My Ordering Tactics Give Me Away

Out for dinner at Green Zebra when I was, say, six weeks pregnant, a dish featuring camembert beignets was tempting me entirely too much. Knowing that the soft-cheese prohibition generally has to do with the fact that such cheeses are often made with unpasteurized milk (thus increasing the risk of listeria) I figured why not just ask the question? After the waitress confirmed that the camembert was, in fact, pasteurized, I happily ordered the beignets and a pink peppercorn thyme soda. At which point Marc observed, "Wow, we pretty much let wait staff know everything, don't we?"

Confirmation!

The thing is, I didn't really feel much those first few weeks. I finally took a second home test a week later - what if I had peed on the stick wrong??? - and it returned the same result. My body's lack of response worried me.

Jo and I, in the past, have discussed whether we, as highly educated feminists, might just be too in-the-know about what all of this entails. Too aware of the risks, of the potential downside, of the stress, of the medical complications.

Of course, if I remember correctly, that was in the context of the question, "Can we imagine EVER having children???" (This was also back when most obstetricians were counseling that pregnant women give up caffeine entirely which, for those of us in love with our morning cup of coffee, would have been a serious blow. Research now indicates that up to 300 mg of caffeine/day should be fine, which is a huge relief - although I have had to learn about the world of half-caf.)

Anyway, clearly I moved past that query. But now that I was, in fact, pregnant, at an age not-quite-at-but-not-far-from that black-magic number of 35, I second-guessed every step. And every lack of symptom.

Marc pointed out that I have often joked that I am, in fact, built like a fertility goddess, my body clearly rooted in sturdy peasant stock and made to bear children. And this is true. And logically, I know all of this to be true, and I know that nothing I say or do or don't do is likely to affect how my body reacts at this stage. Still, though, it was nerve-wracking, not going through what so many of my friends had - the distaste for chicken, the nausea, the claim that "I knew I was pregnant the moment it happened!"

I didn't know I was pregnant the moment it happened. I mostly just hung out feeling ticked off at the lack of beer and sushi in my life, convincing myself that my sacrifice was for NOTHING. (Oh, beer and sushi, how I miss you.)

I tried to play it cool, but I was definitely stressed leading up to my first appointment last Friday.

All I can say is, seeing a very tiny heartbeat on an ultrasound provided a wave of relief like nothing I have ever experienced. And being reassured that I seemed to be doing everything right was a close second.

And so it begins

As per usual, I was awake about an hour before Marc. I had every intention of waiting until his alarm went off to talk to him. I knew that waiting that extra few minutes didn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things. I went about my usual business of getting the cat's breakfast, getting my breakfast, getting ready for my day. It was all well and good until about five minutes before his alarm went off, when I found myself at a standstill next to the bed. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey. Marc. Hey. Wake up."

Very little response (not surprising).

"Marc. Dude. Come on. I have to show you something."

That got his attention. His eyes flickered. He looked up at me suspiciously. "What?" He sort of started fumbling for his glasses, but I knew that wasn't necessary for this task. I shoved the stick in his hand.

His nearsighted eyes registered the two pink lines. Not one pink line, two pink lines. Two pink lines meaning he's going to be a dad.

"Really? Wait, REALLY???"

Hugs, tears, a confused cat abounded. Of all the adventures we have shared together, this is sure to be the most intense.