Discovery

EPT test

It’s been a couple of weeks now since we saw that fateful blue EPT cross (twice). The scene went something like this:

I was on my way to the gym to swim a few laps when my phone rang.

“Hi Baby. Um….. I may have just taken a pregnancy test. And um…. It may have been positive. I’m pretty sure. I took a picture.”

Me: “Oh. Ok. Wow! Shit. Do you need me to come home?”

Wife: “I don’t know! I don’t know what to do with myself! I don’t know why I took the fucking test when you went out! I’m supposed to be working, and now I can’t stop pacing back and forth!”

Me: { long pause } “I think perhaps it’s better for the both of us if I still go to the gym. Breathe. I love you. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Shockingly, that all actually went over ok.

When I got home after my swim – pulse rate back on the charts – we took test number two. Not really surprisingly, this one also showed perpendicular lines.

“Yay! How exciting! I can’t believe it! I love you so much! Let’s go celebrate!!!”

This is when it hits me that the person I most enjoying celebrating with can’t really drink alcohol for the next nine months. (It doesn’t quite dawn on us until a bit later that she can’t eat sushi, either. Or burrata. Or caviar. Not that we eat all that much caviar, but still – talk about a bummer). However, there are two immediate silver linings:

  • I will have my own personal designated driver for the next year or so.
  • I can now order as much Riesling as I want. Wifey hates Riesling, in all forms. (Yes, this defies all logic, and yes, believe me, I have tried. The only one I’ve ever been able to get her to drink might as well have said “Sauvignon Blanc” on the label.)

So now what? Like any other shellshocked, newly-minted parents-to-be: why, we kept our reservation at the sushi restaurant, of course.

Bad call, Hubby. First lesson learned.

 

2 thoughts on “Discovery”

  1. Sushi was the hardest thing to give up. I was young enough at the time that Wine (with a capital-W) wasn’t dominating my life yet). But sushi, and burrata–there’s the true suffering. Also, NO CLEANING OUT THE LITTERBOX (if you have a cat). So happy for you both.

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