to share with you how I am doing, in a deeper way than I could even in conversation.


On Monday night, February 3rd, I was hanging out at a birthday party for one of my best friends.  It was a wonderful night, filled with good conversation, laughs, and delicious food.  The time came to leave, and I realized I had to go to the bathroom.  I thought about waiting until I got home, but I had to go too badly to last for the entire 30 minute drive home, so I headed down the hallway to the bathroom.  As I went, I looked down, and saw blood on the toilet paper.

It was strange-at first, I just got that annoyed feeling you get when you realize you have started your period.  But then it hit me-I should not have a period at all.  I was 11 weeks pregnant.  My heart started beating faster.  Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.  This is not happening.

I walked back down the hall, to the kitchen, where my friends stood, chatting before they left for the night.  “Ummm, I’m sorry to interrupt, but would you guys mind praying over me?  I just went to the bathroom, and I had some bleeding…” I said with tears starting to run down my face.

My friends gathered around me, and began praying.  They prayed for peace over me, and for the life of the baby.  When we finished praying, I was still shaking, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to drive home while being so distracted and worried.  I called my sister and Josh, and told them what was going on.  I thought about staying the night with a friend who lived around the corner, but the next day was calling for around a foot of snow, and I didn’t want to get stranded half an hour from home.

I decided to go ahead and drive home, and I spent the whole time praying, listening to worship music, and crying.

By the time I got home, the bleeding had pretty much stopped.  I was relieved, but still cautious.  I felt like it was a good idea to take it easy the next day, so I called my boss, and she told me to do whatever I felt was right.

I spent the next day resting, trying to prevent anything else from happening.  I had been told by several people that spotting happens many times in completely healthy pregnancies, so a little bit did not necessarily mean I was miscarrying.  That day, however, the bleeding started again, and continued through most of the day.  I went to bed that night frustrated and scared, praying that it would stop.

By Wednesday morning, it had tapered off again, and I headed to work, hoping that it was almost over.  Most of the roads were still covered in a layer of snow and ice, so many companies were closed or opening later, including Chick-fil-A.  I started off the morning at work in a good mood, as we worked to open the store in record time on a minimal staff.

After I had been at work for about an hour, I went to the bathroom again, and the bleeding had resumed.  At this point, I was starting to get really worried.  It wasn’t a flow like a normal period, but the length of time it was lasting was really worrisome to me.

A coworker walked up as I was stuffing kid’s meal bags with toys, and asked if I was okay.  “No, not really,” I told her.  I explained to her that the bleeding had started again, and that I was starting to get really worried.  I hadn’t been to the doctor yet, because we were waiting on Medicaid approval to be able to visit an OB/GYN.  I tried to make an appointment, but I was told that without insurance or Medicaid, we would have to have to pay $500 just to walk into the appointment, which was just not possible for us at this point.  Josh and I had talked the night before, and decided that if my bleeding was still happening during the day on Wednesday, I would go to the ER after work.

I talked to my boss, and she encouraged me to call Josh, and head to the hospital to get checked out.  Josh came to pick me up, and we headed to the hospital down the road.  I let family members know that I was going to get checked out, and we checked into the ER.

They called us back, and led us to one of their emergency rooms.  It was strange to be in the ER-my first time ever.  I went through a big Grey’s Anatomy phase a year or two ago, and I was thinking about the dramatized version of the emergency room, and hoping that no gunshot victims would come in while we were there.

The nurse led us to room 10, and gave me a gown to put on.  This is serious, I thought.  I put the gown on, and soon another nurse came in.  She told us that she was going to put in an IV and take some blood for labs.  If you know me, you know that having an IV in is one of my biggest fears.  I know it is ridiculous, but it is just a big fear of mine.  Josh held my hand while she put it in, and tears streamed down my face.  It’s worth it, though.  It’s worth it for the baby.

She let me know that she would turn in the sample to the lab, and a doctor would be in soon.  Not long after, the doctor came in, and began asking me questions.  I told him why I was there, and how I had been bleeding for the last day and a half.  He told me that he would go get the ultrasound machine, and he would see what he could find.

