somefatchick

I can’t even count how many times in my life I’ve started a journal entry with, “I don’t know why I stopped writing just before the most [crazy/dramatic/confusing/exciting/etc.] time in my life!” and then go on to skip over the explanation of the craziness/drama/confusion/excitement and go on to the present situation. I kick myself for it, of course, when I’m reading my 14-year-old words and wondering what the hell the most dramatic time in my life was all about. So I’m not going to say that this time, although I almost certainly could.

My last post was on May 19, so I think that my old standard journal starter is entirely appropriate right now, because May 21 really was, without exaggeration, the day that my life has taken its most important turn to date.

May 21 is the day I first found out about Toaster.

This is Toaster. Toaster lives in my uterus. Toaster and I have been roommates for 11 weeks now, though I am officially 13 weeks pregnant. This fact hurts my logical brain, but at least I get to shave 2 weeks off the countdown.

On the morning of May 21 (and, okay, the mornings of May 16, 17, 18, and 19 as well), I woke up and peed in a cup. Unfortunately, after 4 negative tests in a row, I wasn’t quite as eager on this particular morning, and didn’t get up until after J left for work. Which means that I found out all by myself, while sitting on the toilet, no less. What a charming story to tell the baby someday.

At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Holy crap! That’s a second pink line!” I stumbled back into my room, fell on the bed, and smiled. But then, I really couldn’t believe my eyes. I had, after all, just woken up, and my eyes were still blurry, and the second line was very faint. I tried bringing the test closer to my eyes, and then moving it further away. I couldn’t tell whether it was really there or not. Then I got out my camera, thinking that if a second line showed up when I zoomed in really far on the preview screen, then it was definitely there. But it turns out that you can’t really focus very well on a tiny test strip. Eventually, I accepted the fact that, yes, there were two lines, and yes, I was pregnant. Pregnant!

I didn’t trust my voice to not give me away, so I sent J a text message, asking if we could have lunch. I even made myself wait until after 10 to send it, because I thought it would be suspicious if I sent it immediately after he left. He agreed, and I left the house a little before noon, my precious test strip stashed inside an empty pack of Orbit gum.

As it turns out, I would not be telling my husband about the baby during lunch, because just before we left his office, we got a phone call from his grandmother’s assisted living home. Grandma was on the way to the emergency room after complaining of chest pains. We’ve been through this time after time – she gets heartburn, assumes it’s a heart attack, and gets rushed to the hospital. Every time, she’s just fine when she gets there, and she gets sent home after a few days of observation. This time was no different. But it did make for bad timing for an exciting announcement, so I spent the afternoon hours sitting quietly next to my husband and father-in-law, with my inner voice screaming, “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!”

And then it was time to go to school, and I had to try to concentrate on microbiology while my inner voice was screaming, “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!” And when I called J after school, he was still at his friend’s house, so I stopped by the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner, with my inner voice screaming with every passing second, “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!” It was a bit unending for the first several days, actually.

Eventually, we both made it home. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to break the news to my beloved. He has a history of being outspokenly anti-procreation, and though he was a very active (and willing) participant in this little gamble of ours, I wasn’t certain of how he was going to take it. Hell, I still wasn’t certain how I was taking it.

I was kneeling on the edge of the bed when I asked him to come hug me. Then, at a complete loss for words, I reached into my nearby purse and pulled out my pack of Orbit. (Later, J would say, “I couldn’t figure out why the hell she called me over to give me gum.”) Hands shaking, I pulled out my little test strip and showed it to him.

“Okay…what am I looking at?”
“That’s two lines.”
“Okay…so what does that mean?”
“That second line? That’s Ebenezer.”
“What?”
“It’s positive. Two lines means positive.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup. Positive.”

I, naturally, turned into an uncontrolable, sobbing mess, leading J to ask me if this was a good thing or a bad thing. “I don’t knoooow!” I cried into to his chest. He, however, was a bit more in control.

“I feel totally at peace right now. If it happens, it happens, and that’s fine.”
“Uh, sweetie? It’s already happened!”
“And I’m totally okay with that. It’s you and me. It’s part of my Chelle. And how could that ever be anything other than wonderful?”

I loved him so much right then. While I was struggling with my emotions, feeling both elated and scared out of my mind (in other words: pregnant), he managed to bring me back down to some sense of calm and normalcy. Yes, part of me was frustrated by his calmness. How could he be standing there like everything was perfectly fine, when I was struggling with how I had the right to be happy about this while mentally calculating our budget? Because he’s different than me, that’s all. Not better, not worse, just different. And it’s a damn good thing, too, because sometimes I really need his steadiness.