It had been the weirdest week or two, right before we found out. I had been feeling … different. Fuller. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling by any means – kind of like a soft bloat. But it was so very different from how I’d ever felt before that I think maybe I knew before I knew. My husband certainly did, or at least he was hopeful. “I bet you’re pregnant,” he’d say, only half-teasingly. I scoffed at him. “No way.”
It soon became apparent that something was up. And when I took a home pregnancy test one evening upstairs, I called my husband into the bathroom, where I’d been watching the test during the three-minute waiting period with increasing agitation. “Honey …” I said, “… that’s not a second line, is it? I mean, it’s really kind of faint, and maybe it’s just there because of the way the litmus paper works.” His eyes like saucers, he said, “Nope – that’s a second line. You’re pregnant.” And then he wouldn’t stop saying it, in tones ranging from whispered delight to stunned disbelief. I still wasn’t buying it, so we turned to the instruction page. It stated clearly, “A second line means you’re pregnant.” And it added for good measure, “(Second line may be faint.)”
I think I started to laugh and cry at the same time, and remember feeling about 756 different emotions in rapid succession. Delight, awe, terror, amazement, sadness, anticipation, excitement, disbelief … I felt like a walking encyclopedia of emotions. We sat down in the office upstairs, and proceeded to talk about what we’d just discovered. We must have talked for an hour or more, during which time one or both of us was usually crying – with joy, fear, amazement, grief. We talked about how we felt (*that* took a while), when we wanted to share the news, what we’d do next (in terms of scheduling doctor’s appointments), how we felt again and more. And when he suggested finally going downstairs to get ready for bed, I shook my head. “If I leave the room, it will be real,” I said. “I never want to leave this room.”
But eventually, of course, I did. You have to -- life goes on and the evening must end and sooner or later you have to take the trash out or do the dishes or *something.* And after taking another test the next morning, it was undeniable. I marveled at the fact that I felt pretty good, aside from the aforementioned “soft bloat.” (What a pretty phrase.) The early weeks passed in quiet excitement as we tried to keep a lid on the news until I’d been to the doctor and we had digested it a bit ourselves. After a trip to my family doctor (who confirmed the news), I scheduled an appointment with my OB-GYN. And then we decided to tell family members. Their reactions ranged from the euphorically delighted (complete with tears and jumping up and down and simultaneous laughter), to the stunned, to the calmly accepting. And since we’d felt all of those things and more, we had decided ahead of time that everyone’s reactions would be fine, whatever they were, even if they weren’t what we thought they’d be.
Oh, and that “feeling good” phase of mine? I spoke WAY too soon.