On Friday, when I found out that I was pregnant, my husband came home in the evening, and we stood there, hugging, for a few minutes. And then he left for his karate class. And then he came back. Still empty-handed.
I was really disappointed. I always envisioned this day as a big one. With something to commemorate it.
My husband noticed that something was off with me, so I told him. He confessed that he’s too terrified to get too attached to the idea. He’s terrified of feeling too happy.
“But, you know, I can die tomorrow. Will that stop you from feeling happy about being with me?”
He offered to go and pick up a cake at a supermarket. It was 10 pm, so I said no. Then he went to the little 24/7 store across the street. I stayed and decided to light up some candles. He came back with fruits and chocolates. And flowers He washed and cut all of them on his own. He poured himself a glass of white wine, and I poured some cold chamomile tea in mine
And then we sat there, in flickering candlelight, eating watermelon, melon, strawberries, black cherries, apricots and my favourite round Lindt chocolates. We toasted to this miracle. And we felt utterly happy about the growing Poppy Seed.