Two Plus One = Three

Well, as kosmo so accurately called it, there are a limited number of things that I could possibly be withholding as a big-news-surprise kind of thing.

So, to put the rumors tripping over the phone lines and internet to rest, yes, it's true.

I'm actually an alien from the planet Zingmar. I have come for your unripe bananas and TiVo.

Wait. Wrong confession.

Tom and I are going to have a baby. I have a big purple bruise on my left arm from the blood test that proved it yesterday. It's still very early and I haven't had my first appointment yet, but those of you who know me will probably not be surprised to learn that I am already receiving two different pregnancy e-mail newsletters, have about twelve new sites bookmarked, have a list of don'ts open in the background that I am constantly adding things to, and I'm more than a hundred pages into What to Expect When You're Expecting, which I purchased approximately ten hours ago, six of which I've spent asleep.

Wow. Longest sentence ever.

Were we trying? Kinda. It was an "if it happens, it happens" sort of thing. What's extremely funny is that I got the results of the blood test about six weeks after we had the aforementioned "if it happens, it happens" talk, when we stopped taking precautions.

How did I know to go and take the test? Well, it wasn't for the reason most of you probably think, as I have been so stressed out and clueless that I haven't really been paying attention to the calendar. And that's as gracefully as I can address that issue.

As it turns out, I went to a crit (a bicycle race where you do a set number of laps around a half mile to mile long course, for any of you who may not know the lingo) this past Tuesday night. At the first acceleration, I stood up to bring up my speed and the whole world started to twirl around me. I sat back down and kind of shakily made the next turn, but the pack was gone.

"That's odd," I thought. "I know I've been riding less, but I should be able to respond to a relatively mild acceleration to 25 miles per hour from 22."

I fought it out for a lap or two to try to catch up, but it was no good. I sat up to wait for the pack to come back around, so I could catch back on and try to help my teammate win the race. They came, and then went. As soon as I sped back up, the dizziness set back in with a vengeance. I let them go and decided that I would just try to stay out of the way and complete my laps until they pulled me before the final sprint.

Three laps later, when I nearly lost my balance coming around the one true 90 degree turn, I pulled my bike to the side of the road, got off, sat on the grass, put my head in my hands, and tried not to regurgitate the oatmeal and brown rice that were in my stomach.

The two lovely ladies who were supporting our race at the check in table (friends of mine) came and got me, sat me down, got me some water and some energy bars to try to revitalize me. I was quizzed about what I ate, and scolded once I revealed that it hadn't been that much, and not an ounce of protein in there to keep me going along with the carbs. I just kept shaking my head and wondering what could possibly be wrong, because I've never been that dizzy or felt quite that bad before in my entire life.

"Why didn't you eat more?"

Jane asked me that, and I revealed that I'd kind of lost my appetite for the couple of days preceeding.

"Aw, it's probably just a little bug. You'll be okay."

Tom drove straight there from work and followed me home, as I still felt a little shaky and didn't want to drive without someone keeping an eye on me or telling me to pull over if I was driving unsafely.

The next day, when I felt all queasy at the thought of food again, I got to thinking about the possible causes. There's a drugstore nearby work, so after I went out and got my lunch, I stopped and bought myself a couple of my old pal, EPT.

The plan was to take the test the next morning. However, they give you a couple of tests in a pack, so I thought, "Why not take one now?"

I went in the bathroom and took the test. Stood there staring at it as the results started to appear. There's supposed to be a control line, and then another window in which a line will appear if you are pregnant. As a faint, but distinct line appeared in the second window, I thought with distress, "Holy crap, is that a line, or isn't it? Why don't sparks come out of this thing if you're pregnant? That would be hard to miss. This line crap isn't cutting it."

So I came out, hands shaking, and handed the test to a friend of mine named Kristine to help me interpret. She (along with everyone else) didn't know that I had revised my "I don't think I'm ready for that" position, and she was reluctant to tell me how much it looked like a line. Consulting the instructions gave me the information that if you drink a lot of water (check) and take the test in the middle of the day (check) that the results will not be as clear. You are, as I knew but was too impatient to stick to, supposed to take the test first thing in the morning.

I get a fitful night's sleep that evening, waiting to wake up and take the test. The alarm goes off, I get up, and three minutes later, I see the world's most luridly pink pair of lines known to this planet. I spent the day trying to get my doctor's office on the phone, and finally arrange to have a blood test yesterday morning (Friday).

I arrive at their office the next morning, bushy tailed and waiting for confirmation. They send me across the street to the lab, where I nearly get lost even though I'm using the clearest directions ever and the nice lady tried to show me the building I was heading for out the window of the doctor's office. This is how bad I am with directions.

On the way over, I skipped over a song on my mix CD because I didn't think I wanted the baby to hear it. I switch to the classical music station instead, using my unfair advantage of having the baby with me at all times to impart my taste in music instead of Tom's. I'm not sure the world needs one more Violent Femmes fan, although Blister in the Sun isn't terrible.

Another nice lady takes my blood with an absolute minimum of fuss and pain, although I have a royal bruise to show for it now. She tells me that they will report my results to the doctor at around 2:00, and they will call me a half hour to an hour later.

This, of course, sounds like an eternity. I smile at the nice lady anyway, even though I once took a friend of mine to a free clinic while we were in college to get her a blood draw pregnancy test and we found out those results in an hour, and it turned out to be absolutely accurate, but I digress.

I stuck my cellphone in my jeans pocket, which makes them even more uncomfortably tight, and set out on the LONGEST DAY EVER.

11:00. Torture. I smile at people bringing their kids in to look at bikes. I note how much my back hurts already, and find myself leaning against things or sitting down.

12:00. Day so slow. Nibbling on bagel chips even though I'm not really hungry.

1:00. Lunchtime. I have a sudden, undeniable craving for boneless buffalo wings at Chili's. Everything else makes me feel sick. This baby has to have a taste for spicy food, because I normally don't like it.

2:00. Come back from lunch, now the news seems closer but still so far away.

3:00. I get impatient, call the doctor's office. I'm told that the results for the day have been delivered, and the nurse is still going through them. I'm supposed to get a call "shortly".

4:00. I am just about insane. It finally occurs to me that I never told the office to call me on my cell phone. This is because I am a moron. I am also too inept to remember how to check my messages on my answering machine at home from a remote number, so I call the office and explain that I think I gave them the wrong number. The nurse, in kind of an "I've done this so many times, so here's the news, and why don't you celebrate it with someone you know" kind of way, tells me that yes, the test was positive. She schedules me for my first appointment, and I hang up.

Everything else since then has been a whirlwind of some lovely advice from Cheryl, wanting more hot wings, and then a sudden craving for a Frostie from Wendy's around about 10:45. We did get through to Tom's parents last night (between the craving for hot wings and for the frostie, but after the advice) but I haven't been able to get mine on the phone yet. Thank goodness they don't know about this blog, because this would be a really sucky way to find out about a grandchild, wouldn't it?

So, you know. I hope this isn't the first sign of the downfall of Western Civilization. I'll try not to screw it up.