Dear $#^! Baby.
On Halloween, I peed on a stick to see if you existed. I had known for about seven days that you were probably all up in there, but I guess we had to be sure. I didn’t want to end up on “I Knew I Was Pregnant But Didn’t Do Anything About It” (coming soon to TLC). I had Jimmy Johns for lunch and a half shot of bourbon in the three-minute pee stick developing time in preparation, since you would be taking these precious things away from me. Probably not the most responsible decision…but it sure was delicious.
I couldn’t bear to look at the results because I’m preeeety sure that second pink line appeared immediately. I don’t know for sure because I high-tailed it out of the bathroom. But Big A dared to seek the truth. It pretty much went like this.
Bug-eyed and ready to vomit with this new sense of holy-shit-I-have-to-be-an-adult, I sat on the floor. Big A pranced around the room and I kept yelling at him.
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE.
THE WORLD DOESN’T NEED A MINI US.
OH SHIT THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING.
THIS IS THE WORST TRICK EVER.
(Big A’s response to that was obviously THIS IS THE BEST TREAT EVER!)
For whatever reason, we had a bottle of Sparkling Cider. So we drank it in celebration. Big A kept trying to rub my belly. I kept trying to punch him in the face.
Welcome to the family, Kid. Hope you’re more prepared than we are.