On January 14, after no period since late October, and a sudden smattering of acne on my back and upper arms -a fucking gross scene - I bought a pregnancy test (on sale even - weird), took it using my morning pee, and jumped in the shower.
Despite what the instructions tell you, it is not physically possible to pee exactly where they need you to, without peeing where they say not to. Chicks pee like a thumb over the end of a garden hose, how do manufacturers not know that? So, I peed in a bowl and dunked the stick in it, like nature's biscotti. I whispered to myself to not be disappointed if it was negative; it would be okay. I was just a freak of nature that due to a lack of wheat ingestion and a decade spent clogging the pipes with the pill, well, haha no kids for you! And it's not like we had been trying for years or we were super old - I am just really good at taking the worst case scenario, doubling it, and then having Rob Zombie direct it.
And what about Christmas? Oh yeah. The night of the 27th might have seen me drinking moonshine hanging out the back of Chessa's car downtown Victoria, after polishing off four or seven drinks at The Bard and Banker, helping others with theirs, and smoking half a "magic" cigarette. I had always made fun of and scoffed at chicks that partied hard then found out they were pregnant. How irresponsible, how seedy, how about the fact that I DID THAT? It would be better then if this was just a false alarm. Better that than pickling the kid mere days after it existed, on the one day of the year I got bejammered, right?
But my boobs. Oh, the aching. Not being able to even face forwards in the shower for a week or two prior to that because even the shower spray was like 400 hypodermic needles being thrust through my chest. GIRL WARNING: If you have never had boobs before, and then suddenly they are making noise, they are growing. And by growing, I mean stretching. LUBRICATE them immediately. It didn't occur to me to do just that, and now my poor new 38 A's (I know, right? Even La Senza was like, "Um, you're an abomination of tit") are slightly bigger, but they have maroon Wolverine claw marks on them. If ever there was a modern day tragedy, this is it. Anyways, butter them with something. It will make me feel better knowing I saved somebody.
I pulled the shower curtain back, wrapped the towel around me, stepped out of the tub and leaned in to look at the test. It was positive. I muffled my laughter into a towel and stood there dripping onto the floor for a few minutes. There have been bazillions of women in this world that have had children, but until it's you, it is just a concept, an idea, a dream maybe, or even a mistake perhaps. It is not something you can hold or feel until suddenly it's just you in the bathroom, Nuv still asleep in the other room, no CLUE what type of life-altering events are happening on the other side of the door.
(Don't get me wrong, I know that I performed no act of genius or magic or skill to get knocked up, and I promise I'm not going to be all, "But for me, this is special; now let's go look at montessori schools for infants!" But something does gets switched on in your brain when you are suddenly the vessel for another life, and it's not just the "No drinks for two years for me" sign. It's unexplainable, and it will sound trite or 'eating placenta under a willow tree' hippy dippy if I try, so I'll just leave it at that.)
I got ready and got dressed and went to work and went out to Ali's for a dinner that ran late, and didn't get a chance to tell Nuv until later that night. He was silent for a few minutes, while picking up the pieces of his exploded head off the floor, then he repeated three words over and over, "That's fucking crazy," with a smile on his face. I don't think I could have loved him more.
The next installment: The body catches up with the mind and the nausea begins!