Yep, the rumours are true. I am pregnant. I know that previously in this blog I have discussed how unlikely this would ever be, that I might never be able to conceive, and that I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to. But here’s the thing:
|We’ll assume Sonic is waving “hi” and not giving us the finger|
And I couldn’t help but think and feel that this blessing was just one more miracle in my already miraculous life.
How did we get here, planning for an April baby, from accepting that we would be a childless household? It’s a long story. I hope you’ve gone pee.
See, way back when my negative family doctor put me on my diet and told me to lose weight, I thought that a good motivator would be that I was getting myself into better shape so I could try for a baby again. I figured it would take a year or so, and I knew MiniSir was expecting to know where the military would be sending him by March 2014. So I set my sights on next year. Then, after seeing the specialist who informed me that I may not ever be able to conceive, I had to reconsider my strategy. Did it make sense to still try for a family? I went to my trusted sources back in Ontario for advice – three long-time OB/GYN family friends – and the response was unanimous. “Don’t let one opinion change your life. Start trying now.”
So I went out and bought a Basal thermometer and diligently starting taking my temperature every morning. The literature said I should have a base temperature that I would hover around every day until ovulation, when it peaks. I carefully charted everything, and when I realized that my chart looked like a profile of the Himalayas and I hadn’t actually gotten my period like I should have, I called my mum and asked her to pass on my concerns to our friends again. Her response? “Maybe you’re already pregnant.”
Yeah sure, Mum, I said.
Famous last words. I waited another week before I broke down and bought the most sophisticated piece of technology I will ever pee on, and peed on it. And when I told MiniSir later that day not to freak out and presented him with the Sonic Screwdriver that said I was “Pregnant”, I was still in disbelief.
Then I started throwing up. A lot. And yet I still didn’t want to believe. I had my first prenatal appointment, and then my second. And even though I had been sick so much that I had lost weight between them, I still wasn’t quite believing it. Nothing seemed real until I looked at my tiny miracle on the screen yesterday and saw its little heart beating like a hummingbird.
Now it seems all too real. I’m going to be a mommy. I am carrying a life inside me and it’s alive and healthy and craving Kraft Dinner. I am starting to use it as an excuse now. “I’m sorry, but I’m pregnant and I’m starving” has become a popular one, followed closely by “I just have to set my alarm a bit early so I can be sick”.
And I would like to apologize to all of you for disappearing off the radar for the last little while. It’s hard to not to write about something that consumes your every breathing moment. And truthfully, between the pregnancy and the therapy and the settlement, these past few months have been so overwhelming that most days I was lucky if I was awake for more than a couple hours at a time.
However, my therapy is over. My settlement is settled. And my pregnancy is confirmed and going very well. So I will be back with all the details from all of those exciting things that have happened lately. Even though the accident and that “flat-out” period has drawn to a close, Flat-Out Whimsy is here to stay.