Here goes nothin'

So, yeah. I'm pregnant. It is very, very strange to write those words, much less say them. When I say things like "my pregnancy", "my baby", and "no alcohol for 9 months", it sort of feels like I'm getting back into theatre, playing some far-fetched role that is nothing like my own life. But no, theatre this is not. This is my life. It does not feel real.

I suppose I should back up. (Maybe I should have done that a few weeks ago? Ha!)

A little over three weeks ago, BD (BabyDaddy) and I were less careful than we should have been, y'know, right in the middle of my cycle. About a week after that, my boobs started hurting, and I started feeling bloated and kind of cranky, and I thought, oh goody, PMS week has arrived. Yay! Only it lasted two weeks.

On Friday night (Friday the 13th!) BD and I decided to stop at the drugstore and pick up a home pregnancy test, you know, to put our minds at ease. We giggled about the two and three packs, but went for a two pack anyway. We picked up a birthday card that looked like a beer can for a friend. The cashier commented "I should get one of those for my nephew!" BD joked "Which one?", we all had a good laugh.

We got home. I peed on the stick. The Plus sign that means "you're pregnant" was evident immediately, even as I was still peeing on the thing. BD was all, wait the two minutes, maybe the plus sign will turn into a minus. I was skeptical, but waited the requisite two minutes. The plus sign did not magically turn into a minus.

We left to meet friends out for drinks. BD discreetly ordered me a diet 7up with a splash of cranberry juice. "Hold the vodka." The bartender looked at me funny. I swear she knew. A friend asked what I was drinking. I have no poker face what-so-ever, and I'm so conditioned not to lie that I just kind of froze and said "the usual", and avoided describing exactly what that was.

Despite my insistence that false positives pretty much don't happen, BD insisted I take the other test when we got home. This time, he watched me pee on the stick, and watched it turn immediately into a plus sign before his very own eyes.

According to Dr. Internet, I'm entering week 6, and I'm due in mid-November. I obviously need to go to a real doctor and confirm all of this, and make sure there's really a baby in there and whatnot. It's so weird. I'm already obsessed with googling things like co-sleepers, and whether my being a vegetarian is going to cause me to give birth to a carrot instead of a baby, and how long after I give birth must I wait before I get to have sex, and of course, witty maternity t-shirts that say things like "All I wanted was a backrub."

Planned or not, (the answer is "not", clearly), my nervousness is tinged with excitement, and a strange sense of calm. No, we were not planning on getting pregnant at this juncture, before our wedding, before I graduate, before we have health insurance. Still, I can't help but feel that it's all going to be alright, and that if there is a baby in there, and not a carrot, then now was the time for us to have a baby. After all, I will be 30 soon. I always did think 30 would be the perfect age to have a baby.