Can I just say I keep one helluva secret? This shocks no-one more than me, I swear. See, I've known about this little bit of news -- this life-changing, tear- (and if we're being honest, vomit-) inducing news -- for almost a month now. A MONTH. And I've kept my hands clicking away on safe subjects such as BlogHer clothes and TV shows and not on the one subject I most wanted to talk about. All I've wanted to do is tell you that all your good wishes and prayers and sweet e-mails weren't in vain. They helped! They worked! We're having a baby!
But family had to be told first as I just know if my mom or sister had found out about their grandchild/niece/nephew on the Internet, there would be a few feisty and resentful people at any future baby showers. And they give good gifts! Why would I knowingly piss them off? (And can I just say telling my mother and having her TURN TO THE TABLE BEHIND US to tell them the good news was one of life's finer moments.)
Most of the family/circle of friends have been told now, so I can go ahead and give you some details. (Not those details and you're welcome for that.)
We sort of chalked May up to "the month that got away"* because it was a rather insane month, and I wanted to face the reality that the chances just weren't good. I was out of town on business for a few days, I was staying away from Mike for Natalie's wedding, I had a (beautiful and lovely!) house guest for a little while, and so I gave us a break. We were still on medicine, we were still well aware of when I was ovulating, but the window of opportunity to "capitalize" on things was small and I told myself it probably wouldn't happen and that would just have to be alright. (Which is why I wrote this. And, yep, I was [unknowingly] pregnant when I hit publish. THE. IRONY.)
So when I became officially "late," I got a little pissed at myself. BECAUSE THAT'S JUST RUDE, SELF. Don't taunt the infertile. (That should be the name of a book! Or a band!) But I had grand plans to go watch Mike practice hockey one night and if that -- the act of watching my husband skate around a rink of ice -- isn't scintillating enough there was a bar. With alcohol. Before I downed a pitcher or two of beer, I thought, Well, I may as well take a test. That's the responsible thing to do. So I can drink without guilt. I mean does anyone order their pitcher of frosty Bud Light with a side of guilt? (No comments on how disgusting Bud Light is. This pregnant woman has been known to cry over less. LIKE AT GENERAL HOSPITAL, I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING.)
Anyway, Mike was home when I got home -- tests and a BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE in tow; when you go a year without seeing the extra line, there is nothing in your mental capacity that is prepared for the moment after you see that extra line, and so you pick up champagne because that's just what you do when you're in Wal-Mart and you have to pass the champagne aisle anyway to get to the dairy aisle -- and I snuck into the bathroom and peed on what I was supposed to pee on and before I even had the chance to lay that sucker on a flat surface, there were two lines forming. And I kid you not the first thing I thought was, "Even the fucking tests are mocking me." So I grabbed the box and made sure I was reading it right and then I sort of stumbled out into the kitchen where Mike was and walked over to him and said, "Um? This says I'm pregnant?" And that, Internet, is how I told my husband he was going to be a father. In the form of a half-question. And we stood there, sort of confusedly looking at one another, not understanding what was going on and then he said, "Wait? What?" And I said, "Yeah, I don't get it either." And there were no tears. And no jumping up and down. And, let's be honest, NO SIGNS OF INTELLIGENT LIFE ANYWHERE. We were just so ... sure ... it wasn't going to be that easy. That it would require a lot more work and medicine and procedures and, fuck, MONEY. It was the best moment of my life so far and I swear to you, if you could have witnessed it, it would have annoyed the hell out of you because we could not even believe it enough to REACT.
We now believe it a little more -- although there's still a part of me that doesn't think it'll be real until I'm holding that kiddo -- and every day that passes we get a little more used to the idea that we get to be parents! We get our shot at sending an innocent little thing straight into the arms of a psychiatrist! We're thrilled! We're excited! Well we're all of those things when I'm awake which, just ask my husband, IS NOT VERY OFTEN. One huge, kick-me-in-the-ass symptom of pregnancy: chronic napping.
I wish I could find the perfect words to sum this post up, something along the lines of how lucky I feel and how wonderful Mike has been (you have no idea) and how we're really, really ready for this next chapter and how I'm so glad fashion these days is maternity-friendly and how I've been craving Crunchwrap Supremes from Taco Bell like you wouldn't BELIEVE and how just when I thought life couldn't get any sweeter, it went and got as sweet as it could ever get and how I'm totally convinced we're having a boy and how, holy cow, this is all so cool, right? But all the right words just fail me and I end up crying (see: DURING GENERAL HOSPITAL) and stuttering and I realize there are no words. They don't exist. This is bigger than words. It's as big as life gets (and, I hear, that'll be a literal statement in a few months when I can't stand up without grunting or knocking over the couch).
So I'll say this -- even though it's a fraction of how I really feel and it falls terribly short -- thank you. Thank you to each of you, checking in or otherwise. Thank you to my husband -- who SAJ, I'm hanging onto, don't you worry -- and thank you to whoever out there thought I was worthy to be a mother. I'm going to take this job really, ridiculously seriously. (I swear, I only forgot to feed Molly that one time when Mike was out of town. FINE. TWICE. She's still alive! She's fine!)
The day after Mike and I found out, I bought ninety-five other tests because, um, I STILL DIDN'T GET IT, and I took this picture to send to him at work. He wrote back and said, "I can't stop smiling."
Baby, wow, do I know exactly what you mean.
Oh and the kid's birthstone will be purple. How's that for perfect?
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*Note: if anyone leaves a comment that says "I told you it would happen when you least expected it!" I'm going to send you the baby when it's teething.