Before A and I got married, we knew we wanted to have kids. We might disagree on football teams, but we have always been on the same page about babies. When we decided to start trying (read: stop using birth control), it was not the romantic event one might imagine. I remember clearly where we were when we made the official decision to let the condoms have a break…the dog park. Well, not technically a dog park…the apartment complex down the road had a fenced in dog area, so we would break in and hang out with our dogs. We are rebels.
Back to the story…so there we were, sitting on a bench, watching the dogs run back and forth in a frenzy, sniffing leaves and worms and poop and who knows what else. A pulled out his phone and to the dulcet tones of howls and barks, we crunched numbers and discussed insurance and diapers and pay checks and family. He looked up at me and gave a sort of nod of affirmation and I immediately began patting my stomach and planning a nursery.
As it turns out, babies do not pop up from the ground, like a certain dwarf from Lord of the Rings has suggested…
I guess, in my silly head, my assumption was that a few good rolls in the hay and voila! Two pink lines on the pee stick! Alas, that is not how it works. Or at least, that is not how it worked for us. Six months later, we decided to give it a rest. I’m a teacher and the idea of taking maternity leave at the beginning of a school year was not appealing…and our time frame was closing. Maybe next time, I told A. Besides, if I was being honest with myself, it was exhausting (and disheartening) to count days and take temps and keep track of all the times we had done the deed and track ovulation…whew, it’s exhausting just writing about it!
A few weeks after we called it quits on the baby making front, I took a couple days off work and headed back to sweet home Alabama to see some friends and family. I spent the first few days with my parents, and then planned on heading to Tuscaloosa to see some friends and make a triumphant return to Bryant Denny Stadium for the Alabama/Arkansas game (which we won, in case anybody was curious). I figured we would have a couple drinks on the quad, maybe go out Saturday night and celebrate our win…ya know, the usual.
Rewind for a minute…
Before I made my way to Tuscaloosa, I was with my mom, running to the store to pick up a few things for supper we needed that night. I snagged a six pack of beer and, for some crazy reason, a pregnancy test. Mom sort of laughed when I threw it in the buggy, but I figured, better safe than sorry. “You never know,” I told her wisely, nodding as though I had any clue what I was talking about. I had plenty of experience trying to divine pink and blue lines, so I decided to spring the extra couple bucks and get a digital one.
Back at my parents’ house, I took my little box to the bathroom and continued with my ritualistic peeing on a stick. Unlike all the other times I had taken an at home pregnancy test, I had no expectation that this test would be positive. None whatsoever. I was looking forward to that beer, though. Imagine my surprise when, after washing my hands, I turned absentmindedly to the test sitting on the windowsill, patting my dripping fingers against my jeans and saw that the test had the word PREGNANT emblazoned across the front of it.
My mouth dropped open.
I mean OPEN.
I grabbed the test and wandered out into the kitchen. “Mom,” I said. My mom was busy with something at the sink, the water pinging over the dishes. “Mom,” I said again. She turned to me, saw my face, and the squealing began. A was back home, not able to visit Alabama with me. I sent him pictures of the pregnancy tests and waited for his call.
So, I never got my beer, but for real? Who wants a beer when you can have a baby?!
What is your pregnancy/conception story? Leave it in the comments!