Nothing was really out of the ordinary those first few weeks. My boobs felt full (something this 32 A-er has only experienced in her dreams), I wanted to sleep every moment of every day (I was the poster child for NyQuil), but somehow I was convinced I was making it all up.
(Boys, turn away now. No, really.) I have a really weird period, and it's not unusual for me to skip two or three months at a time. (Okay, you can come back.) I've always joked that I would wind up thinking I needed to take a dump one day and instead of unleashing yesterday's lunch, I'd birth a child I didn't know I was carrying. At least I could've been on that horrific TLC show: I didn't know I was pregnant. (Spoiler alert: I won't be on it.)
Until one day.
I was having my weekly Skype date at lunch with one of my very best friends, Blayne. (Fun Fact: I was the first person she called when she found out she was preggo. "I see TWO pink lines! TWO! What. Does. It. Mean!") After hashing out all of my symptoms, she very wisely told me to take a pregnancy test--if for no other reason to cross it off the list of reasons I was acting weird.
So right there in the middle of a Friday afternoon of working from home, I did. I ended the call with her, grabbed the pregnancy test I had stowed away in my bathroom cupboards (I'm a crazy, paranoid lady), and proceeded to take a whiz. (Can we just talk about how this is such a grizz-tastic way of discovering one of the greatest blessings of all time?)
. . . My test turned positive before I had even finish peeing on the stick.
I jumped. And yelled. And cried. And proceeded to pee all over my hand.
It was magical. And terrifying. And wonderful. And confusing. And gross (the pee was anyway).
I cried a lot. I washed my hand. And I quickly called Blayne back. I don't really know what my mental state was at that point, or what I even said to her. It was all a blur of tears, snot, and urine. The phone call didn't last long, and I proceeded to cry on my bed for the next two hours. I remember thinking, "I'm in the fetal position, and I have a fetus in me..." So much for trying to do any more work that day.
I was so happy and so terrified and totally incapacitated. Grahm and I were planning on waiting another year before we braved the parental front, so this was all so shocking to me. So unplanned, yet so incredible. (Though if you don't take BC, ladies, you can't really be too "shocked." It was bound to happen.)
I found out at 2:30. I called Grahm at 3:30 and begged him to come home early. This is a pretty standard phone call between us (he likes his job too much, and I'm super needy), so he didn't really think anything of it... until I asked again. I guess I had more desperation in my voice this time despite my efforts to tone down my "Come home immediately. I have a baby growing in me!" panic.
He told me later that night he knew I was pregnant instantly--so much for playing it cool. I confirmed his suspicions when he came home and found me on the bed, still fetal. I had always pictured some grandiose way of telling my husband that I was carrying a person in my hot pocket, but this was much more real. More us. We cried. And laughed. And prayed. He was/is so supportive, loving, and genuinely excited for our life-altering surprise. I can't imagine doing this without him.
We are incredibly blessed and incredibly thankful. Baby Roach is already so loved, and I can't tell you how much that means to us.
P.S. One preggo test is enough. Keep your dollah dollah bills unless you just like to pee on things...