I've wanted to write this post for quite a while, and I've thought about the tone in which I'd write it, or the language I'd use and all of those writer's flourishes that dance on so many of the blogs and pieces I adore. But now that pen is to paper (or, in my case, fingers to keyboard) no fabulous cheekiness is coming to me. No play on words or goofy sentiments, either. So, with that, I will say this, plainly but full of love, hope, and giddiness: I am pregnant (I have to say it again: I am pregnant!!!) and Matt and I couldn't be more happily terrified.
We have entered our second trimester and are due mid-November. We learned of the pregnancy the second week of March, with very little pomp and circumstance. I went for my blood test on a Friday morning (a week after I was laid off), and Matt planned to come home around 2 pm to take the results call with me. They always call after 2 pm, but that Friday the phone rang at 12:30 pm and the nurse said - I remember so clearly - "So, ya ever have a positive pregnancy test?".
We didn't celebrate that night, or the following few weeks. We tempered our expectations - my progesterone and estrogen levels were woefully low and I was being propped up on several supplements. But, my beta numbers (hCG - the pregnancy hormone) kept rising, and then we had an ultrasound and saw the yolk sac. Our next ultrasound we saw a smudge in the yolk sac. On our next ultrasound the smudge was now a shrimp, and was larger and had a heartbeat, and now, many weeks later, our smudge is a baby the size of a lemon who kicks, punches, and makes us hold our breath every time we see him or her on the ultrasound monitor.
As the weeks progressed, I felt more free to believe everything would be okay. I visited baby forums, read no less than 200 reviews of strollers on Babies R Us and Target.com and last week, as we entered our second trimester, Matt turned to me and said, "We have so much to do before the baby comes; we have to make a list!" There is always risk, and it is still early, but we've finally exhaled, and we have never been more happy.
Matt, being Matt, has named the baby "Cletus the Fetus". "How's Cletus today, K?!" Me, being me, usually snottily retorts with, "Well, our CHILD weighs an ounce, so it's not like I feel him wiggling around in there." Matt wants a boy, but only because he doesn't know what to do with a girl. He is scared of them and their pink and lace and temper tantrums. I have no gender expectations, but I do hope he or she has Matt's kindness, patience, joie de vivre, and perfect health, and what I'd like to think of as my strong sense of self and sardonic humor. I'd also like them to not inherent Matt's hairiness - well, that goes more so if the baby is a girl.
When it rains, it pours. I'm starting a new job in Philadelphia after Memorial Day (yes; it take a lot for that to be second-rate news!), and although nervous and a bit overwhelmed, I think I'm really kickin' ass these days. Of course, there are some hiccups: today my ob/gyn told me I really need to to control my rocketing weight (oops - I finally looked at the number on the scale after many appointments of eyes squeezed shut and, sadly, I have to admit, a few tears were shed), and then there's the whole thing of the world ending tomorrow on the 21st. Just when things were really starting to look up...
In my "real" life I am still keeping this news to close friends and family and there will be no Facebook announcement (now or later), but a few readers have reached out individually, and I'm so glad I can now share the news with everyone on the blog. I owe you a world of gratitude: however cheesy this sounds, your support and comments were rays of sunshine in my inbox, and I can only hope I can return the same happiness you have given me.