It was time. Time to finally tell my parents. Time to share the news of the pregnancy. With hearts full of excitement, we headed to our hometown. On the way, we stopped at a lovely little restaurant in Zsámbók and enjoyed a peaceful lunch. We were the only guests, which made the atmosphere calm and cozy — a perfect moment before the storm of emotions to come. The journey, however, turned out to be far from smooth. The traffic was chaotic everywhere. We had to bypass the M3 motorway due to a massive jam, and what is usually a three-and-a-half-hour drive turned into a five-hour ordeal. Eventually, though, we made it.
We arrived at my flat — which is where my parents live now. They had to leave their house for the winter because the heating costs are just too high, especially since the place isn’t insulated. My dad wasn’t home when we got there — he had gone to feed the cat at their house. So we started with my mum. We gave her a small gift bag with some sweets inside… and hidden among them was a card from the medical centre — showing the first image of our little girl’s face. The surprise hit her like a wave. She was shocked… and then the tears came. Tears of joy. We told her everything.
How we had been waiting for the right moment. How we didn’t want to raise hopes too soon — not until all the genetic tests came back clear. And now that everything was fine, we were ready to share the journey. We talked about the treatments, the tests, and the many examinations. We told her we had already shared the news at work, and everything was in order there. We discussed the joy and excitement of what lies ahead, both short-term and long-term. Of course, this was just the beginning of a much bigger conversation — one that will continue, and one that will remain at the heart of our lives for a long time to come.