I Have a Really, Really Good Excuse This Time

Did you wait for me? I know I didn’t ask you to, but I’m wondering if you did anyway. My “second incarnation as a blogger,” as Mr. J.B. put it, was fairly short lived. But I have a really, really good excuse as to why.

I’m pregnant.

Close your mouth, sit down, take a deep breath. I know. It’s pretty hard for me to fathom myself.

This was not expected to say the least. Not “tried” for, because that stopped years ago when it became apparent we were not to be, well, parents. This wasn’t even a possibility on the radar screen.

I started a new job, I was (am) incredibly stressed, and yet, there ya go.

I myself am still in the “shock and awe” phase, although slowly evolving into the actual believing phase (more on that in a minute), and knowing that I’ll rapidly be in the “holy shit, I have so much to do!” phase very, very soon.

I have, despite the lack of evidence so far on this blog, actually been blogging. I just haven’t been hitting the “publish” button. Over the next several days I’ll publish posts from the past month, although I’m fairly certain those of you with weak stomachs might not want to read them. Because my stomach has been weakest of all, and I can summarize the posts thus: “I got sick. A lot. Yet was obsessed with food. A lot. And then I got sick some more.”




Even if you have a strong stomach, you may want to take a pass. I told a friend earlier this week and his reaction was, "Oh, great. Now every status update on Facebook is going to be about gross bodily things. Please. Don't." 


I'll try to refrain. But, this is my blog after all. So, you gotta deal with it here.

The pregnancy discovery happened, of all places, in Las Vegas. It was when I was there with Mike and my brother, and although we went out on Thursday night and had a blast, Friday my late period was nagging on me. You people all know I’m punctual. Well, all of me is punctual.

“What the heck,” I thought. “I’ll take a test, it’ll come back negative, and I can enjoy the rest of the weekend without another thought. Surely it’s just the stress and long hours and lack of sleep that’s disrupting my schedule.”

I walked to the Walgreens at the Venetian, purchased a two-pack (thinking the entire time, “what a waste. I have to pay for two when all I want is one.”), and went into the Grand Canal shops to find a restroom. I didn’t want the evidence in the hotel room, after all, when I knew it’d be negative.

So I took the test. I played Words with Friends, checked Twitter, wasn’t overly stressed. Until I looked at the stick.

Pregnant

“No. Fucking. Way.”

I grabbed the bottled of water in my bag, gulped it down entirely, and peed again, praising the smart packaging companies for putting two in a box because surely, surely, this one was faulty.

It wasn’t.

I contemplated going back to Walgreens for another two-pack, but, shit, Mike was going to start making me cut back on my spending, like, immediately when he hears this news.

Speaking of Mike, he was in the Venetian also, in a poker tournament, and doing quite well. By the time I composed myself enough to leave the restroom, he had actually left the tournament on a break, to run over to the room at the Mirage to change. He thought he’d play up until he ran out of chips, and that might mean he met my brother and I late for dinner.

When I arrived at the room, Mike was rushing about to make it back to the Venetian tourney, and I stopped him. Told him there was some news that might change the way the evening went, and I presented, The Stick. Both of them.

His actions the rest of the night are a blur, and he’ll have to describe them in more detail, but they involved him going back to the Venetian to lose his chips, instead winning a boatload in 10 minutes, coming back to the room to meet me and my brother, dinner (yes, we told Terry. Kinda obvious when I’m not drinking, ya think?), then all of us went back to the tournament where he just couldn’t pay attention, or, apparently, lose. He actually ended up staying in until they paused the tournament for the night and restarted it again the next day.

I pretty much spent the rest of the evening sick to my stomach, and not because of pregnancy symptoms. Of course there was joy and relief and praising and happiness. But there was also that shock and awe that I mentioned, the fear, the worry, and the utter I’m-completely-out-of-my-league-ness.

I wish I could say the rest of the weekend was spent in joy and baby clothes shopping, but our good news was quickly overshadowed by bad – Goldie was dying. To say I knew it would happen is much, much too strong. But my belief in the universe needing to make room for the new, my utter conviction that the ending of a life and the beginning of a life are connected, meant that I wasn’t surprised when Kristy called on Saturday morning. He gives, and He takes away.

Goldie’s death meant the pregnancy was almost the elephant in the room for the next week. Neither Mike nor I could process both events happening together.

But nature continued it’s course, and soon we were forced to put aside our grief and focus on this new life. Yes, for beautiful, moving, faith-filled and loving reasons. That, and, because the puking started.

So, you see, what could I blog about? I work 10-12 hours a day, plus commuting time. I arrive home and I am a mound of uselessness, just overcome with exhaustion. I don’t like the idea of posting about work, and then, I’m pregnant. What else, really, could I post about?

Keep reading to see – there aren’t many, and they aren’t Pulitzer-deserving. But the posts over the next few days are how the first 14 weeks of my pregnancy progressed.

Welcome to my third incarnation as a blogger. A freakin' mommy blogger.