1.5 years. 19 months. 556 days. 13,346 hours. 800,767 minutes. 48,046,020 seconds. 434 Pre-Natal Vitamins. 400 Basal Body Temperatures. 137 Ovulation Test Strips. 73 Home Pregnancy Tests… and counting.

I’ve never particularly liked numbers. Always been a reader, a theorizer, a writer. Concepts can be argued. Positions can be defended. Wrongs can be made right. But sometimes, you simply have no choice. No control over the gray area. No footnotes with which to play. You just have to wait out the numbers.

Minute 800,767 was a good one, though. A good number, in the grand scheme of things. It happened to fall on a Friday, at 2:07am. After a sleepless night following a notso good day, and some of the most disheartening news that The Dude and I have had to face. Pacing the living room in the wee hours of the morning I decided, fuck it. I couldn’t wait anymore. We needed a win. And so I crept into the bathroom, peed into a Dixie cup, and waited.

I mean, 2 is a pretty awesome number. You’ve got… turtle doves. Dr. Seuss’ Things. Batman and Robin. Knitted socks. Simon and G Funk. You’ve got macaroni and cheese. Black and White. His and hers. Old Dan and Little Ann. Punk and Rock. And on this morning - this particular morning - lines. Two gloriously there – dude, in this moment, you are pregnant – lines. And just like that, 2 of us became 3. My new favorite number.