No, this blog post has nothing to do with Michael Jackson, even though, alright, I might have stolen the title.
But I hear MJ is making more billions dead than he is alive, so I don't think his people would even worry about suing my people. Hell, I don't even have people. Well I have people, just not people.
We are not here to talk about Michael Jackson.
Here is how my day went...
Awake. Cold nose.
"What time is it," I think to myself.
"Can I be bothered actually lifting my head from the pillow to check the clock?"
Yes. Yes, of course I can be bothered.
I need to do my pregnancy test.
Triple awake. Ready.
A glance at the red, glowing numbers.
Damn. Too early. Too early?
I do need to go to the toilet. Should I get up?
Jay's stirring. I can hear him moaning, talking to himself. Is he cold? It's 4:48, I don't want to get up and risk waking him at this hour by turning a light on.
No. Stay in bed and try to go back to sleep. Yeah, right.
I am now busting to go to the loo by this stage. If I get up, I cannot just get up and go to the loo. If I get up, I will be doing the test.
Um. Ah. Um.
Should I. Shouldn't I.
I do. I can't wait any longer. I wee into the cup and praise the Lord for the outstanding pelvic floor muscles that enable me to not spill a drop, even at this groggy hour.
I dip the stick in and count to 14. The instructions in the box said 10 seconds, but I make a four-second adjustment to account for my impatience. 14 of my breathless, anxious seconds is roughly the equivalent of 10 normal, 1-1000, 2-1000 seconds.
I am freezing as I rest the stick across the cup, so I go back to bed knowing that the test needs five minutes.
I glance at those red numbers once more.
By 5:33 I will know.
The time actually flew. T and I shared nervous glances a few times as the twilight cast the day's first blue light on our faces.
I sat propped up on an elbow so I could see the clock clearly - no obstructions. I saw every number flick over.
By the time 5:32 came around I got out of bed and went to get a pessary from the fridge. Even if the test was negative, I was still going to pop those final four pessaries.
By the time I was back nearing the bathroom door, it was 5:33.
I peered around the door and took cautious steps inside, where the light better illuminated that little stick resting on a little plastic cup.
There they were.
Good god. Two lines. It is positive.
I whipped my hand to my mouth and my body around in T's direction.
She flew out of bed and later told me she did a classic Flinstones cartoon run between the bed and bathroom - her feet did not touch the ground, even though her legs were moving a million miles a minute.
We started crying and hugging each other.
"I knew it," I said as I gripped my arms around her back and snuggled in, so grateful to be able to share this unforgettable, tender moment with her.
"Me too," she said. "I was going to say something last night, that I had a feeling, but then I thought twice about it."
"And Jay knew all along," I said. All month, at odd intervals, Jay has pointed at my tummy and said "baby in there". Sometimes we would initiate it by asking him playfully, wishingly, if there was a baby in there. Other times he would just say it out of the blue.
I am pregnant. And so bloody lucky.
Thank you - every one of you reading. I know your prayers and thoughts helped make this happen. You contributed to the energy that made this happen. You were so important in keeping me positive when the darkness threatened victory. I don't have the words to describe the feeling I had when reading your comments of encouragement...but then, the kindness of strangers will always be confronting in a thousand magical ways. It has such a delicious power that has truly floored me. Suffice to say, you are wonderful.
Today I feel exhilarated, exhausted, overwhelmed, relieved, powerful, back in semi-control, healthy, vital, excited, worried and incredibly blessed.
Fortunate. Special. I feel special. What an awesome, special gift.