Why Finding Out I Was Pregnant Was a Sweet Surprise, Even Though We Were Trying

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Updated March 2, 2017
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Image: Chris Treber / The Bump

It is November when I find out.

I’m 32. When is this going to happen? Oh, Jesus. I’ve waited too long. I can’t believe it. What are the odds that I wait until I’m ready, and now that I am, it won’t happen. I knew my eggs were gone. Plus there was that time Nick racked himself on that pole at the playground. His balls were ruined, I know it.

It’s what I think every month for six months, hoping my period will just stay the eff away. November is the month. While showering, I notice my boob seems a bit heftier than usual as the loofah makes its usual path. That’s weird. Damn it… I’m already gaining weight and it’s not even Thanksgiving. I cop a jiggle and a squeeze just to be sure — on purpose this time — only to discover, my boobs are in fact full of what I can only describe as firm girth.

Don’t get excited. It could mean anything. You really haven’t worked out in a few weeks.

Thanksgiving creeps closer. I sit at Panera having lunch with my parents. Mediterranean Veggie with an apple and ice tea. The usual. As I chat, I feel the unmistakable sensation of hot molten liquid burning the inside of my throat immediately following my delightful meal. I crumple my eyebrow and put a hand absently to my throat.  Dad asks me what’s wrong.  “Acid reflux.” I mutter. Despite the fact that I’ve never felt such a thing, I know it’s acid reflux. Something I’ve never had. My brain kicks into overdrive_.  Do the math._ Heavy boobies + out-of-the-blue acid reflux = …

Don’t get excited.  Don’t get excited.

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The first chance I get, I rush to the store and buy, yet another, home pregnancy test.  I haven’t missed my period yet, but it’s due in just a few days. I wait for my husband to leave. I can’t bear the thought of us finding out together — mainly because I like to control every situation, and don’t want to be caught licking my wounded pride in front of him. I make a pee pee. My heart pounds. Chloe, our maniac dog, is quietly laying on the landing just watching me. I decide to not think about the test. I check my email. Has it been three minutes?

You moron, you know it takes about 30 seconds to get a result.

But I don’t want to look. I shuffle slowly into the bathroom. Ho-ly [bleeeeeeeeeeeeep]. I start to sweat and my breath quickens. I run downstairs to down a ginormous glass of water. I make another pee pee a few minutes later. I’m shaking. This time I wait and watch the misty rose tint of the test working.

There it is. The second line. On two tests. Bam.

“Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-gaaawd!” I squeal at Chloe, our dog. She hops up and smiles her goofy dumb smile, half afraid of me, half thinking I’m about to take her for a walk. I grab her sweet fury face and just keep saying it over and over. “Oh. My. God.” I’m smiling and laughing. Chloe is really getting into the vibe. She paces around the landing outside the bathroom with me, panting and wagging her tail. She’s the only one there. I just keep looking at her, sharing my blissful excitement with her as I pat my tummy and coo to my developing baby that I love him/her so very much. My words stream together in incoherent blutherings. “Oh God thank you thank you for everything… I will take such good care of this baby… God thank you, I love you little baby, I love you so much already… oh God I love you, too, thank you!”

I wait for Nick to get home. While waiting, I document the moment by snapping a picture of the pregnancy tests. I can’t bear saying the actual words to him. It’s too lame. I’m weird, I know, but I hate gushy stuff like that, so I’d rather avoid it if I can, despite my tickled guffaws at the new situation at hand. After the pee stick photo shoot, I strategically prop the tests on the bathroom sink where Nick will see them. I hop in the shower, knowing he’ll be home any minute and pop in to say hello like he always does when he gets home and I’m in the shower.  I hear him run up the stairs and…and…what the hell?  Ugh. He goes to the computer instead. I stand there steaming away in the shower, the anticipation killing me.  Finally, he opens the door.  He’ll see them for sure!

“Ummm, Chris? Is there something you want to tell me?” I’m confused. I know he hasn’t looked at the tests yet, because they’re across the bathroom.


“The pictures? On the computer?” I realize then that I never closed my digital preg-test photos, so he’d seen them. I smile at him.  The rest is a lot of laughing, and sighing, and wonderment.

When does the incredulity come in you may be asking this Incredulous Mom? Just wait. Foreshadowing: despite my bliss, the other me — the one who squints skeptically at the world — can’t help but join the party. Sometimes I despise that part of me, but on some occasions, I’m glad she’s there.

Baby makin’time is over. Baby bakin’ time is here.

How did you find out you were pregnant?

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