Somehow the husbeast and I got to talking about this last night, one particular tale in the family history (one that lives in infamy), and the husbeast said I should put it on the blog. And I agreed that yeah, maybe on The Baby's birthday or some vaguely appropriate date, I would share. This morning I decided, today was good. There's no relevance in terms of date, but I've been at a loss for things to post on my blog during this Mystery Knit crap, so here you go. I'm including some back story so that you realize I'm just a lunatic, not an insensitive bitch.
I got pregnant in mid-December, while we were moving out of Hawaii. It was kind of planned, in that we were wanting to have a baby, but since I was 36 at the time we expected it to take longer than a month for me to get pregnant. (I'm still rather boggled over that one.) We spent thirty days staying at my in-laws, while our furniture caught up with us, and then drove down to South Carolina, rented a house, and moved in.
So, during the month we were at the in-laws, I was increasingly nauseated, gaggy at specific foods, tired, you name it. So we were wondering for about three weeks whether or not I was pregnant, and were waiting for me to be far enough along for a reliable pregnancy test. I bought an over-the-counter test and it was iffy (I hate those things), so I bought another one, and waited. Please note this: we'd been pretty sure I was pregnant for weeks before the events I am about to describe happened. It was not a huge shock.
In mid-January, we drove from Ohio to Charleston, and I was horribly nauseated the whole day. I threw up the last hour down the road (I know, ick, but I want you to understand the mood), and by the time we got checked in to the hotel, I was wiped out. I got out the other pregnancy test I had with me (one of those pee-on-a-stick deals), and wobbled off to see what was going on.
The husbeast was pacing the hotel room in a lather, timing the test and asking if there were results every ten seconds. (He really wanted a kid and was very excited, having not puked for the last hour.)
I came out of the bathroom, shouted "YOU KNOCKED ME UP, YOU FUCKER!" and threw the pee-stick at him.
Then I went back inside and threw up again. He cheered, called his parents immediately to share the good news, and didn't stop smiling for weeks.
And that's how I told the husbeast we were expecting a child.