two lines

February 9, 2008
By
Two burgundy lines sitting on the sink like crystal balls, tell my future. Two burgundy lines change everything in the two minutes they take to appear.

I opened the bathroom door to his eager face. What was he hoping for? What was he expecting? This had been his idea, his big plan. Then it seemed as soon as I agreed, he backed out. I showed him the tiny piece of plastic in my hands.

“What does that mean,” he asked. “Is that good?” I thought it odd that he should ask if it were good. I didn’t even know what “good” results would have been. The woman in me was excited about the prospect, but the fourteen-year-old in me was terrified.

“Two lines mean it is positive,” I told him. “I am.”

“That’s not 100 percent, though. Right?”

He must have seen the tears well up in my eyes. He must have seen all the emotions flying past me all at once. In that moment I felt everything there was to feel. He hugged me tight as I became dizzy.

When that hug was over, both of us had changed. Our hopes, fears, dreams, goals and plans were new. We realized what this meant for us, or at least we thought we did.

He and I both had similar pictures in our minds at that point. We saw screaming parents, disapproving looks from teachers, lost friends and empty social lives. We saw poopie diapers and bags under our eyes and aching backs. However, when I looked right beside me, I always saw him looking right back at me. We may have been a couple of careless teenagers, but we knew that we wanted better for our child that what we had been given. We wanted him to have a mom and a dad, not just one or the other. We were in it for the long haul.

Of course, when our son was born our fears were hardly realized. Just as we had fallen in love with each other, we instantly fell in love with our little boy. Our lives were full of kisses and cuddles. Yes, there was poop, but when Izak smiled as you cleaned him up it was impossible to be bothered by anything. Yes, there was a lack of sleep, but what better way to spend the night than looking into the eyes of a feeding infant.

He and I looked at our son, then at each other and realized what a miracle we had created. Our biggest and most stupid mistake had evolved into the most cherished thing of our lives.





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