The bun in the oven

The day I found out I was pregnant, the house caught fire.

I had been toasting some super healthy sugar free muesli in the oven, went and peed on a stick while I waited, counted to 120 and then saw the second line.

Next thing I know, the fire alarm is beeping and my husband is yelling 'you've caught the oven on fire'.
I walked into a cloud of smoke beneath the incessant beeping from the alarm, and said dazedly 'I'm pregnant', to which he replied 'that's great but the house is on fire!'

I saw flames leaping out of the oven, and thrusting the stick of terror into my husbands hand, I grabbed the fire extinguisher and proceeded to douse my muesli, and the oven in one go.

Flames out. Crisis averted.

But I am still pregnant.

My husband didn't know what two lines meant. I explained that that meant I was pregnant, and I'd never had two lines show up before. He immediately insisted I take another test to make sure.
That one also showed up positive.
So did the next two.

All up, I took a total of 4 tests that night, each one positive. Weirdly enough, the number of positives wasn't helping me accept the fact any more.
We had been trying. We wanted a kid. We were totally ready - but I wasn't feeling the anticipated excitement. I was simply feeling downright terrified.

"I can't do it!" I declared later that evening. "There's simply no way I'm going to cope!"
Thoughts of vomit, and pain and public humiliation crowded my head. Ongoing discomfort and horrendous labour where all I could think about.
"You'll be fine, remember we wanted a baby" counselled my husband.
"I want the baby." I clarified, "But can we get someone else to do the pregnant bit?"

to be continued....