I remember the day I told Brett, my husband of seven years, that I was pregnant with our first child. Brett and I had been together since 2006 in high school and had built a fantastic life together over the years. We both had great careers (Brett a teacher and I a nurse), we had money saved up, a home with space to grow into and we were ready to start filling it with children. It was December 28, 2017 and the warm sun had given us a break from the Louisiana winter. I couldn’t stop smiling as I spilled the beans before I could even use the Arsenal onesie I bought to tell him. I was met with a hug along with the biggest, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
Fast forward to of our gender scan, Brett playfully opened the envelope given to us by our doctor… BOY… and I immediately started crying. Through the years, we always wanted to have both a girl and boy but I secretly wished we would have our boy first. We named our son James Martin, tying in both family’s names. We were so happy that I can still feel the soreness in my face from smiling and laughing that day. We spent that weekend, Easter weekend, celebrating our gender reveal with friends, family, and a feeling of happiness that was almost tangible.