Here we go, b.

Dear Jordanpaul,

I am in love with you. I couldn’t imagine a better Dad for our future little b. Thank you, thank you.


I’m pregnant.

I’m trying to type that with fluidity.

I’m pregnant.

And no, it’s not an April Fool’s joke. This baby’s name should be Karma.

I was sure the day after, but I thought that was ridiculous. Weeks later I was nervous. I kept telling myself I was overthinking it. Jordan said I was convincing myself of something that was very improbable. We hadn’t even tried. (And that’s the slightly disappointing aspect — we didn’t even really get to try. No months of preplanning and expertise. No stressing. But how can you call this anticlimactic?) But there it was: two pink lines on a white stick, and my legs and shoulders and chin shaking into his chest.

“Here we go!”

I didn’t even get to fully develop my pre-pregnancy blog. The Road to Babycakes just took a shortcut.

I had no clue who to tell first after my immediate family. Do you even tell anyone when you are two weeks along-ish? There were all different types of reactors. There were the know-it-alls. The NO WAYers. The screamers (my personal favorite kind). The very serious practical crowd (“It’ll be a tax reduction!”). The criers.

I don’t feel any different except that I’m exceptionally tired (but I’m big on sleep anyway, let’s see how bad that gets), I sometimes have dull headaches, and lots of extra spit.

I’m panicky and excited and still in a bit/lot of disbelief. Good thing this blog has about 3 readers. Maybe I’ll go public someday.

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