A little plastic stick in my hand told me that I was pregnant, that I would be expecting my first child.
I rushed downstairs to show J.
"We're going to have a baby!" I gasped.
"Really?!" his face mirrored my own emotions - a combination of disbelief, tentative joy and that feeling you get when you're holding something very, very fragile, like a butterfly or sugar glass. "Let me see." I handed him the pregnancy test. "Eurgh it's got your wee on it..." he muttered, holding it up to his face.
But the evidence was there. Two strong red lines, the strength and rapidity of which we hoped would be a reflection of the tiny life growing inside me.
What followed was an evening of exclamation marks. I felt dizzy, like I was going to pass out, so I sat down with my head between my knees and hot, excited tears running down my face. J was, as always practical, making lists of things we'd need to buy, tasks we'd need to complete and food I could no longer eat.
We were going to be parents.
After only three months of trying, panic started to flood into me as I realised the enormity of the task ahead, like signing up for a marathon and turning up on race day realising that the quick jog around the park was not even a fraction of what you'd let yourself in for.
Child birth - I kept thinking that in nine months time I was going to have to suffer through excruciating pain, the likes of which I could only deduce from numerous tv dramas, which all seemed to involve a large amount of screaming, puffing and blood. A little voice in my head reminded me that a woman is closest to death when she is in labour, struggling to remove something the size of a watermelon through an exit the size of a coin.
I went to bed that night under no illusions that sleep would come. Lying in the dark, listening to J's soft breathing, I imagined the cells of the baby forming together, multiplying and joining, creating a whole new person inside my womb. The shock, the overwhelming sense of surprise gave me butterflies in my tummy that will become proper little kicks in months to come. I laid awake in awe.
The next morning I dropped J off at the station. He kissed me goodbye and said 'Goodbye Peanut' as he shut the car door.
Peanut.
As soon as I heard the word, this nickname suddenly gave the little cluster of cells and DNA inside me a personality. Peanut was small, cute and fragile. Peanut needed protection and nourishment. A surge of maternal instincts washed over me as I drove home. Peanut was mine and J's child and we would do everything in our power to help it grow and stay safe.
Telling people over the next week was both joyous, awkward and surprising. Most people reacted with the same sense of jubilation that I was harbouring. Some were not so kind, and some I would have preferred not to tell at all. But the news was so wanted - this baby is so wanted - that I just found it too hard to keep to myself.
I'm pregnant!
I want to shout it out from the rooftops!
There is such a long way to go and Peanut is so tiny (about the size of a sesame seed right now) but I'll try to do my best to keep Peanut safe.
The overwhelming feeling of love I have for this tiny person is both exhilarating and exhausting!
