On Wednesday night I was sitting in my living room, watching the epic Game 7 between the Cubs and Indians. It was a normal night that was about to take a very special turn. A few hours earlier (and really for a few days), my fiancée Miki kept telling me that her nipples hurt. I laughed, jokingly telling her that she was pregnant. She smiled back, "Nooo, I'm always a few days late."
Miki and I have been together for a little over five years now, we got engaged in August and two months back, we made a conscious decision to start trying to have a child. We got on a vitamin regimen, stopped drinking, and ramped up the mediation. We were settling in for what seemed like it was going to be a long journey.
We jaunted over to the pharmacy down the street for the seventh inning stretch to pick up a test. After Rajai Davis hit a bomb in the eighth and tied it up, I was glued to the game and not noticing much else. Then, out of nowhere, Miki walked over to me and put the tests on my chest. WHATTTT!? She's preggers! We danced around the house, cried a little, and quite frankly were both in shock that it happened so quickly. Cheers all around.