Knocked Up

In the words of the ever-so-sarcastic and oh-so-witty Juno, I am for shizz up the spout. I know. Shocking. Seriously. On Saturday and Sunday, we filled out adoption paperwork, and on Monday morning, we found out I'm pregnant. I had an upcoming doctor's visit, and I hate when they ask you if you're pregnant when you're like, um, if I could get pregnant I wouldn't being subjecting myself to this fresh hell.

Anywho. So Dave was in the shower getting ready to work, and I had to pee so I thought I'd douse another stick just for giggles. Within seconds, a bright blue positive popped up in the window. In the last few months, I've peed on probably $500 worth of these damn sticks and had never seen that symbol. What did it mean? I kept comparing the stick to the box and the insert.

Me: I'm pregnant!
Dave (ripped back the curtain, spraying water and slinging shaving cream everywhere): What?!
Me sobbing: I'm fucking pregnant!
Dave: Lemme see. (compares box and stick) Holy. Shit.

Much disbelief and crying ensued. And, yeah, that was totally not how I envisioned the whole "We're Having a Baby!" going. I'll have to cute it up a bit for the scrapbook...

So I spent the rest of that morning looking at the calendar and conferencing with Holly, my doc's nurse. My cycles are seriously whacked without meds so there's some question as to how far along I am but our best guess based on symptoms is 9 weeks. I know! I feel so lame. I've been preggo since, like, New Year's and didn't know.

We actually had an appointment scheduled next week to discuss the next fertility medications we'd like to try. Now, I'm heading in on Tuesday morning for an ultrasound to see if my spotting dates (likely implantation) jibes with the baby's growth. If I am 9 weeks, I have had a seriously easy first trimester. I experienced bouts of nausea through most of January but chalked it up to stress, crazy hormones, and a possible tummy bug or the flu. My boobs are super sore but that's not unusal when you've got a body like mine reacting to the lack of meds. I've been exhausted too.

Most women with PCOS require progestrone supplementation to support a pregnancy, but apparently that wasn't the case with me. Hell, I've done just about everything wrong over the last few weeks. I fell down the stairs, moved furniture, cleaned carpets, inhaled a lungful of oven cleaner, skipped a few days of vitamins, had wild monkey sex, wrestled with the dog, ate tuna three times in one week, drank my weight in caffeine, and stood directly in front of our old ass microwave. Seriously, the only thing I haven't done is snort an eight ball or pickle myself in bum wine. Can you say miracle baby? (Really. I mean, the odds of someone with my crapped out ovaries having a 100% au naturel baby are one in prolly millions.)

So that's where we are right now. We're still planning to adopt but we'll likely put it off until Zaphod Beeblebrox* (that's what we're calling the fetus for now) is two or so. We'll definitely be doing a foster-to-adopt or straight adoption from DFPS since we're open to a toddler now. There are tons of cute munchkins who need good homes. I wanted to do this baby thing at least once which is why we were willing to throw down 30K for an infant adoption but circumstances have changed for the better.

I'll likely update on Zaphod every now and then on the blog but I'll try to refrain from making this one of those sappy ass baby journals, lol.

*It was Zaphod or Humma Kavula. Dave voted for Humma, I vetoed and won. I still reserve the right to refer to said fetus as Humma Kavula if it, say, kicks me in the spleen.