So, I might as well say it...

None of that is-that-a-line-or-isn't-it for us. If it can be done by a computer, that's what we'll do. Heh. In the middle of January, I sent A off to buy a pregnancy test. He comes back with these. "It's digital!" he said, in the same voice as, "Why on earth would anyone use anything different?"

He wanted to hold it for me while I peed. After laughing until I cried, I firmly said no and shut the door. After negotiating the best way to get the required five-second pee stream on it (imagining pee streams that flow wild through the mountains), I snapped the cap back on and put it on the counter to wait five minutes.

It was negative.

That made for a really really long day. I hadn't admitted it to myself, but I thought sure that this was the one that had taken. Of course, I felt the same way the previous month, so what do I know? My baby sister was pregnant. Why couldn't I be? Christmas had kind of sucked, my brithday was coming up soon and good God was I not looking forward to it at all. And worst of all, I was feeling sorry for myself and I really hated it.

That night I went to bed in a manner that could only be described as "dejectedly". I glanced down as I climbed into bed and then looked at A. "And I was so certain my boobs were bigger this month too!"

The next morning, I woke up after A had slipped out and gone into work. It was a Sunday, and he was getting some book-writing done. I lounged in bed, aimless in my plans for the day. I decided 10:30 was late enough, and I got up. And I thought, well, the test pack comes with two. Might as well.

Here I am, alone in the house for the first time in forever, and I have this pee stick that says... that says... holy shit! I don't even have to wonder is-that-a-line-or-isn't-it! Could it be wrong? It's digital! Digital things aren't wrong! Right? There's definitely no "not" there, just the word that says... that says... Holy. Crap. Really?

Lots of phone madness ensued as I called A so he could come home, I tried to call my parents who weren't home (what the hell? how could they be out on a Sunday morning/afternoon when I had news to tell them???) and I called Emily who--if possible, and maybe it isn't--squealed more than me and at a higher frequency and pitch.

So that was January 14th and now it's February 10th and I'm officially 8 weeks and 4 days pregnant and yes I know it's still the first trimester but we've seen the heart beat (which wasn't so much blood going through a heart as free-flowing liquid swishing around a shell) and measured something shaped like a lima bean and starting the 20th I get to go to a doctor covered by insurance just like regular people.

Yippee! and, Holy Crap! and Jesus Christ!