Valentine's day morning, after days of internal debate on whether I should wait an extra day or not, I did the test while the little girl played on the bath mat. As the test area dampens and the default line appears, a second line so very slowly materialized. A faint but unmistakable second line. Needing a bit more confirmation, I directed the little girl's attention to the stick, "look honey, can you count how many lines there are?" "One, two, three, four, five, six..." she counted on, not surprisingly, and made me smile.
It's been a few more days and two more positive tests since then, but I've only allowed myself to be very cautiously optimistic about it. I'm still carefully examining everything my body is feeling or going through, and constantly update my mental scoreboard of good and bad symptoms. Pimples? Negative one. Funky feeling in legs? Negative one. Lack of appetite? Could happen in both cases, a wash out. The problem is, how can you score the absence of something if it could occur at any point of time to dash every bit of hope?
Last time, I let myself to be overly confident of things to come. I believed that everything in life would unfold as I wanted it to, and was reminded of how little control I have over life. This time, I'll wait some more before I start to celebrate.
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