Well, by now, you’ve probably heard the news either from Facebook/Instagram, or from Dan who’s been telling everyone who looks at him, that we’re having a baby! Since the secret’s finally out, I thought I’d tell you all about the fateful day I found out that Baby Peat was no longer just a glimmer in his/her hopeful parents’ eyes.
Dan and I had been trying since July of last year to get knocked up (with no success). After six months of this, it starts to really wear on your psyche. You can read all about that here. So I caved and went to this magical midwife who told me that if I followed her directions exactly, I would get pregnant. Her professional medical advice, which I probably could have found online, was simply, “Take your temperature every day before you get out of bed. Chart it, and when you notice a spike, have sex every other day for a week. Most people I tell to do this get pregnant within the first month.”
I replied spastically with, “I’m not most people. I have a tipped uterus! It’s going to be way harder for me than everyone else to get pregnant.
She let me know how NOT special I was and that having a tipped uterus is like being right or left handed and has nothing to do with one’s ability to get pregnant. Which I needed to hear. I think it broke the mental block that I had that said, “This is a futile effort. Abandon ship.”
So anyway, she was totally right on my unspecial-ness. Only I didn’t know it just yet.
December 27. Took a pregnancy test. Negative.
December 29. Took a pregnancy test. Is that a super faint line? I’m pretty sure I’m imagining it all and that it’s negative again. SAD FACE.
December 31. Drank a ton of alcohol on New Years because I knew I wasn’t pregnant.
January 2. Convinced I’m not pregnant, I went to the walk-in clinic for a UTI. I had been having the urge to pee every 5 seconds, only it wasn’t excruciatingly painful like UTIs usually are, but I thought, “Better to be safe than sorry.” Plus, I’m not one to sit on a symptom and let it get worse. Dan walked around for six weeks on a broken ankle before he finally got it checked out. If I get a paper cut, I usually think I need stitches. They basically know me by name at the walk-in clinic now, which I used to think was impressive, until I realized that it’s probably more depressing than anything.
While talking to the P.A. and telling her my symptoms, she asked if I could be pregnant. I replied pretty morosely that we’d been trying, but that I just took a test (or seven) the week before and they were all negative, so there was only a very small (minuscule actually) possibility that I was, indeed, pregnant. She decided to test anyway and as soon as she left the room, I started to panic.
A) This is NOT how I want to find out I’m pregnant—at the walk-in clinic while Dan’s not with me.
B) I know it’s going to be negative and I’ll have gotten my hopes up for nothing.
I’m alone now, so I put my phone away, closed my eyes and started trying to breathe in and out deeply to calm myself. Instead of helping, I got even more panicky because the doctor had been coughing incessantly and I was convinced I was inhaling all of her gross germs. Since I had just gotten over mono, the thought of having a cough so deep it sounded like it was coming from her tailbone scared the crap out of me.
She came back in, smiling and holding a hazardous waste bag. You know, the kind they put dirty needles in, and said, “Well, you do have a very mild UTI, but you also have something else! Congratulations!”
I looked down to see a pregnancy test with two lines. One pink, one blue. Let me just say, I. WAS. SHOCKED. Just that day I told my coworker, who was six months pregnant at the time, that I had a new, positive outlook for 2014 and that I was going to be more relaxed and try to enjoy the process of getting pregnant. This was going to be the year of the “laid-back Leah” (who was I kidding?) and if I got pregnant, YAY! If not, I would be able to handle it.
She then told me my estimated due date, which at the time was my brother-in-law’s birthday, September 1st. It’s since been moved to September 11. And answered the million questions that I had, including, “How should I tell my husband? I want to do something fun!”
After finding out, I went to the grocery store down the street to buy a ton of healthy food that would eventually go bad in our fridge. And as I was walking around the grocery store in a daze, smiling to myself, I came 1 inch from running into a crusty old lady with my cart. She proceeded to yell, “Watch it!” in a gruff, smoker’s voice, but instead of being upset, or mad or matching her mean crusty face with my own, I just laughed, apologized and kept smiling because there was no way this crabby person with stringy hair was going to ruin my high!
I then headed to Walgreens to pick up my scrip and figure out a fun way to tell Dan. Here’s what I did:
I purchased a greeting card with mini baby items hanging from a clothespin on the front. The inside read: “Things are about to get a lot more fun. And cuter. Congratulations!” And then I signed it with, “YOU MADE ME PREGNANT,” which is an inside joke of ours from the show Boardwalk Empire. It’s how the drugged-up hooker tells the former FBI agent that he knocked her up. And as soon as that episode aired, I knew that’s how I would also tell my loving husband.
When I got home, Dan was studying, so I filled out the card and handed him the hazardous waste bag with the positive test in it. He laughed but was also a little perplexed and decided that we couldn’t tell our moms until I peed on another stick and that was positive, too. He didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up and I didn’t either so I went along with it, even though I knew the test was right.
The second test turned positive in about 3 seconds. It was such a happy feeling. The best, actually. So I excitedly threw the pee-stick at Dan and we called our moms.
My mom? DIDN’T ANSWER. She was taking a nap! Geeze!! What a horrible time to be sleeping.
Dan’s mom? Laughed hysterically for about 10 minutes, she was so happy.
My mom finally called me back and one of the first things she said after, “Congratulations!” was “I want the baby to call me GLAMMA.”
This is the happiest thing I could ever announce on this blog. I’m excited to keep posting as I get fatter and this baby becomes even more of a reality.
P.S. I made one resolution this year and it was to get pregnant. And on January 2, I accomplished it. I’d say that’s pretty badass, and probably the only time in my entire life that I’ve actually completed a resolution. Maybe the key is to only make one from now on.