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Archive for October, 2013

The day I officially found out I was pregnant (blood test, not pee sticks) I forgot to put on deodorant, forgot to take my prenatal vitamin, and forgot my keys during an afternoon trip back to the apartment.

The next day I forgot my lunch and, apparently, my balance, considering I full-on crashed into a lady on the bus.

The following night I asked Husband the same question multiple times in a row. Not because he didn’t answer me the first time, but because I couldn’t remember a) if I’d asked out loud, or b) what he’d said.

It felt like my brain and body had heard this rumor about “pregnancy brain” and just decided to run with it. It’s like they were in cahoots, saying, “You know what will be great? Let’s fuck with her memory. And while we’re at it, let’s make her a klutz!

So now, instead of just feeling pregnant, I also feel a little bit like a grandma.

I take extra time in the morning, checking and double checking my bag to make sure I have my lunch.

I do multiple sniff tests (and sometimes get Husband in on the fun – that’s how you know it’s love) before I leave for work to make sure I’ve put on deodorant. And then I put on some more, just in case.

I don’t go anywhere without visually making sure my keys are on my person.

I try to make sure that I’m always holding on to something – especially if I’m in a moving vehicle.

I miss my once-solid memory.

It’s gotten a little better in the past few weeks.

I haven’t fallen on anybody recently, and I haven’t forgotten my keys or my lunch.

But I still do the sniff test every morning, and keep an extra stick of deodorant in my desk drawer.

Just in case.

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During our grocery shopping yesterday, I tried to convince Husband that we should really decorate our home for fall, starting with a pumpkin out front. He looked skeptical at the prospect of, what he called, “putting rotting fruit on our front porch,” but I started looking at the selection anyway.

You know, it seems like you’re really not into having a pumpkin at all.

No, I like pumpkins. It’s just with so many kids running around the neighborhood you really have to be on your gourd.

Like I said, I’m a sucker.

But so is he, because we bought the pumpkin anyway.

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Whenever we told someone that we’d bought a house in the suburbs, one of the first follow-up questions was, “Oh, are you pregnant?

And it was frustrating.

1) If we were pregnant, do you really think that’s how we’d tell you?

And 2) one does not necessarily have anything to do with the other.

So we would calmly explain that no, we weren’t pregnant. Yes, of course, we were planning for the future, but we were taking one step at a time. It was a good time to buy a house and we just happened to fall in love with our little colonial rather quickly. In a market like this you have to act fast.

And it was just pure coincidence that we found out we were pregnant the day after our house bid was accepted and the contract was signed.

I wouldn’t have even tested (because I “knew” I wasn’t pregnant) except for the fact that we were going to a wedding that weekend and I wanted to drink with a clear conscience.

Two pee sticks later and that plan went right out the window.

So I pretended all weekend with sparkling water and lime wedges, and prayed that no one would question why Husband was drinking all my wine at dinner (drinking for three, as he says). And then I spent the week at God camp, where I found myself even more tired and emotional than I usually am during that stretch of 17-hour non-stop days.

By the time I finally got home and was able to get to the doctor for the conclusive blood test, I wasn’t at all surprised to hear the nurse call back with the results: “You are very, very pregnant.” (Funny, I thought there was just pregnant and not pregnant.)

I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t make me any less thrilled to have it confirmed.

So, come next spring – possibly even opening day – there will be a new little Phillies fan in our house. Because, in my world, baseball allegiances are like Judaism – passed down through the mother.

I just hope our little one has better luck than I do, and doesn’t have to wait 23 years to see them win another World Series.

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