This morning I took a home pregnancy test. I already knew what it was going to say. I know most people have some expectations when they test, but I mean I knew in one of those weird “creepy psycho” ways. There were the obvious signs, I guess – sustained high temperatures 14 dpo and the fact that “little miss never miss a period” was late, by any calculation. But I knew I was pregnant when I woke up this morning because I had already taken the test three times in my sleep. Not literally of course. But in my dreams I had taken a pregnancy test three times. The first two times were in the same dream. Instantly the “second line” appeared, while my dad waited outside to hear the results. My dad, who died a couple years ago, who wanted to be a grandfather more than anything. Having my dad there in my dream, waiting for my result was how I knew I was really pregnant. It was as if, because he can’t actually be here, he was trying to find out in other ways.
Anyway – crazyness aside, and I sure am glad I can currently blame being crazy on being pregnant, we were beside ourselves with happiness when the test came back positive. J had been a little negative this week about not wanting the added responsibility and stress of a baby, but last night, he turned the corner. Talk about good timing. He looked at me and told me October would be a good time to have a baby, and he was really hoping I was pregnant. When we found out I was, we danced around the apartment, celebrating how good we were at sex. 10 years without even an oops and we get pregnant the first month we decide “hey, let’s have a baby.”
J got teary eyed as I hopped in the shower, because this is such a great thing for us. And of course, all our plans on waiting to tell the families until after 12 weeks flew right out of his head. “We won’t tell them,” he said, “but can we at least say we hope to give them a grandchild by October?” He’s not a real good thinker. Unfortunately, although my mom is close, his parents are not driving distance. And while we wanted to tell them all in person, we won’t be seeing his family till Easter, and I’ll be four months along by then. So we decided that we wouldn’t wait till 12 weeks, but we also wouldn’t tell his parents in person. The current plan is to spread the good news on St. Patrick’s day. It’s my mom’s birthday and his family sends us cards for all the holidays, so it won’t look strange when they get something from us. I’ll be 11 weeks by then and we will already have had my first appointment/heard the heartbeat/hopefully have a sonogram picture to include with the cards.
I set up my first prenatal appointment. It’s March 1, at exactly 9 weeks.
I hate saying “pregnancy symptoms” as though pregnancy were a disease, although to keep us from spreading the word, J and I have decided to refer to my condition as “alcoholism.” Which makes you less likely to want to share it with people. So far, the symptoms of my “alcoholism” are very minor – mostly constipation and indigestion/burping. Neither of which are pleasant. However I haven’t gotten the dreaded fatigue, sore breasts, or morning sickness which seems to plague many of my friends. Although last night the burping was in such form that I threw up a mouthful of stomach contents, and then didn’t feel so great after.
About 2 days ago I started talking to the little me growing in me. I’ve taken to calling him/her “muppet”. It’s a nice neutral name that works since we’re not finding out the sex. So as of right now? I’m growing a muppet. And we couldn’t be happier.
