I was a bit apprehensive on whether or not I should actually share this online, but I figured this is my blog and sure why not?
To anyone who knows me they’ll know I’ve always wanted kids. I’m quite a maternal person. At the age of 16 I even decided I’d have my first kid by the time I was 24. I turned 20 and that number quickly got pushed back a couple years, and then another couple and suddenly 28 seemed like a very happy number to me.
That being said, the universe seemed to like the original plan and here I am at 23, 20weeks (ish) pregnant, brilliant.
Funnily enough it all started before I began this blog, much to my ignorance. I got pregnant some time around late October, between the Australian and UK doctors we still haven’t really pinned down an actual date.
Around two weeks into my pregnant state, my emotions were all over the place. Seriously, I was cranky, laughing, hyper and crying all in the space of a day. But the major symptom? My boobs flipping hurt. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with shooting pains going through them, I ended up having to wear a soft bra to bed it was that bad. At 23 I wasn’t exactly expecting another growth spurt, but sure I wasn’t complaining, until I really was complaining. It was agony. With the combined emotional disarray, we decided maybe a pregnancy test was in order.
Now I know I said 28 was a happy number, and we really weren’t in the right time of life to be having a kid… hello I was still in the middle of my Masters Degree. But sitting there, staring at that box you can’t really stop yourself from thinking of the possibility. A bump. A baby. A kid. Something that’s completely your responsibility. 100% terrifying, but exciting and amazing at the same time.
So I took the test and it came back negative. I call bullshit on Clear Blue’s mantra of being able to tell from up to 1 week. I won’t lie, I was a little sad, but it didn’t make sense for us to have a baby right then.
And then another few weeks went by, we had our seven year anniversary and a hell of a lot of wine was consumed (sorry baby). One lovely Friday morning, we were eating breakfast and laughing about something stupid when all of a sudden I had this overwhelming urge to cry. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever experienced. Kind of like a surge of emotion just came over me and I needed to cry. So I said, ‘I think I need to cry’ while a giggle spilled out. Darren looked at me as if I was mad, but really I couldn’t blame him, it sounded mad. And within seconds there were tears rolling down my face while I was still laughing. That was the deciding factor for him. He came home that evening with another two tests.
Something that’s not common knowledge, or at least it wasn’t to me before I got pregnant, is that there is this hormone that builds up in your system when you get pregnant called hCG, and this is what pregnancy tests test for. When you’re very early pregnant the levels are quite low so they recommend that you take the test first thing in the morning after you just wake up. So all of those films you see of the women rushing home and finding out they’re two weeks pregnant late at night – probably more bullshit. No no, instead, I decided to wait a torturous 12 hours before I took the test again. I continually told myself that night I wasn’t pregnant, I couldn’t be, in all honesty I didn’t want to get my hopes just to be deflated within a few weeks of the last scare. We ate dominoes pizza that night (cravings man, I tell ya) and the next morning I was awake before 6am, leapt quietly (not so much) out of bed and sneakily took the test.
I brought it back into the bedroom and left it on the floor waiting for it to calculate the results, I then tried to tell myself to go back to sleep (as if that was ever really going to happen) and what felt like an hour later, probably more accurately five minutes later I sat up and reached for the test.
There, in big bold black letters, was printed ‘Pregnant 3+’ and the words just tumbled out of my mouth before I shoved the stick in Darren’s sleepy face.