Time to Let It All Hang Out

...of my ever-straining, overworked, stretched-to-the-breaking-point, no longer adequate, wee little size-six pants

Part I: Holy Crap, I'm Pregnant

All righty. The time has come to bore you all with Tales of Pregnancy, M-Style. Now that everyone at my work knows that I'm befetused, I'm feeling ready and willing to blog about it. It ain't pretty, I'm warning you. Seriously, Scott and Brother of M and any other male readers I might have out there in the cyber-ether, you may want to take a collective manly vacation from Waxing Prosaic and just totally tune out for the next five months, you know? It's football season, right? Go watch some.

OK, then, girls. Here's the scoop. Having just returned from a whirlwind trip to Albany, NY (my hometown), where I'd attended my very bestest friend's wedding and visited the fam for the fourth of July holiday, S and I threw our suitcases into the living room, stripped to our skivvies, tossed some affection our cats' way, and climbed into bed. (It was past midnight, we were exhausted, and we both had to work the next day.) As per usual, S fell asleep instantly, damn him. I, on the other hand, lay awake feeling odd and unsettled. With sore knockers, I might add. (Again, Brother of M and Scott: Somewhere, in some stadium or another, someone's kicking the winning field goal. Right now. You don't want to miss it. Go grab a beer and some Doritos and make your way to the couch, immediately. Step away from Waxing Prosaic before somebody gets hurt.) So I decided I needed to take a pregnancy test RIGHT NOW, just to rule that crazy idea right out. Some nagging little feeling was really insisting that I stumble into the bathroom and pee on a stick, and it just couldn't wait till daybreak.

So, I blindly made my way through the dark to the bathroom and fumbled around for a test stick in the full-of-crap cupboard beneath the sink. Found one. Peed on it. Put the cap on the wrong way. Yanked it off and reattached it, correctly. Set the stick on the sink. Waited, with Toonces at my feet, for the result, feeling utterly certain that "Not Pregnant" would pop up on the little display, as it always had.

But sweet Jesus oh dear god: "Pregnant" appeared immediately. Immediately. Like, not even fifteen seconds after I got that freaking cap on right. I know it sounds theatrical, but I truly did rub my eyes and come in for a closer look, because I COULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT I WAS SEEING. I was utterly paralyzed and frankly, confused. I went cold and started shivering. I was just wholely unprepared for this result, and I so hate to be unprepared. Denial set in pretty fast, and I came up with the notion that the result was wrong because I had fumbled with the cap and put it on wrong the first time. That had to be it. That was the only logical explanation. I'd take another test first thing in the morning, being sure to attach that stupid cap the right way right from the get-go.

Regardless, this was such a baffling, freaky event that I had to tell S about it that minute. It couldn't wait. I slunk back to the bedroom and propped myself on my knees right next to where he lay sleeping. I hovered over him, staring at his face. (This is an effective, if spooky, way to wake him up without actually shaking him or making noise or hissing "S! S!" into his ear.) His eyelids started quivering and sure enough, he woke up and barked "What happened?" all disoriented-like. I told him what had just occurred. He stared at me. I stared at him. He broke out in a half-smile. I didn't. I was still convinced the result was wrong, and I told him so. "You're definitely re-taking it in the morning, then?" he asked, not sure how to react to this maybe-true, maybe-not news; appearing a little frightened by my intensity; and not seeming to want to jinx anything. "Yes," I stated. "And I'm sure it will be negative."

Hours passed. Not much sleep on my side of the bed. Waves of anxiety. Etc.

Took it again in the morning, bright and early, cap accurately positioned. "Pregnant." Unbelievable! What the hell?!

I know my first reaction should've been sheer joy, but I have to admit, that wasn't it. At all. I was utterly panicked and terrified, not because I didn't want to be pregnant (I did), but because it caught me so off-guard. S and I had been trying for SIX MONTHS---very precisely, I might add---to no avail whatsoever. We'd been getting worried that something was wrong, actually. And then, besides the slightly sore knockers, there'd been no indication that a wee little M + S zygote had finally been created and was floating around in my lady parts. So I felt like my body had played a huge trick on me: "Ha ha! You're pregnant, M! Surprise! Try not to feel too panicked by all the white wine, vodka-cranberry cocktails, Amstel Light, ibuprofen, and Claritin-D you ingested back in Albany, ‘kay?"

To be continued.