No News is Good News.

From the moment I saw the lines, I did what I always do with unequivocally great news… I started to wonder if something could go wrong. Yes, yes, I hear you all cry, typical Nick. Perhaps it’s the way I know it’s something really great, because, from the very first moment, I knew that I REALLY wanted this to work out.

So I spent the next few weeks watching Jill’s every move for any signs – who knew what they might be – that something might be wrong. Picking up a simple phone call from Jill at work became something I’d have to steel myself for. Perhaps this would be the call that would bring bad news. If we were together and Jill left the room for more than two minutes I could feel my nerves beginning to waver and my palms sweat.

Of course Jill didn’t share my obsessive fears, so she was ready to share the great news with friends and family. I did persuade her to restrain herself from telling all and sundry, but this led to endless debates about who and when we should tell each person in our life.

I must say that it did make me so happy when we told people too. Seeing the range of reactions we got was moving, fascinating and funny in turns. We saw everything from uncontrollable tears (you know who you are), to shouts of unadulterated joy (in public places), to sarcasm (you know what nationality you are). But still, each time another person found out the news, I felt my worry ramp up a little further.

We did have a real scare a one point. I took Jill from our house to the hospital in about fifteen minutes (it’s a thirty minute drive). The doctor had that implacable calm about her as she asked a few questions and wrote out a prescription. I asked if we could have an ultrasound early to check that things were ok. The doctor essentially said, ‘if it’s going to go wrong, it will, and there is nothing to be done about it (at this point in a pregnancy).’ Though it sounds like a gloomy pronouncement, strangely this made me feel much better! I suppose I just have to be aware that much of life is simply beyond my control, so thank you very much for bringing me back to Earth, doctor.

When did I truly regain my senses about all this? At the ultrasound…

One line. One line. One line. One line. TWO LINES!

Whenever I've heard stories of other women getting pregnant what stuck in my head was the speed in which they had conceived. It seemed to just take the ONE TIME TRYING in order to get it right. The phrase "the doctor told us it could take months and we didn't think it would happen this fast" was repeated over and over (even by my own mother who insisted she could get pregnant when walking by an open door where the occupants where engaged in copulation). I thought... This Would Be Me! See I generally get what I want. When I want it. It's not that I'm a princess, I'm just driven.

Month One. Nothing. Month Two. Nothing. Month Three. Nothing. OK are you getting the picture. Nick and I should now own stock in EPT, First Response, Clear Blue Easy.

Every morning it was a rise to the ritual. Temperature at 6:30am. Worrying, did I get the three straight hours required to make the reading accurate? If I was awaken by one of my cats during the night I would quickly look at the clock and estimate the amount of hours I had left to sleep in order to ensure this accuracy. The days continued like this.

For those of you who have tried to conceive – you know what I'm taking about, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure – lets just say that even Nick didn't want the specifics, so I won't go into any detail. BUT I will say this: It became "ovulation" obsession mixed with "whether or not I was pregnant" mania. Are my nipples darker? Are my boobs soar? Why am I nauseous? (And I felt
nauseous almost every day - which kind of prepared me for the real thing - kind of) Most likely I was nauseous because I was so freak'n tired from waking up at 6:30am every single morning.

By month six we had reached the proverbial END OF ROPE. I needed to have a month off. I needed to cease and desist the examination of my body and I needed to have regular sex. And so did Nick.

MONTH SEVEN. TWO PINK LINES.

Who knows if it was the "month off" or just timing. When I told my mom that we had been trying for 6 months her advice to me was to relax. That's what we did.

June 21st. I remember the day because it's my mom's birthday. The week before I'd taken a pregnancy test (we were having a big party and I wanted to be responsible). It had been negative. That week I waited and waited and WAITED and my period had never come, by Saturday morning I knew I needed to take another test.

The first person to find out I was pregnant was Nick. I sent him in the bathroom to look because I was so nervous. I think his reaction was "TWO FREAKING LINES.. WOO HOO".