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On Monday morning I woke up, and I knew. My period wasn’t even late yet, but I went out to buy a pregnancy test.
The second line appeared immediately. I looked in the mirror and lifted up my shirt, as if I would somehow be able to see through my skin to the tiny little zygote that will someday become our baby. I looked at my own face in disbelief, as if the woman in the mirror was someone separate from me and could speak, as if she could tell me, “Kyle, this is real.”
I smiled so big I thought my face would split, and then I burst into tears of happiness. “I’m pregnant,” I sobbed, “I’m so pregnant.”
I didn’t know what to do.
What are you supposed to do when you realize you just accidentally created a life?!
I did what any other logical woman in my shoes would do — I went out to buy five more pregnancy tests and take them all. But I knew. I knew. I knew.
I walked down the street grinning like a maniac. We’re having a baby, we’re having a baaaaaaaby!!!!
It’s so annoying when people talk about the “miracle of life,” and you’re just like, “Shut up, it’s not a miracle, we were made to create babies, that’s why we’re horny all the time.”
But when you’re the one who now has a human growing inside of her, all of a sudden that really is what it feels like, a miracle.
Five times that second little line appeared immediately. The happiness was all consuming, I couldn’t stop crying. We’re having a baby.