Almost a year had passed when you began to feel changes in your body. Every morning, you threw up. You knew this could only mean one thing, but you ran to the drug store for reassurance. You grabbed a test of each brand, so there was no possible mistake.

You ripped open every box and followed the directions, got it over with. There was no fooling yourself now; each one glared the same result. There was no sympathy, just a cold, clinical answer. Each read an affirmative, positive yes.

That's right, you were pregnant. You were 30 years old. You heard Sam in the other room. He was mumbling on the phone and his pen scratched across the surface of the paper. Was this part of the plan? How would he take the news?

The phone clicked onto the receiver and Sam could be heard pacing around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and making one of his hardest decisions of the day: tuna or leftover pasta? These were the type of questions that were comfortably familiar. Questions about the choice of baby food and diapers had not been part of the household's vernacular.

Sam came into the room. Your scowl radiated from your face and he asked what was wrong.

He approached to see you had laid out each and every test. There were 20 yeses on the table.

Oh. He said.

This situation would profoundly change your lives. How does this affect everything?

n. The pressure of pregnancy …
o. Some things are never meant to be …