When we got back from our trip this evening, one of the first things that I did was go into my bathroom and look on the sink. It was still there. It still had lines on it. Two of them.
You know those lines. The ones that tell you that your life is never going to be the same again.
When I woke up yesterday morning, I was feeling a bit queasy. Sean made a teasing comment about it being the morning, and I gave him the obligatory, “ha, ha.” Having just dealt with two puking kids in as many days, feeling ill wasn’t any surprise. Breakfast and a shower improved how I felt, and I commenced with the rest of my day. I did some laundry. I packed for our overnight trip. When the time came, we packed up the kids, tromped around in the cold, and cut down a huge, bushy Christmas tree.
We came home with the plan to quickly get the tree in its holder, put the suitcases in the car, and leave.
I’m not sure exactly why I decided to do it. Maybe I just felt like wasting money. I had just done it a couple of weeks ago when I wasn’t feeling well, and nothing happened then. For whatever reason, though, I decided to pee on a stick.
And that’s when those lines showed up.
Yes, I’m pregnant. I don’t know exactly how far along, since I hadn’t started having periods since E~ was born. That’s right–it happened the first possible time. For people who aren’t supposed to have any chance at all of conceiving children, we have developed a talent for this. Based on when I (supposedly) wasn’t pregnant, I’m guessing that I’m due around the end of July or beginning of August. Or not. I’ve had false negatives on pregnancy tests before.
After making sure that the Christmas tree was secure, I asked Sean to come check something out. I led him to the bathroom and showed him the stick on the sink.
He started to laugh. He asked me if we should warn the couple at church who also have four kids, all of whom were born within months of my kids. He called his brother (who was over) back to give us a “second opinion.” Other than Patrick, though, we aren’t telling anyone yet. I’m thinking about waiting for Christmas and making it a surprise.
Or, maybe, I’m just putting off the inevitable eye rolling. Both of my parents made comments this weekend before I knew I was pregnant. My mother acted surprised when I mentioned that we would probably have at least one more child. Later, when someone asked how old E~ was now, my father said something about it being “about that time” for us. Yes, 8 1/2 months seems to be some sort of magic time–we only missed it between C~ and E~.
And how do I feel about it?
Well, I had planned on waiting longer than this before getting pregnant again. But, after all of the years of not being able to have kids, I won’t complain about my blessings. Obviously, I am in a bit of denial. Hence, double-checking the stick when I came home. The truth is, though, I can’t deny the signs, even if I could deny the stick. I have been queasy (more than just yesterday morning). I’m feeling tired. My back problems have been acting up more than usual. When I was putting cooked bacon on the yam boats I made for Thanksgiving, it smelled like rancid fat to me. Oh, and the other day, I ended up tearing up at the end of a cartoon. That is never a good sign. And, of course, there is the matter of the teeny-tiny gold baby bracelet that I seriously considered buying (and hiding from Sean!) the other day, but didn’t because it was just a ridiculous idea. Was that nutty craving a result of my hormones telling me what I didn’t yet know?
In short, I’m starting to accept the idea. I love my children, and I will love having another. I am also scared, though. Scared of having five kids in six and a half years. Scared of starting the school year next year with a kindergartner, first grader, and newborn (not to mention two who won’t be in school yet). And, while not scared, at least a little less than enthusiastic about going through all of the aches and pains and waddling again so soon.
Not that any of that matters.
Those lines are still there.