Well I’m pregnant.

The day I found out I was pregnant was a day like any other, minus the normalcy and plus the nervous breakdown.

I left work early that day thinking I was coming down with the flu. I didn’t feel sick to my stomach; I just felt incredibly worn down. Like the thought of being anywhere but in my own bed was as overwhelming as climbing Mount Everest.

I got home, took a 3-hour nap, and woke up feeling like I should take a pregnancy test.

I wish I could say I’d had some sort of profound sleeping epiphany, like a dream where one or both of my dead grandfathers told me I was pregnant, or the Angel Gabriel manifested himself by the side of my bed and told me my child should be called George, but no. It was nothing like that.

Instead I just woke up and thought: Pregnant.

I had a pregnancy test left over from a 2-pack I’d bought before. I read the directions carefully. I peed on the stick, put the cap back on it, set it flat on the bathroom counter, flushed, washed my hands and walked away—

—It’s funny, but since I found out I’m pregnant I keep thinking of my life in terms of lasts. That nap I took right before I found out? It was the last carefree nap I will likely ever have. The McDonald’s cheeseburger I ate on my way home from work that day? The last semi-guilt-free McDonald’s cheeseburger I’ll ever bite into. (I say “semi” because what cheeseburger is ever FULLY guilt-free, but at least that one didn’t leave me feeling guilty for feeding my unborn child nutritionless filler food.) The pee I peed for that pregnancy test? The last pee I’d ever pee without being profoundly aware of how terrible urine actually smells—

—and when I came back three minutes later my life changed forever.

Here is what I did when I saw the blue plus sign:

• Took a picture of it.

• Texted picture to Poor Kyle.

• Waited seven seconds for him to text me back.

• Texted again when he didn’t.

• Called him seven seconds later.

• Hung up without leaving a message.

• Walked around the house aimlessly for the next hour. Picked up books, set them down unread. Moved dirty dishes from one side of the sink to the other side without washing anything. Sat down on the floor next to the couch and stared at the wall. Realised I’d be more comfortable back in bed. Laid down. Googled “I’m pregnant” on my phone and got lost in a maze of websites and forums about things like colostrum and episiotomies and pooping during childbirth. Used a website widget to figure out my due date. Used a similar widget to figure out how much weight I’d likely gain during the course of my pregnancy.

• Weighed myself.

• Cried when I added 30 pounds to the number on the scale.

• Called Poor Kyle again.

This time he answered. I told him and he didn’t believe me, not at first. (It just so happened to be his 31st birthday so I think he thought I was trying to trick him with a birthday “surprise.”) When he finally did believe me, the excitement in his voice reached through the phone and wrapped around me almost physically somehow, like a hug. He was elated and has been walking on air ever since that day.

Me?

I’m getting there.

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