So in case anybody missed it, I’m pregnant. But seeing as I’m fairly certain that everybody who reads this is also my facebook friend, I’m sure you already got the memo. So let’s put this down for posterity.
It was faint, but according to the instructions (which I read) any plus sign counts as a positive result. Add that to my late-as-never-before period and the newly murderous morning sickness, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t lying.
So the next few posts may contain me waxing elegant (or just long) on my thoughts on pregnancy. For everyone who is curious (and let’s face it, who isn’t?), yes, it was planned, and we’re excited about our new baby. I’m due in July. Mom is eager to tell me about how swollen her feet got when she was pregnant in the summer with me. She has assured me that after this phase of morning sickness is over, I have the other discomforts of pregnancy and breastfeeding to look forward to. She then started saying “But before long, you’ll be back to your old se–actually, you’ll never be your old self again. Your life is about to change forever.” I told her she was a bright ray of sunshine on my day.
I’m currently 8 weeks along, and we were going to hold out until I was 12 weeks to start telling people, but I’ve been so sick that everybody I see on a regular basis was starting to suspect. I didn’t want to lie and tell them I had the stomach flu, in no small part because then I’d be Pariah Sick Eliza and I’ve been craving company lately. I don’t want to scare my potential “spend time with me because you pity me” friends and family away with threats of the flu.
We haven’t decided if we’re going to find out the gender of the baby, and that’s in like ten weeks anyways. The night Kyle and I found out that I was pregnant, we were speculating on the gender. Neither of us especially cares. He asked me if I had any intuition about the gender, and I told him that it was a crapshoot. If I guessed at the gender, whichever one I guessed would be inevitably wrong. After this, Kyle said he was going to call the baby “Baby Crapshoot” until we decided on a name. I told him no such thing would happen. I may or may not have lined out specific consequences, and we have been calling it simply “Baby” for now.
If you’re still terribly concerned about the gender, according to a fortune cookie I ate a while back, it’s going to be a girl.
A melted Hershey’s bar I ate a little later confirms this finding. If you look closely, it says “she” backwards.
So depending on how much stock you put in the future telling powers of sweet things, you may have your answer.
And just so we get things straight from the get-go, “we” are not pregnant. I am pregnant. Kyle may be the father, but until he puts in his time barfing up ginger tea and Doritos, I am the only one who is pregnant here. I also get near exclusive complaining rights. Because that’s important to outline from the beginning.