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Restrepo didn't win an Oscar, but — little did we know — Sebastian and I were returning to New York with a far greater prize.
Two weeks after we'd come back, I took a home pregnancy test and stared, stunned, at the two pink lines.
I screamed, and Sebastian came running to the bathroom, worried that I had somehow hurt myself. We had battled infertility for the past six years, resorting to countless IUIs, six IVFs, and even a donor egg cycle — all unsuccessfully. We knew that miscarriages are common in the first trimester, and with our history, we didn't want to get too excited.
We stood there incredulous before the little pee-stick — a testimony to the miracle that had taken place in L. At first, I didn't even want to know when my due date was.
I lay curled up on the couch with a bucket next to me, while he shopped and walked the dog and took care of our meals.Maybe because I didn't object this time, or maybe because Sebastian, too, was deeply affected by the prospect of finally becoming a father, he decided to stay. What if I worried too much about him and the stress hormones hurt our child?When you've waited for a baby for as long as we had, you'd do anything to protect it.For me, that brought the old fears of my husband working in a war zone. I was pregnant, and all I could think about was the life growing inside me, a millimeter each day, as the doctor told us.I felt so protective of it that I couldn't possibly excite myself putting up a fight, arguing that Libya was too dangerous.