Seeing The Positive

If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be writing a blog about motherhood, I would’ve laughed (and probably cried a bit), because honestly? My partner Dan and I never planned on having kids. So when I stood in the bathroom staring at a very clear, very real positive pregnancy test, my first reaction wasn’t joy or excitement. It was:
OH. FUCK.

A few weeks before this, I’d been feeling off. Not unwell exactly—just not myself. I’d recently had the flu, so I put it down to that and carried on. But one night, we were watching a film, and I swear I felt something in my uterus. Not a dramatic movie-worthy moment—just the tiniest flutter that made me think, ...wait. Could I be pregnant?

The next day at work, I told a friend, “I think I might be pregnant.”
She asked why.
And I started listing things: feeling weird, being bloated, missing a period (which wasn’t unusual for me).
Saying it out loud made it real. So, after work, I walked to the shop, bought a test, and headed home.

Dan had absolutely no idea. He was downstairs making an omelette while I quietly snuck upstairs and peed on the stick. Whilst waiting for the line, I just sat on the floor thinking ‘how is this real’. And let me just say—those two minutes waiting for a pregnancy test result are the longest in human history.
And then: there it was. A very definite positive.

OH FUCK (again).

In full panic mode, I called my mum. She’s calm in the kind of way only mums can be, and she said what I didn’t know I needed to hear:
“It’s going to be OK.”
“You’re going to be a brilliant mum.”
“You can do this.”

And somehow, those words cracked something open in me. I stopped spiralling and started thinking: Maybe I can do this. Maybe I want this baby.

Now came the terrifying part: telling Dan.
I walked downstairs, heart racing, and placed the test on the kitchen counter.
He looked at it, then at me.
His response?
“Do you have COVID?”

I burst out laughing.
“No,” I said. “I’m pregnant.”
Without skipping a beat, he replied:
“Let me eat my omelette.”

So I sat there, watching him eat this bloody omelette, with my whole world flipped upside down. Once he finished, I asked if we could go buy two more tests—one to double-check and one of those digital ones that tells you how far along you are.

He didn’t hesitate. We headed straight to the shop.
Of course, fate being what it is, we bumped into one of Dan’s friends—whose partner was literally in labour.
Perfect timing.
They asked why we were there and I turned redder than a tomato.
Dan panicked and blurted out: “Snacks.”
(Still makes me laugh thinking about it.)

We got home, I took the other tests, and yep—positive again. The digital one said I was 2–3 weeks. We sat on the sofa in stunned silence.

I was terrified. What if he didn’t want the baby? What if I had to do this alone?
The silence was heavy. And then, finally, he said:
“What would you like to do?”

I told him the truth:
“I want to keep the baby.”

He let out this quiet, happy sigh and said he felt the same. That he was excited when he saw the test.

And just like that, I wasn’t alone anymore. Still terrifying, but it became our terrifying.