Are You Sitting Down?

It’s an amazing miracle.  

A gift from heaven.  

A joyous moment filled with wonder and excitement.  

At least that’s what people say when they find out they’re having their first child.  Usually wrapping these statements around beautiful stories of hearing their child’s heartbeat for the first time, seeing the “peanut” on the ultrasound screen, and letting tears fall freely as they share the news with their partner.


I’d been trying to get pregnant for months.  Unfortunately, my insanely sketchy ovulation cycle made baby making near impossible to plan and left me peeing on more sticks and reading the words “not pregnant” more times than I care to count.  

It was disappointing.  Depressing.  And yes, the one time I thought I was pregnant, but 52 days later found out I wasn’t, heartbreaking.

So I quit trying.  Gave up counting.  Got wine with dinner.  Put a deposit on a two week trip to Israel.  

And got chubby.  Like bought shirts to cover my belly fat, chubby.  Spent $300 on a formal dress for a Colombian wedding because it hid my roll, chubby.  And my personal favorite, unsnapping my jeans in public, chubby.

All while wondering why the hell my period wouldn’t start.

Then, just days before I was leaving for a ten day trip to a third world country, I was feeling a bit queasy when I got hungry for each meal.  Since I carry my nerves in my stomach, I figured I simply had anxiety about the trip, and went to dinner with my husband.

I ordered a beer.  We were at a German restaurant, so I ordered bratwurst and sauerkraut to go with it.

The service was slow.

“I swear, if the food doesn’t get here, I’m going to just puke all over this floor,” I told my husband.

“Alright, you’re probably just hungry and worried about the trip. Try to relax,” he answered.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but maybe we should just get a pregnancy test on the way home.  That way I’ll know I’m not pregnant and I can calm down and get over some of the queasiness,” I said.

We ate our meal.  I felt better.  We went to Target.

Unfortunately, the wurst did the worst on my man’s stomach.  On our way out, he had to run back inside to use the bathroom.  I sat in the car, waited, and felt the strongest earthquake I’d ever been in.  

I’m from Alabama.  We have tornadoes.  Not earthquakes.

When my husband emerged, we went home where I rushed to take the test so he could get back on the john.

I placed the test on my nightstand and waited.  Normally, I would stare at the test, willing it to hurry and show me its result.  However this time, believing I would once again get a negative response, I got on Facebook and with all the status updates surrounding the earthquake, momentarily forgot all about it.

After a few moments, I looked up, and nearly dropped my phone.

“Oh my God, Jason.”  

The tears were falling.  I opened the bathroom door to share this amazing moment to my husband...who happened to still be in the throes of bad sauerkraut.  

At least he was already sitting down.

He looked up, saw my face, and asked, “We’re pregnant?”

I could only nod my head.  

“Oh babe!” he exclaimed while holding up his arms for me walk into his embrace...his still on the crapper embrace.

At 32 years old and after nine years of marriage, we’re having a baby. Turns out, I was already more than six weeks along.

I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else, or finding out any other way.  Even if the crapper isn't so beautifully miraculous.

Eight weeks in Colombia and already looking round!  

Eight weeks in Colombia and already looking round!  

If you like this, you may like this post: Seven Reasons Why I don't Have Kids