Originally written on July 27, 2009

Last night, I went to bed exhausted from installing a wood floor in our basement.  And while in said-bed, I had a dream about introducing an exboyfriend to a baby girl.  My daughter.  Yes, she went in and out of my womb like a kangaroo hops in and outta the mama-pouch.  I was more freaked about seeing the ex than the experience of a child playing Hokie-Pokie with my crotchal region.  Weird, right?

So when I woke up, I realized that I was seven days late and that the dream probably meant that I should pee on one of those special D-Day sticks.  So I dug it out of our bathroom cabinet.  There it is.  The stick that changes your life.

I barely placed it on the counter when the indicator flashed “PREGNANT”.  I double-taked.  I triple-taked.  But no matter how many times I looked at the sucker, it didn’t take the blaring word away.  

Holy crap.

How am I pregnant? 

Why did this happen now? 

Am I supposed to tell Jeremy?

I’ll probably miscarry.

I’ll more than likely die.

Do I need to blog about this?

How am I going to show pregnancy progress?

The before photos of my stomach will look like most afters. 

Why do I carry weight in my waist anyway?

I should workout more.

I can’t.  Stupid knee with stupid torn ACL.  Stupid knee that can’t get fixed because I am PREGNANT.

Mommy is so mad at you. 

Sorry fetal thingie.  It’s not your fault.

Stupid ACL that can’t stay healthy.

I guess that was our first fight.

Oh my lordie, lordie, lordie – why the heck do I feel like spontaneously bursting into tears?!? 

I can’t even tell if I am happy or not.  What’s wrong with me? 

It must be the pregnancy brain – I’ve heard about this.  First, you can’t tell what emotion you are feeling, then you punch random strangers in the arm for telling you that coffee is off-limits, finally, you feel the need to chew off your own arm or eat soil.

Ok – Katie, calm down.  We must tell Jeremy.  Yes, you can officially refer to yourself as ‘we’ now…I know you have always wanted to…Uncle Doug and his schizsophrenic brain aren’t the only ones.  Afterall, you are sharing your body with an alien lifeform.  One hundred points to being pregnant.   Gotta tell Jeremy.

But Torrey is moving in…and poor boy-toy is stressed.  Maybe I should wait.  Yes, I definitely should.  I will wait till the time is right.  When he is relaxed…and possibly drunk.  That would be a good time.  Maybe I could even score him some weed.  Take the edge off.  Who am I kidding?  I don’t even know what marijuana looks like…much less a joint or how to get it.  I would end up giving him some oregano rolled in toilet paper.  Anyhoo…I am waiting.  And making it special.  Maybe I could even wait till our aniversary.  Is October too far away?  How pregnant would I be then?

Like 30% pregnant?

Does it work like that?   How pregnant am I right now?  Probably like 1%.  

I should look it up.

SUMMARY:  I got sperminated.  First fight with the baby.  Waiting to tell the boyfriend.