After a couple of months of “rest” I am thrilled to be back in the blogging spirit. I put “rest” in quotations, because I didn’t actually do all that much resting.
I’d like to tell you that I spent my days luxuriating in bubble baths and doing crystal therapy, but the truth is that I can do that for about a day before I want to prod my eyes out with a baby spoon.
So instead of “resting” in the traditional sense of the word, I decided to take some time to work on a writing project that’s been on the back-burner for a long time. I’m happy to say that it’s almost finished! (I'll let you know the details when the time comes…)
Other than that I’ve just been hanging out with Practical Joe and Buddha, cleaning, cooking, going for walks, getting knocked up, etc.
Oh did I mention I’m pregnant? Yep, I am officially going to be one of those lunatic women with two kids under two. Go figure.
When I find out I am in complete shock.
It’s a typical Wednesday morning… well typical in the sense that I’m at yet another doctor’s appointment. I had been having some odd symptoms lately, so my doctor sent me for an ultrasound to make sure it wasn't anything serious.
I sit nervously in a hospital waiting area, contemplating my own mortality. What if it is something serious? What if I’m dying? And if I am, who will take care of my family? Who will make lunch for Buddha (PJ still doesn’t know what to feed him) and make sure the Diaper Genie is emptied more than annually?
My eyes dart around the room anxiously realizing that if the cancer doesn’t kill me, the germs in this hospital will. Between the woman clutching her abdomen, the hacking man, and the gurney full of unknown fluids being wheeled by, I’m sure to catch some sort of debilitating disease that will lead to my demise.
Suddenly I hear my name called out in a nasal tone. I look up at a woman holding a clipboard.
“That’s me,” I admit.
She raises her eyebrows at me as if to emphasize mundaneness of the task. “Follow me.”
I follow the nurse and her squeaky sneakers down a long corridor, my palms sweating.
“Beautiful day out there, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” she mumbles.
(That’s fine. Who really cares for small talk anyway?)
We reach the ultrasound room and I am instructed to put on a gown and lay down on a table.
This is when I notice Squeaker lubing up what looks to me like a very large probe.
“What’s that thing for?” I ask unsuspectingly.
“It’s for your internal,” she tells me.
Good God, no one said anything about an internal! I brace myself.
After some prolonged “hemming” and “hawing”, Squeaker informs me of a cyst in my uterus.
“Nothing to worry about,” she tells me. “Wait a second…”
My heart leaps into my throat. I KNEW it! I AM dying! This is really it!
“You see this?” she asks me, pointing to the monitor. She’s tracing a large oval shaped thing inside me. Probably my tumor.
"Yes," I say, my voice trembling.
“This is either a very large cyst or you’re harboring something.”
Something? What kind of something?
“What could I be harboring?” I ask her, thoroughly freaked out.
“A baby!” says Squeaker. “It would have to be pretty early on and I can’t say for sure, but it looks to me like you might be pregnant!” She smiles for the first time.
I race home and take a test. Sure enough, it’s true.
I am harboring a baby.