WEEK 3: Test results

If you're like me, you like to plan and prepare. Prepare to make a plan. You prepare your whole high school career to get into a good college. Prepare your whole college career to land a good job. Prepare for your boyfriend to pop the question. Prepare for the wedding. Prepare to be financially ready to buy a house. Prepare to have a baby. 

But no matter how many blogs you read, friends with babies you talk to, or romantic comedies you watch, nothing can ever really prepare you for seeing that faint hint of a line on a little plastic stick that translates to---hey, this is really happening, you prepared? 

Well, that happened this morning. 

I've come up with so many reasons not to write this blog. I'm in the business of sharing people's stories, but it's a little bit different putting yourself out there to tell your own. But, lucky for you, I found out I was pregnant this morning, and by this afternoon, I was an expert on all things pregnancy. (**Note to the reader, if you do not speak sarcasm, turn around now. This blog will likely be confusing.) 

Joking aside, I'm writing this blog mostly for my mom. (Which is probably the only person who's going to read it.) I was adopted at 6 weeks old by a fabulous set of humans, which if you know me, you probably already knew. I tell everyone. Seriously. (In pre-school, kids were being mean to me because I was adopted. My response was "My parents picked me out and your parents got stuck with you." You probably will not find that advice in 'How to Win Friends and Influence People.') More stories on adoption to come...

But, I digress. My mom has been dying. DYING. for us to get pregnant. Not in that subtle hinting way, like 'Oh, you look so comfortable holding that baby.' More like, 'I got you an Elf on the Shelf for my future grandchildren!'...two Christmases ago.  TWO. 

I'm no psychologist, but I think 1. She is really excited to have grandchildren (obviously) and 2.She never went through pregnancy herself, so it's FASCINATING to her 

So, as repayment for all of the nail polish I spilled on her carpet, the hours spent at my dance recital practices, the Mother's Day spent in the emergency room when I broke my arm, and the overall sass she had to endure through those glorious teen years, I figured this blog would pretty much make us even. 

So back to the point. The pregnancy test. It's positive. I tested while my husband, Austin was out jogging. I freaked for a solid 10 minutes while googling everything related to 'positive pregnancy test' you can imagine. Seriously, even the most simple pregnancy concepts I can't seem to grasp without Google confirming. 'Yes, if the pee stick says 'pregnant' you are pregnant...' Then, I realized (back to the preparing...) Pinterest had told me it would be a cute idea to tell him over a game of Scrabble. Spell out the words 'im pregnant' or something like that. Well, I figured a game of Scrabble at 8:30AM before he starts work, and I head to the gym seemed like he would probably sense something was up. 

Plan B is, I have no Plan B. 

But fortunately I had a chalkboard and some string.

I was so nervous he was going to come home before I could get it all together I could hardly get the ribbon off the spool and tie it. Which is why the ribbon is like 7 feet long. But, my news anchor deadline instincts kicked in and the Bulldawg in me finished the drill. Austin got about halfway up the stairs before his mouth hit the floor. I have never seen anything cuter than how excited my husband is about being a daddy. (It reminded me of the look he gets when the lone trumpeter hits those first few notes in Sanford Stadium on the first home game of the season...yeah, THAT excited guys.) 

Conveniently, we had a meeting already booked with our financial adviser around lunch that day. The preparer in me was shocked when our adviser told us we have to have actual children before setting up their 529 savings accounts. Minor details.

On to day two of pregnancy...thank God for Google. And also for trusting me with this little nugget of a human to grow. 


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