I found out I was pregnant the normal way: I peed on a stick. But I didn’t examine it right away for the verdict. My husband and I had been trying to conceive for a long time and during a difficult year, so I held off looking at the stick for as long as I could to give it plenty of time to think about its answer.

While I was showering, a beautiful magenta plus sign materialized.

I ran into our bedroom and pounced on my still-sleeping husband with a cry of joy. I tried to speak but ruined the moment by squeaking out the news in a choked, shrill voice. As I cried, he held me and called me sweetheart.

We were both so happy.

Like many 20-somethings, I have an app for just about every important thing in my life. I have a health tracker that I ignore, a budget tracker that I ignore, an app to pay my bills that I try to ignore, and a period tracker that I’m obsessed with.

Every week, I religiously tracked my mood on the period tracker along with my core temperature, the viscosity of various fluids, how often my husband and I were having sex, if sperm was present, etc. The app had more intimate knowledge of my reproductive behavior than my husband or any doctor.