The Reveal

It never occurred to me I was actually pregnant.

Really. It didn't. I was all set to go back on my pill, as we'd decided to forgo the baby thing in favor of homebuying, at least for a while. Maybe we'd pick it up again in 2013. I just kept saying to T.J., "This period needs to start!" I was bitchy, short-tempered and my breasts had ached for probably two solid weeks. I had cramps. All run-of-the-mill, pre-period nonsense.

And on July 9, after getting up at 7 a.m. to feed the ever-annoying Dave, I thought, "Well, I'll just be sure..." and dug out a pregnancy test.

It took that little plus sign about two seconds to appear.

And I just sat there, staring it. There were no doubts whatsoever. That was a plus sign. I've peed on plenty of sticks in my life, and I've never once seen a vertical line before. But there it was, in all its faded blue glory.

I shook TJ awake. As he stared at me with sleep-filled eyes, I dropped it: "I'm pregnant."

And he just got this huge grin on his face and rolled over to put his arms around me.

It is not yet real. The queasiness that comes on about 5 a.m. and lingers until around 1 p.m. feels pretty real. The heartburn is real. The mood swings are real. But the now blueberry-sized Wee Baby Tranchell growing somewhere in there I have yet to comprehend. Part of my mind is still convinced this will end up being a food allergy. Like when I had a tummy ache for two months because I didn't know I was lactose intolerant.

But then there's that little blue plus sign. (Actually, two -- I took the test again, of course).

And in another week, I'll get to go to the doctor and she'll poke and probe and with any luck, we'll hear its little heart beat.

Until then, I am overcome with the urge to take a pregnancy test every day, if only I could afford it. Just for some sort of of constant comfort that yes, a baby's really in there. God really did this. Without my permission and totally off my time table.

In the meantime, my mom already sent us a package of diapers.

Generation gap

Recently, I was trying to explain to my mother the stresses of taking pregnancy tests (which, of course, I already blogged about here), and she totally wasn't understanding me. I was just trying to explain the stress of taking one versus the stress of buying one, etc...

Mom: How much do they cost?
Me: Like $15 for a 3-pack
Mom: Well geez! That's a lot just to pee on something! Just wait for your doctor to tell you!
Me: Mom, it costs way more than $15 to go to the doctor and the first thing your doctor is going to ask you is if you peed on the stick!
 
Turns out, pregnancy tests did not exist when my mother was giving birth to children.

Let me say that again: Did. Not. Exist.

Which helps some of my confusion tremendously. For years, I have heard  old(er) women say, "You'll know you're pregnant when your breasts are sore." or "your nipples will turn brown" or "you'll be hugging the toilet every morning," etc. This is very sage wisdom and I don't doubt it's true.

But then I read my baby books and they all say how these signs hit you between 4-8 weeks. And I sat there doing math in my head and counting days and weeks. This didn't add up. Shouldn't the first sign you're pregnant be your missed period, ladies? Why wait until your boobs are sore to take the test?

And there we have it: Because they didn't have tests. My mom knew she was pregnant when she woke up nauseated with sore breasts. She never had the final word of the E.P.T. to comfort her.

She never ever in her whole life has taken a pregnancy test. Women, can you fathom that? There is an entire generation of women that have never sat in the bathroom for five minutes going out of her mind wondering if she peed too much or too little and analyzing the darkness of those incomprehensible lines!

I. Am. So. Jealous.

Then there's my stepmom, who is a few years younger than my own mother. She didn't have a pee test for her first kid, but did for her second. She and I were laughing as she described those "old-fashioned" tests that required you hold a very small tip in your stream of urine (your morning pee) for so many seconds and how you just ended up peeing all over your hand instead.

And then it hit me: These are the same tests we're taking now. So in 20-whatever years, pregnancy tests have not evolved whatsoever. It still involves a woman waving a wand underneath herself as she squats on the toilet, trying to catch enough pee on her stick to get it to process and not get it all over her hand.

Men invented these, didn't they? There's no way a real-life woman thought this was a good idea. Only a man would think it would be easy to aim a stream of urine at a smallish target. I think men forget that women don't get to see their pee as it's happening without serious effort.

I am embarking on a campaign to redesign the pregnancy test and put an end to these ludicrous devices once and for all. Whose with me!?

Counting the days and peeing on sticks

Just shoot me. It'd be easier.

Here's an eternal womanly truth: Taking a pregnancy test is the single most stressful experience of any woman's life. And it's stressful in a multitude of ways. If you don't want a baby, you spend 5 minutes pacing the bathroom thinking of all the ways this is about to ruin your life and whether the potential father will be up for it.

If you do want a baby, you spend 5 minutes pacing the bathroom thinking of all the ways this is about to ruin your life and whether the potential father will be up for it.

I'd rather do almost anything than take a pregnancy test, which puts me in a rough position, seeing as how I'm setting myself up to take one. Or a dozen. Or however many it takes to get that happy little "plus sign."

And of coure, we know it's time to take that worse-than-the-SATs-test when a woman's period is late. So, those of us expecting to expect count our cycle days.

But when you've been on birth control since you were 16, you've never had a cycle that wasn't a perfect 28 days in length. So now on top of trying to keep your sex life from being stressful by hitting that perfect 3-day ovulation window -- which you have no idea when that is -- you're also spending every fourth week going out of your gourd wondering when to pull out the dreaded test.

And do you know what actually may be worse than taking a pregnancy test? Buying one. Oh, you know that Walmart clerk is looking at that box, and looking at you, and thinking, 1) I hope she's married. 2) It's gonna be false or 3) Honey, you're fat, not pregnant.

I know this because I use to be a retail clerk and I thought that all the time.

So, it's that time of the month. Or it could be. Or maybe it's next week. Or possibly last week. Either way, I have no pregnancy test. Better yet, I don't have money to buy one. Which actually is kind of a relief. I won't have to deal with cashier's accusing stares or those 5 minutes of horror waiting for my pee to develop, and then wondering if it was actually right, or if I need to do it again in the morning with that nice concentrated morning pee. Because every woman knows morning pee is the best pee for taking pregnancy tests. But if I need to take it again, I'll have to buy one of those multi-packs of pregnancy tests. Because otherwise I'm going to have to go back to the store for another. Except a different store. Don't want to get the same clerk.

Cause she'll remember me. Lord knows, she'll remember me.