A pregnant pause

Yep, it’s for realsies: Heather knocked me up.

As of today, I am 10 weeks, 6 days, along and everything looks good.  The wee one is about the size of a lime, is starting to develop hair, and has a full set of internal organs.  He/she has made his/her mama sick and dizzy, and has made both moms very happy. 

We’ve been reluctant to share the news publicly, since the risk of miscarriage doesn’t really drop till 12 weeks.  Close friends know, of course, and then other people who found out accidentally or because Heather has no self-control.  My mom described herself as “gobsmacked,” my psychiatrist cried, and Heather’s best friend Renee got so choked up we thought we’d lost the call.  As for us, we were shocked more than anything, having been so well used to profound disappointment that good news felt altogether foreign.  We were like those lab monkeys when they first saw the outdoors: frozen in confusion. 

We checked a bunch.  I peed on thin strips and on big plastic sticks, and insisted on a blood test.  It was actually a day earlier than we’d planned to test, but it had been a rocky few days, and I’d been so emotional that I had to leave work early to grieve in private.  I just felt sure it wasn’t going to happen.  When Heather got home, we snuggled up in bed while the tests processed, trying to remind ourselves that we loved each other and would be okay no matter what.  Then she walked into the bathroom, turned to me, and said, “Rachel, you’re fucking pregnant.” 

It took a while before it felt real, and we have to remind ourselves from time to time.  We saw movement on the ultrasound, heard a heartbeat, and have been reassured by symptoms of all types, but…  How did this work out?  Is the universe really that even-handed?  I just don’t know what to do with it.  Sleeping and vomiting will have to do for now.