Bun in The Oven

About ten weeks ago, when HID and I had thrown (pre)caution(s) to the wind for approximately three weeks, with regards to expanding our little family, I'd had enough of the nagging, and had agreed to take a pregnancy test. He was right, my period was late, but I just wanted to relax and go with the flow this time we were trying to get pregnant, and not becoming the scary, uptight nutter who thought she'd never conceive.

So when I climbed the stairs, and he called softly after me: "Don't worry if it's not positive." I replied, "I won't..." and added inside my own head, "...because I already know I'm pregnant." And I was!

I'd trudged upstairs, done the business, and left the stick to "cook" for the alloted time, because a watched stick never boils. My boy, safely tucked up in bed at this hour, began to cry, and required settling for quite some time. When I emerged from his nursery, HID was waiting in the hall.
"Was it positive?" he asked.

I began to explain where I had been, and that some brands of test were invalid if too much time is allowed to lapse before reading the result. While I spoke, I picked up the positive test and noted the result, to myself.
"I assume it was negative then..." he continued, as I seemed to be talking myself out of it.

"It's positive!" I breathe quietly outside boy's room. HID grasps my body in a desperately excited hug, even more so than when I announced boy's imminent arrival. We check the pack instructions for ourselves, the result is valid, we're going to have a baby!

Grown.