My pregnancy was a surprise. In fact, I didn’t even find out until a couple weeks afterwards, when I contracted a bothersome case of the flu and got suspicious. This is when I met The Infamous Little Stick and his contemporaries (four or five, to be exact), and my suspicions were confirmed. I was going to be a mommy.
It took me awhile to adjust to the fact that I was pregnant. The remainder of the nine months, actually. My initial response was to sit on the bathroom floor and laugh hysterically. Rather than travelling to an all-knowing oracle who would tell me my life was going to drastically change forever, I had peed on a stick whose entire language consisted of two signs: plus or minus. I made my husband swear up and down he wouldn’t tell a soul, and then I went jogging around the block despite it being eleven p.m. on a freezing February night, contemplating how horribly fat I was going to get.
That was just the beginning. But look what I got out of the deal: