Tom and I had been dating five months when I told him I was skipping class that morning and going to go to Planned Parenthood to either get a refill on my birth control, or a pregnancy test. Maybe both. He nodded, and then joked that, if I were pregnant, that baby must really want to come to our party, since we had rolled up the welcome mat, locked the door, and turned out the light. I looked over his shoulder and thought of the two little blonde girls we had both dreamed about that weekend at the coast.
I called him from the hallway afterwards – a small black phone with a box of tissues next to it – and asked him to come home. I stood in the living room, eating a strawberry and crying when he got there. He immediately wrapped his arms around me, kissed the top of my shaking head, and whispered “I am the luckiest man in the world.”
(A slideshow of a book Ella and Alice made for him today.)