All Knocked Up

Yes, the rumors are true — Adam and I are having a baby. Several weeks ago, I started not feeling so well — a little nauseous, a little light headed, a little tired. Around the time I should have gotten my period, I felt the usual swell of crankies and slightly swollen, slightly sore breasts. None of this was overwhelming, so I ignored it.

The subject of one day having children worked it’s way into our conversation one night when I realized my period was late, and I decided to do some research on vasectomy reversals. In his early twenties, Adam had a vasectomy. He had a child, Teddy, with his high-school sweetheart, and then they parted ways. He didn’t want to have any more children until he found the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. At the time, the doctor had indicated the vasectomy was reversible. During my research, however, I learned that reversals can cost upwards of $25,000, and only work about 3% of the time. In addition, only about 1 in 250,000 vasectomies heal themselves, and that’s usually in the first few months. I was devastated. While I understood and respected Adam’s decision to have the procedure, I felt the chances of us ever starting a family of our own was slim to none.  For two days, I cried and nursed a broken heart.

I confided in a friend, who asked, “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Adam had the car and was in class, so I had no way to go to a drug store, besides, I was quite sure I wasn’t pregnant. Then, I remembered an E.P.T. home pregnancy test in the back of the bathroom cabinet. I pulled it out, checked the expiration date and decided to give it a whirl. I barely peed on the stick, and the little blue plus sign popped up in the window. I was shocked; that had never happened before. I frantically called a friend, who suggested I make a doctor’s appointment right away for confirmation. He could see me that afternoon, but it meant borrowing my dad’s truck to get there. I called Adam while he was at school and simply said, “I’m going to the doctor.” Fortunately, his eight years with the Army instilled don’t ask, don’t tell, so he didn’t ask any questions.

My family physician is a wonderful doctor, and I’ve seen him for years. The nurse took what she needed, and left me twiddling my thumbs over five year old issues of Country Living. Dr. Fravel finally came in and said, “You’re pregnant!” He began listing off things — see an OB around the tenth week, you’re due June 5, take your prenatal vitamin every day. My head swirled. Holy crap. I really am pregnant.

I drove home, and Adam greeted me in the living room. He kept asking, “What did the doctor say? Is everything okay?” All I could say was, “Well…” Finally, he started to glaze over like the proverbial deer in headlights asking, “You’re pregnant aren’t you?”

We’re both thrilled, excited, happy and scared shitless, which seems about right. Adam had a child before, but because of his time in the Army, wasn’t there for everything. And this is my first pregnancy. So we’re completely new to this, though we are convinced that we’re going to be great parents.

We told my dad first. He was thrilled, but asked that I hold the baby in until June 13, his birthday. My strange little mother congratulated us, and then quipped, “Better hope Adam doesn’t leave now!” Adam calmly replied, “I’m not going anywhere, Linda.” I love that he handles her the way he does. We told his mother; she was so happy, and politely requested a girl. A visit to his grandmother’s was next. She congratulated us, but wondered, “When are those bells going to ring?” And then we broke the news to his aunts and close family friend, who, let’s face it, is really his sister. They were excited, too, and were filled with stories, advice, wisdom and support. I couldn’t ask for a better family.

And, yes, Adam and I have discussed marriage. I was ready months ago, but Adam needed time to work through some things. After the visit to his grandmother’s, I told him again that I would love to spend the rest of my life with him, but I need to know when he asks the question, he’s asking because he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, too, and not just because I’m pregnant. It can’t be about the baby, it has to be about us.

So we’re settling into the idea of being parents. I’ve bought a few books, some really comfy stretchy pants and lots of saltines. I’m working on quitting smoking, and Adam has cut way back, too. We’re discussing rearranging the house, cleaning the walls and the carpet. Baby names are sputtered like Tourettes. And I see the OB on election day. I’m nervous and scared, but this is the most thrilling thing I’ve done to date.