I’ve been staring at this post for days. Both because I don’t know where to start, and because it makes me sad thinking back on this. There’ll never be another excitement of taking a pregnancy test (which my best friend said I was addicted to), a look of shock on Dan’s face. I’ll never have the quiet moments with just me talking and holding onto my stomach, and much more. I look back on those memories fondly, but with a sadness that hits my stomach and tear ducts every time. This is our pregnancy story.
Having kids was never the top the priority for Dan and me. We knew we wanted them, but it was always later. “Let’s just go on one more trip.” We spent our honeymoon in South Africa, and after that we only had two more continents to cross off our list — Antarctica and South America.
“Alright, Peru. Machu Picchu. One last adventure. Then let’s do this. Start our new adventure.”
And so we did. We went on an amazing trip to Peru where we explored Cusco, climbed Huayna Pichu, ate our way around Lima, and then waited the mandatory 3 months due to visiting a zika country.
I won’t lie. I was starting to get antsy for a baby before we left. I told Dan that if there wasn’t the fear of zika, I would have started trying before our trip. But instead, I got to enjoy ceviche and never-ending pisco sours.
I actually thought I was pregnant the month before we actually were. This is when I learned that years after having a clock-like period, maybe going off the pill was actually going to mess with my system. I went off the pill in before went went to Peru and had a normal period in September, so I thought everything was normal. Apparently not.
We celebrated my 32nd birthday surrounded by friends and watching the Sounders win MLS cup. A friend flew in to surprise me for the weekend. It was a great time spent drinking beer, spiked eggnog, and red wine. It was definitely not the same birthday craziness of my 20s, but I breathed a small breath of relief on Monday when I took a pregnancy test (late period again) and saw it was negative.
Two days later I noticed my breasts started to hurt. They just felt heavy. I attributed it to PMS, even though my boobs never hurt before my period. On Thursday, friends came over to watch the Seahawks game and I slowly sipped on a coffee porter a friend had brought for my birthday. My boobs were really starting to hurt now. I joked with Dan that maybe I was pregnant. He laughed feebly.
The next morning, I stared at my closet that held my pregnancy tests (when I thought I might have been pregnant the last time I bought a 20 pack of HGC sticks, because as mentioned above, I’m apparently addicted to peeing on a stick). I took a stick and a small Dixie cup, did my business and waited. And waited. And then there it was. That faint pink line you see in the commercials.
Wait. No. What?
I took another test. Same result. I immediately called my best friend.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“What?!?!? Yay! I think you’re going to have a girl, I hope it’s a girl.”
“I think I’m going to pee on another stick.”
Maybe not the conversation verbatim, but close enough. I took 5 tests that morning. I waited until Dan came home for lunch to tell him. It was torture G-chatting with him, pretending like nothing was going on. As soon as he walked in the door I gave him a hug.
“So, uhh… I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad.”
Dan: Blank face. Shock. “What?”
So there we were. Two future parents who had no idea how to parent. We were both excited and scared. Totally normal, right?
I called my OB office to change an appointment I had made to see if my late period correlated with the non-stop bleeding I experienced in July (more on that in a later post). Instead of going in to see if something was wrong with me, I was going in for my first prenatal appointment.
We waited until Christmas to tell our parents (which was a little over a week away). We went down to Mexico to visit my parents, flying into Phoenix where I grabbed breakfast with one of my best friends.
“I thought we chose this place for the pastries?” she asked eyeing my healthy granola bowl.
“Well, yeah, I got a pain au chocolat to go. But I’m pregnant. So I thought I should try and eat healthy.”
I’m really good and casually dropping information.
My mom cried when she read the card telling them, and my dad had a huge smile on his face. She said she knew because I was being so picky about eating leftovers and washing fruit with bottled water. Dan’s parents were both estatic. This would be the first grandbaby for my parents, and for Dan’s mom and stepdad.
I had felt fine for the first two weeks of pregnancy. Then the day after Christmas, nausea and exhaustion hit. I was supposed to go golfing with my dad and Dan, and I opted to read “What to Expect” on the balcony instead. It was a gift from the doctor’s office when I had my first appointment with the nurse getting my background.
The rest of the trip was spent eating Honey Bunches of Oat with milk and grapes. I couldn’t believe I was finally back in Mexico and not enjoying any of the delicious food I had been bragging to Dan about for years. I didn’t really care though. I was so excited for the baby.