Fletch



There's something in here...

Well now...this blog just took a semi-unexpected turn...Tada....I'm six weeks pregnant!

It occurred to me to take a test a couple of days after I stepped in dog poop and projectile vomited all over the yard.  While gagging at shit is nothing new to me, I just suspected something was up.  All four tests came out looking like this:

Doug was my only witness. He was super-unimpressed and only in there to begin with because I paid him in brew bones for moral support.  I just looked at myself in the mirror and smiled and shook my head and muttered, "holy crap".

I broke the news to Colin on Wednesday night and proved that he doesn't listen to me all at once (just kidding buddy...you're great)...he brought a friend's baby announcement into the kitchen and asked if I had seen it before he tacked it up on the fridge.

  "Did you see this?" he asked. 

 "Yeah.  You're next." 

 ...Up goes the announcement. 

 "Did you hear me?" 

 "Uh, yeah..."

  ".........................."  

 "I said, 'You're next'." 

 ...............WIDE EYES...............

".....You're pregnant?"   

 Followed by a big hug and lots of, "is this a joke?". Ha Ha LOL...No.    We went out to dinner at Little India and toasted with water...I'm pretty sure we didn't know what to do with ourselves. It was like a weird, giggly, awkward high school date.

The next days have mostly consisted of Colin being awesome and me inside my head lamenting: I CAN'T DO ANYTHING.  WTF?  Pregnancy sucks!  I miss the taste of beer, my husband's brewing beer,  bacon's off limits, I can't even eat freakin' goat cheese...no hotdogs?...F off sushi...this sucks and I hate life and I can't go to the Mug Club celebration, how the hell am I going to be able to deal with this wedding next Friday? The couch and TV are my best friend all week and weekend.  My boobs feel like pissed-off water balloons and I can't find the safe herbal teas and........waaaaaaaaaaaaah.

I think this week's lowest point was when I was sitting here on the couch and Doug got up on the arm to look out the window, butt facing me.  He lifted his nub and audibly farted in my face.  Instead of moving or running away, I just sat there, sobbing hysterically in a lingering cloud of dog stench. Yeah.

I'm sure in the weeks to come, I'll be bitten by the pregnancy bug (Hell, I've already bought the What to Expect book).  It's not all bad, and a future kid is fun to think about.  It's just kind of hard to get excited when you're so forewarned about miscarriage and all that. I guess I'm going to try to focus less on the things I can't do and revel in the things I can...like eat a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at 11:00a.m.

I just did that. 

                        6 Weeks and all beer belly.  We call it Fletch.

                I can't tell if I'm pouting, kissing or getting ready to barf. Whatever.