Do you remember this moment?

The moment your heart stopped.

The moment the world started spinning in slow motion.

The moment your knees went weak and your hands started shaking.

I do …

My husband and I had been trying to conceive since the moment we landed in Hawaii for our honeymoon.

Fast forward through eight months of monotonous intercourse and wasted pregnancy tests, and I had pretty much given up. I knew that eight months was not even a drop in the bucket compared to what other women have to face with infertility.

However, it was my own self-defeat that was writing the narrative in my mind.

I was just so sure that I wasn’t going to be able to achieve this dream of mine. I was riddled with self-doubt and pessimism. I mean, come on, I hadn’t even regained my menstrual cycle from when I had my eating disorder. How could I get pregnant?

It was just another morning. Wake up, stumble to the bathroom, pee on the stick.

I tossed the plastic wand of disappointment onto the back of the toilet and went about my morning routine.

A few minutes later I went to inevitably hide another disappointment deep inside the garbage can.

This was the moment. The moment I was talking about earlier. The one where my heart stopped and the world slowed down. I had seen all these home videos of women screaming with joy or squealing with excitement.

Well, buckle up. Want to know what I said? “Shut the f— up!” I repeated this sentence multiple times while fighting the lump in my throat. Vulgar? Yes. Real and raw? Also yes.

During those months of trying to conceive I had created a board on Pinterest about cute ways to tell your significant other you are pregnant.

• Scavenger hunt? That sounds fun!
• Riddle? I’m decent with words!
• A cute gift? I can find something!

I had dreamed about the moment he would find out that I was making him a daddy. I had so many exciting ideas. I couldn’t wait to be the person holding such a special secret. Want to know what I did? Well, don’t get too excited.

He was away on a business trip to Texas. It was only 5:00 a.m. which meant my husband was still catching those last precious moments of sleep before his alarm. You know, those moments where you have to pee but you are so comfortable that you won’t move a muscle.

Well, I Facetimed him…crying.

No, not the cute I-am-overcome-with-emotions crying. Ugly crying. I’m talking about ‘busted-up-face crying’. This face was enough to rip him from a dead sleep and hurl him into a full panic the moment I popped onto his screen.

Between sobs I explained to him that nothing was wrong and shared the good news. I was shaking so bad that I couldn’t even get the camera to focus enough for him to see the pregnancy test. We cried, and laughed, and then hit our knees to pray and thank God.

This moment is one of the best moments that I have ever lived.

I didn’t respond with a conventional phrase, and I may not have created an elaborate reveal. In that moment I learned that I may not be a Pinterest mom, and that I also may need to make a cuss jar. I learned that expectations and reality often do not match.

But for a few moments I held a precious secret and an answer to prayer all to myself.

I learned that I was a mommy.

It was truly that moment that I met our son for the first time. Just him and I, standing in the bathroom, awestruck.