When that plus sign popped up on the pregnancy test, I was just as surprised as I was when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. Even the women who are charting, clocking, and monitoring every snap, crackle and pop their bodies make, when the green light finally appears, it’s just as deep a shock. Suddenly, you’re not alone on the toilet anymore– you’ve got a stowaway.
But, that’s where the similarities end. With my first, I did a small confused/terrified/excited lap around the house, talking to myself, and immediately grabbed an apple to munch on. Time to eat healthy! With this one… I went and fed my daughter lunch. Sure, there were butterflies in my stomach, and I was anxious for my husband to come home from the gym so I could spill the news, but it wasn’t that OHMYGODWHATJUSTHAPPENED feeling.
However, I was not prepared for the biggest difference of all: the fact that I have literally forgotten I was pregnant too many times to count.
Not like, “WHOOPS, just drank an entire bottle of wine, and oh yeah… I think I peed on a stick a few weeks ago? What did it say again?” Nothing like that.
More like, a week will pass, and my daughter will climb into my lap to read a book, and my brain will spring into action, “BABY! Don’t squish the baby!”, and I will readjust. That NEVER happened with my first. I woke up everyday, grinning from ear to ear, thinking to myself, “Guesssss what?! You’re still pregnant!”
I promise, tiny fetus, that when you arrive you will have at least 50% of my attention span every single day, and 100% of my love, but, I gotta say, until you’re here, screaming my ear off for a diaper change, you’re taking a backseat.