As he wheeled the machine in, I told him with a tentative smile, “This will be my first ultrasound.  Well, my first one for pregnancy, anyway.”  I actually had an ultrasound a year ago, in Malaysia, to try to figure out why I was having intense abdominal pain.  I was worried that I had ovarian cysts, but the gynecologist could not find any, and it was determined by a gastroenterologist that I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

As he moved the wand around on my belly, he didn’t say much.  I was watching the screen, but I wasn’t seeing anything.  “I’m not really a sonographer,” he said,  “And I’m not really seeing much, but that doesn’t mean anything.  We’ll see if we can get you downstairs for an ultrasound tech to take a look.”

We waited for a few minutes, and nurse came in.  She told me that we were going to wait for the bloodwork to come back, to see what my HCG levels were at.  If they were within a certain range, what would be expected for an 11 week pregnancy, that would be a good sign.  If they were lower, it would point toward a miscarriage.  She told us that it would probably take somewhere around 30 minutes.

While we waited, we watched a marathon of American Pickers on the History Channel.  We watched the minutes tick by on the clock, and after about an hour and a half, the nurse came back in.  She said my HCG levels were around 20,000, but that didn’t really mean anything.  She told me that they were going to get me downstairs for another ultrasound, this time for a trans-vaginal ultrasound.  Then, she dropped a few bombs.

First, since we were in the ER, and since I was bleeding, they were going to have to put a catheter into my bladder.  Second, my blood type is O-Negative, which means that in future pregnancies, if the baby happens to also be a negative blood type, my body would see that as a toxin, and would do it’s best to fight the toxin, endangering the pregnancy.  To combat this, they would have to give me a shot, and I will have to get the same shot every time I get pregnant in the future.  “Well, this just keeps getting better and better,” I muttered through my tears.

She put the catheter in, which can I just say, SUCKS.  She took some urine samples, just in case they ordered them, and said the ultrasound tech would be in in a few minutes to take me downstairs.  However, Josh would not be allowed to come, because they’ve had security problems in the past, whatever that means.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but it felt like forever.  The catheter burned, and I just wanted to find out what was going on.  Eventually, the ultrasound tech came in, and wheeled me out.  As we went down the hall in silence, I thought, I never imagined that I would be wheeled down the hall of an ER, alone.  As she turned my bed around and backed into the elevator, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the security camera by the ceiling.  It was a very surreal feeling.

She wheeled me to the ultrasound room, and I was comforted to see heart stickers on the door.  She attached my catheter to a bag hanging from the ceiling, containing fluid that would fill my bladder to make the ultrasound more effective.  That was definitely the most physically painful part of the day, to have your bladder filled to its highest capacity.  As I winced in pain, the tech said, “Just calm down,” which wasn’t calming at all.  Needless to say, after that, I wasn’t her biggest fan.

She began the exterior ultrasound, and it seriously felt like forever as she typed on the keyboard, and the machine beeped as it took pictures and measurements.  I craned my neck to see the screen, desperately looking for the flash of a heartbeat.  A few times, she turned on the sound to try to hear a heartbeat, and there was one that showed up, but it was only mine.  I knew it was mine because I could feel my heart beating quickly, to the same time.  Eventually, without a word, she ended the ultrasound, and drained the fluid from my bladder, which was a relief (pun intended).

She left the room, and came back with the probe for the internal ultrasound.  “Did you find anything?” I tentatively asked her.  “Not that way,” she said.

She began the internal ultrasound, and again, I watched the screen, looking for anything.  She didn’t say anything.  More clicking and beeping.  My heartbeat again.  Eventually, the ultrasound was done, and she didn’t say anything as she finished up.  As she wheeled me back upstairs, she asked me if I had to work in the snow, and I told her that I had taken the day before off, but that I had gone into work that morning.  She asked where I work, and I told her Chick-fil-A.  She returned me to my room, and left.

