Thursday, September 9, 2010

Um, what?

This... was not supposed to happen.

I've always been wicked paranoid about getting pregnant. If my period was so much as a day late, or if I was feeling just a tad more bloated than usual, I ran to the medicine cabinet and whipped out a pregnancy test. No surprise, they were always negative. Also, I'm neurotic.

So this time, when my period was late (I always get late periods, no matter what), I actively decided not to be neurotic and ignored the medicine cabinet, taunting me with one remaining test out of a three-pack I'd bought months ago. And, the Monday before Labor Day, I went home from school and skipped the rest of my classes because I was nauseous, cramping and feeling, overall, like shit. I thought, yay! It's my period! There is no other reason for me to feel like crap! Hooray!

Wrooooooong. When I was still feeling nasty (and period-less) almost a week later, my husband very gently suggested I take the test. By "very gently", I mean he followed me around going "you're pregnant, you're pregnant" until I agreed to pee on the damn stick.

So I go through the motions: collect morning pee, dip stick in pee for five seconds, cap, lay flat on counter, dispose of excess pee, flee bathroom in terror for the next three minutes. Except this time, there was no fleeing in terror, because I was determined that I was not, in fact, pregnant, just like the other forty-seven times I haven't been pregnant.

I sauntered back into the bathroom after five minutes (totally not neurotic, look how long I waited), glanced at the stick, and yelled "WE'RE FINE" back into the computer room, where my husband was waiting. Then, as I was about to throw the test away, I actually looked at the result window. There had been one pink line when I'd glanced at it, but now, holding in it in my hands and actually looking at the results... there was another pink line. It was faint, but it was there.

Oh, shit.

My husband thought I was kidding. After all, I'd just told him everything was fine... but then I handed the test over and cried a little. 'Cause, you know, I'm a girl, and I cry sometimes. Like when I find out I'm pregnant even though I'm not supposed to be.

Then I made him go to the drugstore with me and buy the expensive pregnancy tests, just in case the one I'd had around for a few months was a dud. It did not help my mood any when the damn result window lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as my pee touched the stick. Damn you, plus sign! Damn you to hell!

Well, it's four days later, and oddly enough, I think I'm okay with this whole baby-making deal. A lot of is scaring the shit out of me, of course, because we are completely and totally unprepared for a child, but it's exciting. And my mother is happier than shit, because she's been bugging me for grandchildren ever since I got engaged. (I tried telling her that she was the grandmother of my dog; she didn't buy into it.) I'm pretty sure we'll manage to muddle through this somehow.

I decided to start a blog to help keep me sane. After all, it's been four days, according to this iPhone app, my baby is six weeks old, and I'm already regretting that glass of wine I had a five days ago, wondering if the cough drop I popped this morning is safe, and creating all sorts of bizarre budgeting strategies. Hopefully, someone else can laugh at my misfortune. :)

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