So, that secret that was so difficult to keep. So difficult in fact that everyone guessed?
I’m knocked up. Surprise!
I had to wait until we saw an actual heartbeat before I felt like I wasn’t jinxing it. Not that I don’t feel like I’m jinxing it everyday, but you know what I mean.
After months of planning romantic trips (Paris, Trier, a funeral) to make the doctor’s order to “Have intercourse as many times as possible over the next 36 hours” seem less like a mandate, it turns out all we needed was a wedding, copious amounts of red wine (I really like how “copious” works with “red wine”) and the Sisters of Mercy.
Let’s just say that this little guy was determined once it looked like we were having some fun even though he wasn’t due for a few more days.* Then he hid out, fooling the blood test until after my Fairy Godmother (my doctor) left on vacation. I took home pregnancy tests the following week, in secret, because I thought I was being stupid and all the signs pointing to pregnancy were really hormonal side effects. The tests, all of four of them, were positive and another pint of blood was taken and lo and behold, I’m knocked up.
He stuck the landing and he’s hanging out doing what embryos do.
I have freaked myself out approximately 27 million times since the positive tests and I am no longer allowed to research anything pregnancy related on the Internet. My doctor has forbidden it. So has Sparky. And my sister.
My sister is now the keeper of knowledge. If I want to know something, she looks it up and gives me the gist. I also cannot go to the gym for a few more weeks. I finally got an un-forged note to get out of PE.
I’m high risk so there is still a chance of losing him, but I grow more secure as the days go on.
Every time I go back to the doctor, I hold my breath, thinking that he’ll be gone this time, but he’s not. He’s bigger. Right now he’s the size of a lentil bean, but last week he was the size of a sesame seed.
So that’s it. I have a lot more to say about it, but it’s hard to make it funny and frankly, I don’t want to bore everyone with the minutiae that is involved with fertility treatments. I was starting to feel like Pete Doherty I was shooting up so much. Except instead of the getting high part, I had mood swings and hot flashes.
My family is thrilled and can’t wait until we have a new little one to love and harass. My dad is already buying the candy he plans on feeding this kid.
My sister and brother really want twins which is highly unlikely since every part of this conception was monitored and Dr. G would have noticed. They want me to name a boy Optimus. Optimus is not an option, guys. I will not name my child after a Transformer.
Wish me luck and cross your fingers. We have a few more weeks before I can really start to believe it, before I’m no longer worried about jinxing and before I stop feeling myself up to make sure things that should be sore still are sore.
So, there we go. On to a new chapter.
* This was what Sparky said when Dr. G told us on a very hungover Sunday morning (we got home at 7am and had a 12 noon appt. That’s how good of a night it was) that we, uh, had better get busy because my part of the reproduction equation was ready to go, days ahead of schedule and without an injection.