I’m about to make the trek up to the big office & tell The Man that I am knocked up.
It’s so weird. I’ve known him my entire life (he taught my Sunday School class in the 3rd grade), so it’s rather awkward to say, “I’m pregnant! Code: I have unprotected sex with my husband & it made a baby that I will pop out of my vag in 7 months!”
But I could be the only one that takes pregnancy news to that uncomfortable, inapropro level.
We were guided back to the ultrasound exam room and were left there a good 20 minutes alone, so I perched on the exam table, swathed in pink paper knickers while Nate looked warily at the pre-lubed and condom-adorned dildo-cam. I’m chatting mindlessly about how tiny my bladder is & Nate’s face suddenly twists into an odd, humorous expression.
Blair: “Ummm….babe?”
Nate: “Oh, my God. Now I know this is meant to be.” ::chuckles::
Blair: “The hell?”
Nate: ::points to the opposite wall::
It’s the ultrasound tech’s certificate. And her name is….
Kristy Box.
BOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMFG. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Perfection.
This past Sunday morning, at 3:34am, I was inducted into a sacred rite of passage that comes with pregnancy — I pissed myself when I puked. If it wasn’t horrible enough that I was hugging Dear Johny around the neck for 10 minutes straight, giving back everything I ate that day, I tinkled a little in my pants. Lovely.
In happier news, we see Harpie in an hour & a half! Say some sweet prayers, please….I had a little spotting this weekend, but it seems to be all good under the hood right now.
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New kicks were worn. Harrison proved … [Read More...]