It isn't particularly exciting, or particularly strange but, in true Livy and Steve style, it is a teeny bit confusing.
One Tuesday in early December 2011 I was feeling rubbish. I was tired and cross and cranky, I ached and wanted to cry. I had had a hell of a day and all that was keeping me going was the thought of a
Getting in from work I headed straight to the kitchen (it really had been one of those days), pouring the wine, I was salivating at the thought of the first sip* and was looking forward to sitting down with it and writing some Christmas cards.
I walked through to the front room, sat down and raised the glass to my lips, ready to sip, I suddenly stopped.
The smell. The smell of the wine was just too much. I felt sick.
And I never feel sick when it comes to alcohol. I can put it away with the best of them, I can drink wine like water (not a fact I am proud of, I'll hasten to add). Something was obviously wrong.
I tried again.
Nope. Bad bad badness.
One more go, and I forced a sip down.
Mistake. Oh big mistake.
My body rejecting alcohol was a worrying sign for me. I started to panic at all the things that could be wrong... the words 'cancer', 'liver failure', 'heart disease' flashed through my head** and then I thought of the worst possible thing... maybe, at 27 years of age, my body was simply sick of drinking. Nearly fainting, I staggered to the bathroom and stood over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
It was at this point that I noticed a pregnancy test just peeping out of the cabinet.
Suddenly my hell didn't seem so hellish; I could just possibly be up the Hilary! I eagerly did the test and waited. And waited. No big fat line appeared but a little shadow did appear where the line should.
This was not good enough! I needed answers! I needed to know whether or not to emergency dial NHS Direct.
So, I did what any Cosmo girl would have done and I legged it to Tesco to buy a digital test to try again.
Bingo. Clear as day. The word PREGNANT flashed up on the screen.
Just a teensy bit giddy, I took a photo and sent it to Steve's phone with the tag line, 'Are you ready to be a daddy....?'
Relaxing with my Christmas cards, knowing that I wasn't dying or even turning teetotal, I awaited his response.
Unfortunately I had forgotten that Steve had just got rid of his iphone and was temporarily using a Nokia brick, circa 2003 which could not receive pictures.
Which is why I got this reply:
"I've been thinking about this and yes, I think I am nearly ready. I mean, do I want to have another big drunken summer holiday first? Yes. Is it a massive responsibility? Yes. But I definitely think we are there. Lets enjoy Christmas and then think about it."
Suffice to say, it wasn't entirely as I had pictured it.
Three hours later, with him home and an unscheduled powercut in play; we sat, cuddling by candle light, Steve drinking the wine and me freaking out that I would be facing a sober, chubbier Christmas time that year.
And all was well.
* I do realise that I am channelling an alcoholic here but please, remember people, that I am now unable to drink it at all!
** So I am not an expert on medical science or the human body. But I am, obviously, a drama queen.