On the heels of my last post, I figured I’d post the very first thing I wrote after finding out I was pregnant. I found it in a Word doc named “baby,” in an obscure writing folder. I completely forgot I started this diary-like document, and it only lasted for a couple more entries. I was too conflicted about my feelings to actually write them down, but I’m glad I have some sort of documentation.
This is my un-edited diary entry from June 7, 2008:
Yesterday, at around 8 p.m., I saw the double lines. It took about 3 seconds after I peed on the stick for the second pink line to appear – an image I had dreamed about/feared for years. It actually happened. I’m. In. Shock.
I was pretty much numb when I saw it – one big blur. I didn’t even have that three-minute-wait-panic because the positive result happened so fast, so urgently. I walked out of the bathroom in disbelief. My mom was in the kitchen (she pushed me to take the test when I wanted to wait until the morning) and Justin was calmly on his MacBook in the living room.
I had some of the signs, but I could explain them all away: stress, indigestion, even PMS. I couldn’t grasp the idea of pregnancy.
Double lines, and my life changed in an instant. Seconds of my life. Ordinary seconds. One minute I was living a normal life, the next minute I was responsible for a life growing in my body. Three ordinary seconds.
I made the announcement casually, half expecting that second line to disappear since it was slightly more faded than the first.
“You’re pregnant,” my mom said, wide-eyed — not a question, a declaration. She ran to the bathroom to see the stick herself.
“But the second line is faded. Maybe it will go away,” I said.
Nope, one minute later, still pregnant. Two mintues later, still pregnant. Pregnant.
Justin walked over, smiling, calm, supportive. As soon as he put his arms around me, I collapsed into sobs. Scared, surreal, this-must-be-a-dream sobs. He assured me that everything would work out in his laid-back, stress-free attitude. His calm balanced my frenzy.
The three of us sat at the dining room table, me at the head, my mom and Justin sitting across from each other. I cried. They talked and uneasily laughed about their new titles, like “grandma.” I cried. Sam came over and brought me a birthday present. I cried.
I still haven’t told my Dad.
Even as I write this, I haven’t had time to really deal with what I’m feeling. Everything has changed. Justin and I have talked about having a baby, wanting a baby, sort of even planning for a baby (in the far future), for at least a year now. But now that we both graduated college and we’re on a promising track to start our dream careers, we decided that now would not be the time. But I guess it is.
I’m just scared — scared of being able to afford it, of getting my professional career off the ground, of labor. Ok, I’m terrified of labor, and that might be my number one fear right now. I’ve always swooned at babies, desperately wanting one, but when you see the double lines, there’s no turning back. Morning sickness, expanding body and painful labor…they’re all on the way. But this happened for a reason, and I know we’ll be fine.
Now I just have to tell my Dad…
Also see: Looking Back, Looking Forward