Josh asked how it went, and I told him, “She didn’t say anything.”  I knew in my heart, but I didn’t want to say anything.  I didn’t want it to be true.  We spent a few more minutes waiting, and eventually the nurse came back in to remove the catheter.  After that, the doctor came in, he leaned against the counter.

“The ultrasound tech was not able to find anything.  Unfortunately, I am 98% sure that this pregnancy is not going to end the way you want it to.”  As he explained everything, I just felt numb.  I think I had known for a few days, so it wasn’t really that much of a surprise, especially after seeing the ultrasounds.  He told us that the next step was to have a pelvic exam, so they could see if my cervix was open or closed.  If it was open, they would have to do a D&C, a process that (please forgive the graphic details) would basically scrape out my uterus.  I did NOT want to have this procedure done.  At all.

As we waited for the OB/GYN to come in, I laid on the bed, watching the TV, but not watching it.  I can’t believe this is happening.  At that moment, I needed my Mom.  I called her at work, and told her the news.  We cried together over the phone, and she told me that if I needed anything, to let her know.  Then I called my sister, then Josh’s parents.  Telling people you love is only slightly less heartbreaking than actually experiencing it yourself.  My sister asked, “What can we do?”  “Just pray that my cervix is closed.”  It was the only thing that I could hope would go right that day.

Eventually, the doctor came back in to give me the pelvic exam.  Jesus, please let it be closed.  Please, let it be closed, I prayed.  “It’s closed,” the doctor said.  What a relief.  I didn’t think I could take much more that day.  He explained to me that this doesn’t make me high risk for future pregnancies, and that was a relief, too.

After that, we waited for a few more minutes for a nurse to come back in to give me the shot, and to remove my IV.  It was a hip/butt shot, and I was thankful that I was only flashing two female nurses in my hospital gown as I laid on my side.  As she stuck me, my body tensed and jumped in reaction.  “Sorry,” I said.  “That’s okay,” the nurse replied.  After the shot, one of the nurses massaged the injection site, to make sure the shot was circulating.  She had her hand kind of around my hip, and she felt me tense up.  “Sorry,” she said.  “No, it’s okay.  I’m just really ticklish,” I laughed.  “Oh, sorry about that,” she laughed, too.

They removed my IV, I signed some paperwork, and we were free to go.  I have to go back in to get more bloodwork done on Saturday, and for a follow-up appointment once they get my results back.

We walked back out into the bitterly cold wind, got in the car, and headed home.


I spent the rest of the day in bed, not really feeling like seeing anyone or doing anything.  Even though our stay at the ER had caused us to miss lunch, I was not hungry for dinner at all.  I never understood why grieving people didn’t want to eat until that day.  First of all, I just plain wasn’t hungry.  Second of all, the slight hunger pangs, as strange as it sounds, felt almost good.  It was like it was helpful to have some physical pain to match the emotional pain that I was feeling.  But don’t worry, I have been eating.  I don’t have my usual appetite, but I’ve been trying.

After awhile, Josh laid down next to me, and we talked for a bit.  I told him that even though we never got to officially find out what the gender was, I always knew she was a girl.  I had been keeping that to myself mostly, and when people would ask what I thought we were having, I would tentatively say I thought the baby was a girl, but I would follow up with, “But I could be totally wrong.”  You know, just in case we got to the ultrasound and found out it was a boy.  But, I always knew.

“I think we should name her.  It just feels like we need to honor her with a name.  Make her more of a person.”  Of course, she was a person to me, one of the most important people in my life.  But, I wanted everyone else to know her as a person, too.  I think it was just a week or two before, Josh and I had narrowed it down to two names: one for a girl, and one for a boy.  They weren’t our concrete names, but at the top of the list for now.  We had also already discussed a possible middle name, and it was actually decided on before we figured out a first name, as long as it was compatible.  The middle name, if the baby was a girl, was going to be really significant.  Josh’s mom had always wanted to have a little baby girl, but was blessed instead with four boys.  She had a name for her girl, but never got to use it.  We thought it would be a wonderful way to honor Josh’s mom by giving our little girl that name as a middle name.

