It was a year ago, this morning, that I stood in my bathrobe waiting. Bare feet on the bathroom linoleum, I read the instructions one last time and set the timer. Dimly, I heard my husband getting ready for work, moving back and forth in our bedroom on the other side of the wall. I bit my lip. What to think? And then the timer went off. I stopped it in a flash and picked up the little wand. Staring back at me was a little blue “+”, the kind that some women crave and other women dread. Which was I? I wasn’t sure, but took a breath and said, “Honey, our eggo is preggo!”, with a smile. He jumped for joy. And the rest is history. So while this day is the celebration of the birth of our nation, for me there will always be another, more personal, reason to celebrate.
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