I hope I'm not tempting fate by typing this before we get the official, M.D.-endorsed confirmation (due sometime today), but I saw with mine own eyes the business end of the home test the Lovely Wife peed on; Pregnant. Much easier simply reading the word than having to figure out "is it blue?"
I understood why she felt the need to hold onto this particular item for the more than the hour it took me to get home from the office, but it still slightly disturbed me. She wanted confirmation, and she wanted to share it with me, but she peed on it. Then put it on my dresser.
Two words, dear; Ziploc, Bag.
Another part of me also understands that we're not out of the woods yet. From what little I know of the whole "process" (and I broke down this weekend, doing what I promised I would not: buying for my hypochondriac, OCD wife the modern day Necronomicon; "What to Expect When You're Expecting"), largely derived from friends who have gone through the same ordeal, it's touch-and-go until she's got three months under her belt.
Then again that's all part of the joy, and terror, of being a daddy-in-waiting. Stay Tuned!
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