So, we decided that our little girl that we lost was named Ellie Hannah.

I began the difficult process of telling friends and family beyond our immediate families.  I asked our parents if they would tell the grandparents.  Made phone calls and wrote texts to best friends.  Eventually, I wrote a status to let the public know, and shared it on Facebook.  It was good to share, to get everything off of my chest.  I felt a little selfish, because in a way, I felt like I was just spreading the grief around, but the more people that knew, the lighter the load felt to bear.

Eventually, I fell asleep, my head pounding from a headache caused by so much crying that day.  When I woke up, Josh had fallen asleep next to me, and the light of afternoon had given way to the darkness of evening.  For just a moment after I woke up, I felt peaceful.  My headache had subsided, and my grief and the events of the day were momentarily forgotten.  But then I remembered, and new tears slipped out as I thought about the void that now existed in me.

I decided that I wanted to watch a movie, and I chose P.S. I Love You.  It seemed fitting-a movie about losing a loved one, and the process of grief and learning to live with your loss.  I don’t really like the term “moving on”.  It implies that you can get over the person that you lost, and I just don’t think that is the case.  Their existence, and subsequent departure from your life, had an impact, and to say that you are moving on diminishes that.

After the movie, I went to sleep, hopeful that the next day would continue to bring healing and peace.


Part 4 coming Soon.


Journey to Motherhood: One Year, Four Countries, and Two Pregnancy Tests


Josh and I are embarking on the next Great Story in our lives: parenthood, and we couldn’t be more excited.

Almost a year ago, we celebrated our five year anniversary (dating+marriage).  We celebrate this every year, because it is on Valentines Day, and it’s fun to think back over the time we have been together, and to see where the Lord has brought us, and the adventures that we have had together.

So, almost a year ago, we were on the island of Penang, Malaysia, with our World Race team.  We were doing several different kinds of ministry-Josh was working with a homeless ministry, I was working with a creative arts ministry, other teammates and squadmates were raising money for a hospital.  We were living, along with another team, at a YWAM base, and it was really fun.  We decided that for Valentines Day, Josh and I wanted to get away for a few nights and stay at a hotel, thanks to some wonderful friends and family that donated to make this possible.  I was excited, because I love staying in hotels, and Josh was excited that he would get some introvert time away from the team.  We found a hotel that was about 45 minutes away by bus, was on the beach, and was fairly cheap.

We got to the hotel, and headed down to the beach.  Unfortunately, signs reading Beware of Jellyfish were everywhere, so we were too nervous to go more than ankle deep.  We went back up to the hotel room, and decided to order a pizza.  I think it was Dominoes, and we were excited to get a little slice (pun intended) of greasy, American cheesy goodness.




As we sat on the bed, eating our pizza and watching TV, I got up the courage to ask a question that had been on my mind for awhile.

“So…I was thinking that maybe….sometime after the Race….we could consider having kids?”  We had never really talked about specifics before; it had always been something that was in the future sometime, but there were other things, like traveling and missions, that were more in our immediate future.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think that would be fine.”

“Really?!” I was excited at the prospect of fulfilling a dream that the Lord was growing in me more everyday-to be a mom.


Fast forward to three months later-we are in Uganda, and we had just gotten back from volunteering at Sanyu Babies’ Home, an orphanage for babies to four years old in Kampala.  The desire to be a mom was growing bigger and bigger, and spending the day with beautiful Ugandan babies had only made that part of my heart long even more for it.  It didn’t matter to me whether my baby would be one that grew inside me or if he or she would be placed into my arms at an orphanage.

After returning from the orphanage, the Lord gave me His word that He would fulfill this dream.

“And, for the icing on top of the cake, tonight as my team and I were doing listening prayer (prayer where you sit and listen for what the Lord is saying rather than just talking at Him), He spoke to me about babies.

