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When I got sick to my stomach right after my husband and I returned home from celebrating our third wedding anniversary, he suggested I might be pregnant.

I waved him off, dismissing his speculation as a far-flung idea. It had not happened in the year and a half since we had made the conscious decision to not prevent a pregnancy from happening, and I doubted I was pregnant .

The day after our anniversary, my husband again made the suggestion we go to the drug store to pick up a pregnancy test. I reluctantly agreed even though I figured it would be a waste of money. I gave in knowing that I had been nauseous off and on for a month by this time. Pregnant or not, I needed to find out why.

Taking the test, I was shocked to find I was indeed expecting. I would not let myself believe it yet though. My husband made another trip to the pharmacy to buy another test; another test that repeated the same good news.

I walked around in a cloud for a couple of days with this secret in my heart. While we did tell our parents and a close friend or two of our speculation, we did not broadcast anything widespread yet.

We wanted to see a doctor first to confirm what the home tests had told us. Somehow, to us, it just wasn’t official unless a doctor declared it. We made an appointment to see my family physician the day after Christmas. She told us the news and referred us to an OB/GYN in the area.

Going to the obstetrician was a whole new experience of being poked and prodded. T he doctor ordered an ultrasound to determine my due date: July 28. From that moment onward anything and everything I did was done with that date in mind.

Since we lived in a rented town house at that time, we did not make a lot of changes to the room where our baby would sleep. Months went by before I bought much of anything for our baby because while she was real, we still had the “what if something goes wrong” mentality.

By July, we were ready for the unknown waters of parenthood; as ready as two people can be who haven’t a clue what is in store for them.

We had all the physical elements in place such as a crib, a car seat and a changing table. Showers given to us by our church, my workplace and my husband’s mother helped to fill the closets and drawers with all the sheets, blankets and booties that our baby would need.

The morning of July 31, I woke up feeling very different. I really couldn’t put my finger on it, but since I had my weekly doctor’s appointment I did not worry. As he left the room after my examination, he made the comment that while I should schedule another appointment in a week, he felt he would see me before that date.

I went to my mom’s house afterward because I was in town. She was painting faces on small wooden balls and wanted me to try my hand at painting the blush. I started really feeling crampy and decided I really should just go home. Somewhere on the drive, I realized that those cramps might just be the beginnings of labor.

My doctor’s prediction came true, and we saw him the next morning as he made rounds. We had come in during the night at his suggestion when my contractions hit 5 minutes apart. Labor had been consistent and steady for a long while, but slowed by the time the doctor arrived to examine me.

The doctor made the decision to go ahead and break my water, figuring that since my due date had passed, it would make sense for me to just stay there. He encouraged me to get up and walk around to see if it would naturally jump start labor again. If it didn’t, then he would induce labor intravenously to finish the job.

By that evening, I gave in and agreed to start the medicine. After a long day of back labor, I was exhausted.

I fell asleep for a few hours; waking up at 2 a.m. Aug. 2, dilated to eight centimeters.

Three and a half hours later our sweet baby girl was born.

The first time I saw her, I said, “Oh look, it’s our Hannah.” She was so small (7 pounds, 15 ounces) and was crying the best she could — being only minutes old. As we held her, all the months of planning became very real. We had a tiny person that was depending on us for everything.

We became her parents the moment she was conceived; yet it was this moment, the moment of her birth, that it started sinking in that I was indeed a mother. It was a day that changed my life forever.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.