Well, welly, well. Here we are. At work on a Saturday trying to catch up before our big Scandinavian trip. Oh - did I mention that I'm 3 weeks pregs right at this second? Well, I found out on Monday. If I were taking a train, it would be the Blue Line. That's right. Tequila shots, too many pairs of shoes, and my evil 'Bucks addiction - all curtailed with a test. Actually, three tests (I got nervous and pissed all over the first two). By the time I was walking back from Shoppers with the third test, it started to rain and I started to cry. I thought, "Wow. You don't know what rain smells like. Or how it feels on your face. Our how grass feels under your bare feet and how it smells just after it's been cut." Sobbing hysterically like the crazy woman that I have turned into in three short weeks.
Two weeks ago, I started the work week in chaos with the announcement that Blondie and I were getting a new boss. So we went to the Communist's Daughter (a hip dive of a watering hole that still bares the sign of its predecessor, Nazare snack bar) for a few therapeutic sips. The Dogger loves it there because they serve 50 in base bottles and have a jukebox stocked with tunes that would even impress the E-town crew. Blondie and I sat there, enjoying the sunshine, while she blew her smoke out the open door enticing the crazies from Dundas Street West to beckon from the sidewalk, charming her into sharing her ciggies.
On Tuesday, Blondie and I had pizza and a whole bottle of wine over a particularly boring episode of "The Idol". On Wednesday, I joined Blondie at Fionn MacCool's with our other coworkers and had a half of a half of cider (after 5 cups of coffee that day) -- because I was driving. Thursday, Blondie and I got totally bombed at an after work function -- I even did SoCo shots! When I stretched I felt a tugging at my belly button -- hmmm... that's funny. I asked my good pal Kerouac what she felt like when she was briefly preggers. Her response: "If you at all feel like you're getting your period, you're not pregnant." OK - SoCo shots it is then - phew!
Friday, Sista Sunshine and I went to a girls' night, only to find that I couldn't really drink. I forced myself through the wine that Pipes brought over, then struggled with the champers that Big J uncorked. I was bloated and sick feeling, but I chalked it up to the fact that I was hungover. Saturday, I asked my Mammina how she felt when she was first pregito with me. She said:"I felt like I was getting my period, but then it never came." *GULP* Then I slept - all day! And I slept all day Sunday too.
Monday I went to work and told Kerouac and Blondie that I thought I was 4 days late. They suggested I take a test. Kerouac hit the Shoppers with me on our way back from buying healthy bread at Noah's. Blondie was so excited that she suggested I take it at work, but I vetoed that suggestion. I wasn't about to pee all over my hand at work. You need the grace of a Jarvis tranny to be able to stand up and pee on a stick without making a mess! Blondie and I read the instructions on the subway ride home. I felt embarrassed - eventhough I am married, something about the test makes you feel as though people are thinking you're a trashy teen. Dorothy, we're not in Catholic school anymore...
Blondie asked, " Are you going to be OK with these instructions dude?"
"Bah! A four year old could do this!" I dismissed.
So sure enough, I botch the first two tests. I don't realize I have to remove the absorbant bit after I pee on it. Twice. While at Shoppers I go to Dominion and buy a bun to put in the oven and surprise the Dog when he gets home. I do a third test and the rapidity of the line turning blue astonishes me. I put the bun in the oven with a little post-it note drawing of an embryo saying "Hi Daddy" (you need to be quite obvious with the Dog) and wait.
Doggy comes home. I tell him his dinner is in the oven and he finds the bun and I hear him giggle. Then he said, "Wait - is this for real?" I nod yes. We get teary and then we laugh and laugh. "My boys can swim!" he shouts with the face of someone who has just realized he can touch his nose with his tongue. We are apparently quite fertile considering we only had one "incident" and it "took". It was on the Dog's birthday (which he dubbed the greatest day of his life). A little too much Dom P and oops! It's like what you learn to avoid your whole teenage life.
What a roller coaster this week has been, with nausea and bloating, and serious work drama and getting ready to cross the world. I told my folks and the Dog told his Pop-pop so far. Very few people can know, because you are told to wait until the three month danger zone has passed. Apparently the miscarriage rate is high in the first trimester. The due date is an alarming January 1, 2005! I can smell the B.O. of someone three towns over suddenly. And I cannot focus my thoughts. During Jeopardy at the parentals, just after the announcement, Sista Sunshine commented that I am losing brain cells rapidly and that I will be from here on in. The horror! Will my know-it-all-ness be reduced to nothing? Will I only be able to speak gaga-googoo from now on? So many questions.
What I intend to do here is document the entire journey, with ALL my neurosies, for all my stiletto and sangria loving pals, who wonder what will change, what will happen. I promise that my other entries will not be so long, but in this first, most important week -- I could not shut up. So forgive me. Stay tuned.