Surreal

(Written September 10; published October 6)

I took a pregnancy test two days ago.

It was kind of on a whim. I guess I was "late"--it was cycle day 35 and no sign of AF. I had been really moody, so I figured she was just running late this month, as she has done in months past. I had a day where I didn't really feel like eating anything. I attributed it to stress at work. I threw up Taco Bell for dinner. I attributed it to eating too fast. I ate ice cream for dinner. I attributed it to throwing up my earlier attempt. The next morning, I pulled out one of our five $1 HPTs. Why not? I thought. It's only a dollar. And seeing it be negative will stop all the little whispers in the back of my brain.

I honestly didn't give testing much thought. Yes, we'd looked at our finances and determined we could afford a second child. Yes, we'd talked about it at length and determined we wanted a second child. We had decided the time was right to start trying. We had had unprotected sex. But still, even then, there were so many unknowns. I didn't know when I had ovulated. I'm still breastfeeding baby girl, so my cervical fluid is affected (read: not really there very much at all). We hadn't had baby-making sex. We had had welcome-home-from-your-business-trip sex, oh-by-the-way-you-don't-have-to-pull-out-anymore-remember? sex. A while ago. I didn't even remember when. Life had been so hectic for us in the last couple of weeks, I honestly couldn't even remember when.

I peed. I put the test down and walked away. Curiosity got the best of me about five seconds later and I went back. My cursory glance showed a rapidly darkening control line and nothing else. I nodded, affirmed, and went to brush my teeth. Of course I'm not pregnant, I told myself. I'm still breastfeeding. We had unprotected sex like twice. Last time it took us six months of trying, of actively TRYING, of charting temps and OPKs and CM and CP. It's hard to get pregnant, remember? That's why we're starting to try now. So that hopefully we'll get somewhere in the next six months. I finished brushing my teeth, calmer, and went back to the test for the official read.

I picked it up.

And I almost dropped it.

There was not only one line.

There were two.

Two lines.

I would like to say that I stared intently, eyes boring into the test, burning a hole trying to tell if the line was real or not. But it really wasn't necessary. The two lines lay there, parallel, clear as day.

I walked out of the bathroom like a zombie. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I don't know that I've ever seen my face so white. (One day I'm going to look up the physiology of what causes your face to become ghostly white at a great shock. I mean, does your blood literally drain from your face?)

I put the test down on the counter and showered. I actually don't remember much of that shower. I'm pretty sure I washed my hair, but the entire time, my mind was a loud roar of white noise. I think that was my brain's way of protecting itself from the onslaught of thoughts that were racing around like a sudden mental mosh pit. What? When? How? REALLY? Whatthe-? REALLY? What are we going to do? How am I going to tell my boss? How are our parents going to react? How are our finances going to handle it? How is baby girl going to handle it? How am I going to handle it? REALLY???

I looked into that mosh pit from afar and plucked out a single thought, clinging to it in the deluge like a survivor clings to a life boat.

How am I going to tell TH?

He was still sleeping peacefully in bed five feet from where I stood. Just the day before he had been telling me about his mom urging us to wait another year or two before having our second child. Just the day before he had been telling me how tired he is of the hectic schedule that had temporarily descended on our family the last several weeks.

I thought of maternity clothes and weekly pictures and doctors appointments and birthing plans and redecorating a second nursery and getting more car seats and the newborn days that were so hard on me, on us, the crying and the uncertainty and the doubt and the tiptoeing around while baby girl slept. While I swam in these thoughts, gasping for air, he slept peacefully, not yet hit with the tidal wave of life change that was about to come his way.

What a different experience from the first time. If you know me, you know how determined I am. How goal-oriented. How stubborn. The first time, each negative test, month after month, brought about more determination, more single-mindedness. I had six months of wanting, of yearning. By the time those two lines showed up the first time, I was like a starving baby bird, mouth WIDE open, begging begging begging for the only food that would feed my hungry soul. When I saw those two lines the first time, I screamed, literally screamed, and jumped up and down and cried and hugged my husband and grinned so big and for so long that my cheeks were cramping by the end of the day.

This time. Oh, this time. This time we said, yes, let's do it, let's lean back back back into the unknown, and about fivesecondslater I turned around to have that same food pushed into my mouth. I hadn't had time to open my mouth wide yet. I hadn't had time to get hungry like last time. I didn't even know we could get pregnant right now. I say this not to discount the miracle that this is. I say this to explain, perhaps to myself, my own white face. It's one thing to find out you're pregnant when you've dreamed of it and wanted it and worked toward it. It's such a different experience to find out you're pregnant when you aren't expecting it. Even when you've decided you want it, even then you can still be caught off guard.

I abandoned any plans of cutesy ways of telling him. I needed him, I needed my best friend, to be in the water with me, telling me it would be okay. I picked up the test, turned on his bedside lamp, and climbed back in bed with him.

I put the test on his chest.

He fumbled around, finally picking it up and squinting at it.

And then he squinted again, a little bit closer.

Wait. What does this mean? he asked in a sleepy confusion.

I waited, saying nothing, my heart pounding in my ears (maybe that explains the rush of white noise in the shower?).

I felt like I couldn't breathe, waiting for his response. I could barely keep myself afloat at the moment, awash in a sea of ohmygod. I didn't know what I would do if he drowned, too. I didn't know if I could keep us both above water.

And then.

And then.

He smiled.

He smiled and my heart stopped racing. The white noise, the mosh pit of thoughts, everything settled.

Oh my God, Kel, He whispered, a wide grin breaking across his face. Congratulations, he said as he nuzzled into me.

And I smiled.

I hope you like being a daddy, I whispered back as he held me.

We both laughed.

After that there was more laughter. Most of it incredulous. Much of it was accompanied by head shaking and wide eyes. There were hugs. And gentle kisses on my stomach. When I woke my daughter for the day, when I held her as I listened to my husband tell her for the first time ever that she was going to be a big sister, I thought my heart was going to burst.

I am pregnant. Again.

I have no idea how far along I am. I have no idea when I'm due. Best as I can tell, based on my last period, it's sometime in mid-May. What a different experience this is already turning out to be than the first time, when I knew the exact day, the exact act, of conception.

But much the same, as well. Already I find myself smiling gently while my thoughts wander around the tiny life growing inside me. Already I find myself feeling happiness radiating through every pore in my skin. And of course, already I find myself worrying about that tiny life, too.

I called my doctor's office today. To find out what I should do, when I should come in. It felt surreal to be making that phone call again, to be scheduling those appointments again. I was once again awash in waves of "Is this really happening?" But what I realized is that those waves won't drown me. If I relax into them, breath deeply, I will actually float, borne along on the rise and fall of this new adventure. It's when I stiffen and panic that the sinking begins.

It is, as I knew it would be, about trust. Trust and courage. Trust that this second time will turn out as amazing as the first. Courage that we can do what we must to get there.

We are calling him/her "Dos."

Already I'm in love.