We announced it last week, but today is 13 weeks which means we're officially out of the scary part of pregnancy: James and I are expecting a little baby-monster of our own.
Finding out you're pregnant, I've learned, is a heady mix of being overwhelmed and scared and excited and happy. I assume parenthood will offer a similarly complicated and dizzying set of emotions. I'll let you know when we get there. Of course, we tried and got two negative tests, so we figured it hadn't taken. We flew to Christine's wedding in Sedona. I had two panic attacks on the flight (I'm so fun to be married to) and drank my face off all weekend. I lounged in the hot tub, ate as much fast food as I could find and ate s'mores toasted over a gas fire. I'm classy like that. At the wedding, we did tequila shots and I ate more salt, sugar and fat than I usually do in a month (which is saying something). On Monday we flew home and on Wednesday James asked how late I was. I assumed the delay in my Monthly Torture Lady Cycle was because of all the anxiety from flying. But I took the third test anyway, just to be safe. (We had had a couple drinks at dinner with my parents, celebrating J's last day at his former job, and everyone was in good spirits. We had just booked a big vacation to Hawaii for next fall! James was now a Senior Vice President! The cookie company was ready to go!)
The "this test is working" line showed up right away. I waited a second and nothing else happened so I shouted to James that the test was negative, and could he please get the dogs ready to go to my parents' so I could have another glass of wine? I went into the kitchen, forgot what I was looking for, and ambled back into the bathroom. And there, sitting on the counter next to the sink, was The Second Little Pink Line.
Two lines. Two tiny little pink lines. Huh. Well. That was a neat little trick.
"Uhh, James?" was all I could manage. "You should maybe come take a look at this." James ran into the bathroom wild-eyed, "Oh my GOD are you pregnant?" I handed him the stick. He examined it for a moment and then, without missing a beat, looked at me with shock and horror on his face: "How much did you drink this weekend?"
And that, ladies and gents, is how not to react when your wife tells you she's pregnant. (He came around pretty quickly. And remembered it seems that EVERYONE drinks heavily immediately before they learn they're pregnant. And he's cute when he panics, so we forgive him.)
And that's that. Mini Viscardi (I call the baby Mayhem, because it suits him/her) is due mid-June 2015. I'm hoping to be writing a lot more frequently as I start to feel human again (the first trimester is no joke, thus the baby's nickname and more on that later). It's going to be a fun ride!