Two Blue Lines

Somehow I had a feeling I'd be back to blogging again, if and when we ever undertook this adventure. Right now I'm reading Anne Lamott's wonderful book, Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year, and I find myself not wanting to forget anything.

Except for the puking. Happy to forget the puking.

We received our big news on a Thursday late in April, the day after flying home from Maui. We finally bought the shiny TV we'd been saving for, and were relaxing in our camping chairs, testing it out.

Did I mention we sat in camping chairs in our living room our first 8 weeks here until our couch arrived? We did. It was about as amazing as you could imagine.

On our vacation, I felt dizzy for most of the trip but didn't think anything of it. Being obnoxiously prone to motion sickness, I assumed it was because we were snorkeling and body surfing in the waves every day — even as I tried to fall asleep, I felt like I was bobbing around in the ocean.

I still felt wonky as we sat watching TV, so I nonchalantly murmured, "Need to pee right quick," (which was TRUE) and headed for the bathroom...where my fate awaited me.

When the first line turned blue, I thought, "Ah, no big deal, that's the one that tells you if the test is working."

Imagine my complete confusion when both lines turned blue. Apparently the first line is the "Hey, honey, guess what? You're knocked up!" line.

Picturing the moment beforehand, I always thought I'd cry a few graceful, sparkling tears. Instead, I went for the shaking, hyperventilating approach. It's quite possible I said a four-letter word or two under my breath (hint: it wasn't "baby"). I'm sure I looked a little crazy and am glad I had a moment to compose myself.

Apparently it doesn't matter if you're hoping to be pregnant or not (we were) — it always comes as a shock when you finally do come up with those two blue lines. In a moment, they change everything.

A few minutes later, I marched out into the living room, pee stick in one hand, box with instructions in the other. J's eyes grew big and he said, "Are you kidding?"

"Nope."

As I'd predicted, he grabbed the box, and it became a tennis match: box, pee stick. Box, pee stick.

Then he grabbed me.

Pretty awesome moment for us, as moments go.

Then, like most new fathers-to-be, J congratulated himself. "See, I told you I'd impregnate you. BOOM! Done!"

Then, almost in the same breath: "Think it's too late to take the TV back?"

I half-expected that, too. I reminded him that baby wouldn't arrive tomorrow, and that we might need a cheap form of in-home entertainment in the days and months ahead.

Six weeks later, Baby L is about the size of a large lime (according the the pregnancy book we bought the night we found out) and I am so in love with this little being already that it's a bit overwhelming.

Even with the puking. I haven't had it half as bad as some people, but still . . . the puking. My sources tell me this should subside in a week or two, and I can hardly wait. I don't mean to complain, but it's hard to appreciate my so-called "pregnancy glow" in the reflection of the toilet bowl. ;)