Wish You Were Here

One year ago yesterday was the day we found out I was pregnant. What a surprise. I took the test without really thinking I was pregnant. December 19th I woke up around midnight with horrendous pain in my abdomen. After insisting it would go away on its own for two days, my husband dragged me to the hospital. They asked if I was pregnant and I said we were trying, but I didn't think so. They did a dipstick test and it was negative. The stabbing pain was a kidney stone (Merry Christmas to me) and asked again if I was pregnant. They did another test, also negative. I got a healthy dose of radiation from a CT scan and a few days' worth of morphine. It's a miracle Millie doesn't have fins. I had to go back to the urologist two weeks later and get another CT scan. I was a few days late and knew they'd ask if I was pregnant, so I figured I'd take the test just to be able to tell them with certainty that I wasn't. Besides, I had just been to the GYN for my yearly two days before and they SURELY would have picked up on that, right? Ironically, I had to go to the GYN on my 35th birthday-the gift every childless woman wants on their 35th birthday. Anywho, I rolled out of bed on a Sunday morning, peed on the stick, put it on the counter and went about brushing my teeth, trying to figure out how much more toxic sludge had dumped on our toilet seat from the deadbeat landlord's toilet above us-you know, the normal Sunday morning activities. I glanced at the stick and, by God, it was a double line. Convinced I had done it wrong (although how many 15 year olds a year do it right?), I brought it into my sleeping husband to confirm that I wasn't seeing things. Me: Does this have two lines or am I crazy? Iain: What? Me: Does this have two lines? This can't possibly have two lines. Iain: It has two lines.

So, in the vein of being convinced I had done it wrong, we suit up and go to Stop and Shop at 7:30 on a Sunday morning for another test. It was surreal-a light coating of snow was falling and everything was so silent, that silent you get when no one has disturbed the fresh snow. Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here played on the radio for the 2 minute car ride. Neither of us said a word. We went through the check out line with the test, a bag of potatoes and bleach. The cashier wished us luck. On the ride back, Queen's We Are the Champions, ironically enough, was playing. We watched 4 hours of non-stop episodes of Lost, which was our new found obsession at that point, waiting for a good stock of pee to build up. Sure enough, it was two lines again. As was the THIRD test I took three days later. Just to be sure. Because I'm a freak.

I tell the story like it was a bad surprise, but it wasn't at all. Couldn't be farther from the truth. We got married in October of that year and I went off birth control pills, which I had been on for the last 15 years. We figured it would take a while, especially at almost 35. Guess we were wrong. I have never been so happy to be wrong. And a year later, here we are. Millie is in the crib ACTUALLY SLEEPING, which should last all of a half hour, despite her snores through a nose full of mucus. I should be spending the time doing something productive, but here I sit blogging. The new babysitter is coming this afternoon to get acquainted with Millie and her quirks. I go back to school next week. I'm terrified. But that's another blog.