It was 3am on a Saturday when my life changed forever.

My partner and I had decided we wanted a baby some months earlier, and while we had firmly decided not to even look at ovulation calendars or fertility boosters - taking a far more relaxed approach to baby-making - we were both hopeful every month that we might be with child, as they say.

This month I was sure I was pregnant. I bought a pack of three pregnancy tests, and, although the first two came up negative, I was absolutely certain they were wrong and I was right.
Still, I thought, if the third test said no, I would have to accept it.

So this Saturday morning, I awoke, and decided to take the test then. The earlier in the day, the better, they say, and you can't get much earlier than this, I thought as I staggered out of the bedroom in the darkness.

Less than ten minutes later, my feet rooted to the ground, my hand paused in mid-air, holding the test, I was in utter shock. Two pink lines. I was pregnant!

Do I wake my partner? I wondered. He is never at his delightful best in the morning, so I felt I would not be maximising his potential reaction, particularly as he had a dreadful cold at the time. Luckily, he came stumbling out of the bedroom for a drink, so I could pounce on him. We were both shell-shocked, and, of course, the first thing I wanted, my crutch for years when facing anything life-changing, stressful, or anything similar, was a cigarette. I had been cutting down for months, had quit for weeks, but the urge was suddenly unbearable.

And a coffee. A strong, sweet coffee.

It hit me that these things were suddenly frowned upon, along with a nice bottle of wine to round off a stressful day. Of course, moderation is fine, they say, but as a 10-cup-a-day coffee drinker, and one for whom a glass of wine leads to a bottle, washed down generally with a Marlboro Light or ten, I thought in this case, abstinence was the best bet.

The cold sweat descended. By the end of the weekend, my head felt like it would explode from the lack of caffeine and the information overload, thanks to Googling pregnancy-related searches all weekend. An icy finger of panic was gripping at me: how could I possibly look after this teeny tiny mass of cells and nurture it to become a baby-sized person? How could I raise a mini-me into a reasonably well-adjusted teen, into a hopefully happy, healthy, kind adult?

Bit late now, the irritating voice in my head pointed out as I made a Sunday evening trek to the supermarket.

Then I saw him: a teeny tiny baby in a pram in front of me at the checkout queue. Fists curled into tight little balls, hair curling out from underneath a gorgeous woolly hat, eyes squeezed shut, pink face glowing. I gazed at him for a few seconds, before his eyes snapped open and fixed themselves on me. Amazing eyes, deep wells of blue, totally trusting, dependent, and somehow wiser.

I touched my belly and thought of my little lentil-sized person, and knew without a doubt that there was no mistake, and everything would be just fine.

Sharon Thompson is a freelance writer and proofreader after working as a journalist for eight years. She works with clients to prepare press releases, marketing copy, articles, opinion pieces, blogs, newsletter copy, and more - whatever words her clients require. She also has an eagle eye and can proofread finished documents. She has a passion for words and is a voracious reader. S.T. Writing Services charges reasonable, competitive rates and offers an extremely fast turnaround time. Contact Sharon by email on This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it , call 0402 809 099 or visit www.stwritingservices.net.au.