Back To The Beginning.

In one of my many deep-in-thought sessions on the toilet today, I realized that I have yet to formally blog the story of how I told Joe that his little swimmers won the gold.

Buckle in, kids. This is gonna be a long one.

Back in August I had 3 relatively back-to-back business trips. Before I left for the first one, I mentioned to Joe that I was having some wicked pre-period cramps that were so paralyzingly painful that I thought maybe I would die. Literally, it was like an army of little gnomes stomping their lawn aerating spike shoes all over my insides. He was initially worried there was something wrong...but then with a twinkle in his eye (and half-joking) said, "Or, maybe you're pregnant."

I mostly laughed it off because we weren't trying to get pregnant. Well, we weren't not trying, either. We were officially going to kick-off the "humping like rabbits" season after our first anniversary (2 weeks away at this point)...but at the time were not taking any measures to prevent pregnancy if you're picking up what I'm throwing down.

So off I jetted to Nashville, where I stayed for 3 days. I did the math on the plane and realized that the next day would mark the official "late" category for good ol' Aunt Flo. I'm not like clockwork or anything, but could just tell something was off with my body.

As soon as I landed, I hopped in my wicked cool rental Malibu and headed to my hotel...conveniently located next to a friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart...where they conveniently sell pregnancy tests. DETOUR! As I was walking in, I was thinking about how fun it would be to get off the plane and run slow motion into Joe's arms to tell him I was pregnant. Total movie scene, right?

Back to reality. So in I went to make my purchase. With red cheeks and as embarrassed as hell I scurried to the PG test aisle, grabbed the cheapest box of tests I could find (mistake #1), concealed it with a magazine and went to check out. What? No self-check outs? RIDIC! Now, I realize that it's totally retarded for me to be ashamed of buying pregnancy tests. After all, I am married, responsible and wanted a baby. But it's like publicly admitting that I've recently had sex. While some might find it awesome, I do not. I wanted to die. I am the same way buying condoms. It's so uncool.

With nary a sideways glance from the checkout lady, I went back to my hotel and read the instructions. It said the best results usually are after the "first morning pee," but I just couldn't wait. Plus, I had 2 tests. One for now. One for morning.

There's truly nothing like peeing on your first stick. I could barely breathe as I waited for the longest 3 minutes of my life to pass. So many things were going through my mind: how to tell family and friends, girl or boy, one or two?

My daydream ended when absolutely no sign of a line came up. Zilch. Nada. Not even a shadow. Knowing what I know now, I never should have even expected to see a line on the first official "late" day. But the e.p.t. commericals SAY, "even if you're just a little bit pregnant." Damn those cheap tests...and those stupid commercials!

I took the other test in the morning to the same results, stayed for my trip and jetted back home. I was still having the very, very, very painful cramping and Joe was getting more and more worried there was something wrong with me. (Besides the obvious crazy.)

I had 2 days at home before my next trip and was still very suspicious that I was PG. I was now staring right in the face of 4 days late - totally abnormal for me. So, while Joe was out mowing the lawn (summer how I miss thee) I casually announced I was going to run to the store to pick up some last-minute items for my next trip. He offered to go with me, but I said he could stay and finish the lawn...something I now know tipped him off a bit...we almost never go to the store alone.

I picked up the next round of tests with a bit more confidence. I stayed in the aisle a little longer to compare brands and bought the 4 pack of e.p.t. Ain't no cheap brand gonna lie to me this time! Then, in a moment of creativity, headed to the baby section to get something fun that said "Daddy" on it. If the tests were positive, I thought it would be a fun way to tell Joe. If not, I could stick it in a drawer and save it for when the time was right. I found a supercute little green bib that said "I (heart) Daddy." Perfect.

I got home and Joe was inside, so I shoved my bag into the bathroom closet and joined him on the couch. About 10 minutes later, he went outside to move the lawn sprinkler (seriously, summer...miss you so much!) and I thought, "This is my chance!"

I ran to the bathroom, tore open the box and whizzed like I've never whizzed before. Afterall, 'twas my 3rd stick - I was an old pro!

I didn't even have to wait 30 seconds for that line. It was like a double solid stripe of freakin' magentaburgundybrightasspink and was the most AWESOME thing I'd ever seen. I double, triple, quadruple checked the box to make sure I was reading it right and screamed like an idiot on the inside. Holy cow this is happening. This is real and it's happening right now.

Joe was still outside, so I grabbed the stick and the bib and shoved them under the couch cushions. Seriously, no time to come up with a movieworthy plan. Must. Tell. Him. Now. Or. Will. Burst.

It was probably only 30 seconds in real time, but he didn't come inside for what seemed like 4 days. So, I casually went out on the front porch and was like, "Hey, you comin' back in?" He did. Without question.

I had a speech planned. I was going to tell him how much I loved him and how amazing he was and all these bright and bubbly things about the future and all our dreams. Brainfart. Nothing. So instead, I reached under the couch cushions, grabbed the test and the bib and without a word, thrust them both into his chest.

He looked first at the test and thought it was negative. Still worried about the cramping, he said, "Oh, babe...we should make you a doctor appointment to see what's wrong."

I had the most ridiculous grin on my face and just shook my head and pointed to the bib. Yes, I pointed. I couldn't even speak. His eyes grew to the size of an orange and he just looked at me as I nodded furiously and kept stupidly smiling.

And then we laughed. And laughed. And laughed until we cried. We cried the happiest, craziest, holy-crap-we-did this tears that we will ever cry. It was the perfect moment and not even a word was spoken.

So while it wasn't the slow-motion movie scene I envisioned on the plane, it was more awesome than I ever could have planned.

And that, my friends, is how I told Joe I was pregnant.