As I was listening, my mind was wandering a bit, and it wandered to the babies, and how much fun and how natural and at home I felt with them.  Before the question had even formed in my mind, I heard Him say, “You will.”  As in, you will be a mom.

And my heart was at peace.” (From my blog Bebe Fever Part 2)


Fast forward to the next month, and we were in the mountains of Swaziland, working at El Shaddai Ministries, a childrens’ home for orphaned, abused, or neglected children in Swazi.  There were several different ways that our teams were helping at El Shaddai, but the only ministry I wanted to do was to work in the baby house.  Every morning, a few of the other Racers and I would walk up to the baby house, and spend the day playing, cuddling, feeding, and hanging out with the kids.  Most were preschool aged, but were far behind physically and emotionally due to abuse or neglect at their previous homes.

While working at the baby house, a little four year old named Musa caught my eye, and my heart, and we spent every day playing on the swings, reading books, and every day without fail, right before lunch, he would get too tired to play, and just wanted to be held.  I would carry him into the bedroom that he shared with several of the other children, lay him in his bed, and sing and rub his back until he fell asleep. (Read my full story about Musa here.)


It was so hard to leave him at the end of the month, but again, God was growing my desire to be a mom more and more, and Musa, along with a few other kids that I met around the world while on the World Race, were teaching me how to open up that part of my heart that I had been saving for that unknown day in the future.


Fast forward one more time to Christmas 2013.  We’ve been back in the States for five months, and we are spending Christmas Eve with Josh’s extended family.  It is one of my favorite things all year-all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and cousins’ babies, all get together for what is affectionately called “Two Many” (long story).  There are usually somewhere around 25 people there, and in a few years I’m sure it will be closer to 30.

Josh’s cousin Monique had just had a baby a month before, and he was being passed around to be held by several members of the family.  When I was holding him, he was getting hungry, so Monique made him a bottle, and handed it to me to give to Braylin.  As I gave him the bottle, Monique asked, “Are you guys going to have a baby soon?”

“Yeah, probably.”  I said, at the same time that Josh said, “Uh, I don’t know.”

Monique laughed, and soon, it was time to go, so I gave her Braylin, and we headed out.

The next morning, after opening up presents with Josh’s family, we left to travel to my family’s house.  After all of the rest of us had finished opening up all of our presents, my 1 1/2 year old nephew, Henry, still had tons of presents to open up from the grandparents.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if Henry had a cousin to help him open all of these presents?” My sister playfully asked.  We all laughed, and I thought, yes, yes it would.



We got back home after visiting our families for Christmas for several days, and it was really late.  I had to work the next day, so I pretty much went straight to bed.

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm went off, and I realized I had to go to the bathroom.  As I thought about it, I realized that it had been awhile since my last period.  Was it the week before Thanksgiving?  I don’t know why, but I decided to take a pregnancy test.  I remembered that we had one in the cabinet downstairs, and I took it, not expecting anything.  If I was pregnant, I doubted it would be able to tell so soon.

I put the cap on the test, and set it on my lap to watch it.  As it went across, I realized there was an extra vertical line.  As soon as I saw the line, probably of medium faintness, my heart started beating faster.  However, the line in the control panel was faint, and I told myself that there was a possibility that it was an old test, and therefore not accurate.

I went out into the kitchen, got a glass of water, and leaned on the counter to think, my heart still beating like crazy.  I decided to go to Walgreens and buy a new test, and to take another one.  I put on a jacket and some shoes, grabbed some Christmas money, and headed to Walgreens.

When I got back, I took a second test, really not expecting anything this time, especially since I had just downed a huge glass of water so I could pee again, and it would not be my first morning urine.  As the test went across…BAM, there was the line, dark as could be.  There was no doubt about it this time.  I was pregnant.

I knew that there was no way I could keep it a secret from Josh for any period of time, so I decided to go upstairs and wake him up and tell him.  I was excited, but I was nervous that he was going to get stressed out about the details right away, and forget to be happy and enjoy it.

I took a deep breath, put my hand on the doorknob, and went in.

Part 2: Coming Soon!