Yes, come one come all. Extra extra, hear all about it. My uterus is being inhabited by something that, at present, looks a heckuva lot like an alien.
Just like that. Bam. Pregnant.
Monday rolled around and my cherished Aunt Flo did not arrive as scheduled. I didn't freak out, though. She's sometimes late. So I waited on Tuesday, and nothin'. Wednesday still nothin', so I thought to myself "Self, let's pick up a test and find out for sure." I was surprisingly calm about the whole thing. I was expecting to be as antsy as Nick Lachey on his wedding night with Jessica Simpson. But I wasn't. I was so calm. Maybe it's because I've done all of this before.
I bought the test on Wednesday, and waited until Thursday morning to take it, while Matt was away at work. Again, I was super calm. Just hopped into the bathroom while Oliver was strapped into his high chair eating breakfast. My brother Ben was even crashing on our couch for the week, and was fast asleep during the commotion. I came, I peed, I left it. Went back to feeding Monster #1. A few minutes later I casually strolled into the bathroom, knowing full well what it would say, and sure enough.
Hello lovely little digital words.
Pregnant. And the 2-3 indicates how many weeks since conception. Kinda' nifty, but not essential.
So, as you can probably guess, I was psyched out of my face. Smiling ear to ear. I tucked the test away somewhere in our bedroom, as to not be found, and went back to feeding Oliver. Just like that. Life altering news, and the day just continues as if nothing earth-shaking has just happened. I find that most giant events in life are like that...
The first person I told was my friend Chelsea. Matt and I have this thing where we don't tell anyone in the first trimester (not because we believe in luck, but because should anything, God forbid, happen, we're just not the type to want all of the sympathy and the sad looks and the "Oh we're so sorry" and all that.) But we are allowed to tell one person each, that way should something happen, we've got a "mourner." Or in other words, someone to acknowledge that it happened with us, and help us through it. And Chelsea just happened to become that person. I guess it just came up in conversation that we were trying, and Chelsea got it on her mental calendar. All she had to do was ask, and I just spilled the beans. All over the freaking place.
Warning: May contain coarse language.
If you can't make out the photo, it's a picture of the positive pregnancy test.
To sum it up, best reaction ever.
After I told her, I started to work on my plan of how I would reveal the pregnancy to Matt. When I found out I was pregnant with Oliver, I put a note in a Kinder Egg (read that post here) and I wanted an equally great story to tell this time around. So I devised a clever plot indeed.
To be continued...
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