We found out we were pregnant on Valentines day. Which makes sense since this is the one day of the year we could give a shit about. And of course, John was violently ill with food poisoning. And I felt like crap, but didn’t yet know why. I think I was also a little bit annoyed that this was a Wednesday, and we’d agreed to have an actual date this time, and instead I came home to my husband splayed out on the couch.

The only reason I took the first test was because the spotting before my period tapered off and became nothing. And even though I’d taken tests just four and two days prior to the start of the staining, which were both negative, I figured I’d rather get the disappointment over with and move on. Again.

Imagine my surprise when the pink lines came up immediately. And even though the evidence was clearly right there in front of me, I wouldn’t let myself get excited. I was sure it was a mistake. This was about five in the evening and I just figured there was something wrong with my pee. And John was asleep, so I woke him up and told him there was some possibility that we might actually be pregnant this time. John, in his grogginess, muttered a congratulations to us both of some sort, hugged me and settled back down. Which is not quite how I’d imagined this moment to be like.

Here is where the tense of my narrative changes for no good reason whatsoever.

I wake up at five, as usual, to get ready for my internship and take another test. Pink lines immediately. Suddenly, I’m pregnant.

By some odd coincidence, my brother happens to be up at the time and logged into gmail. He is the first person I tell. He was also, along with my ex-husband, the first person to know I was pregnant with Sophie. John wakes up moments later and asks for the test result, which I am happy, albeit in shock, to share with him. We are pregnant. We are having a baby. How do I just get up and go to work now?

Throughout the day, I vacillate between giddy acceptance and full on skepticism. By three, when it’s time to leave, I’ve decided that the tests are wrong. I bought the cheapest test I could find, it couldn’t possibly reliable. I needed to get the meanie test. The meanie test (also known as the ClearBlue Easy Digital) broke my heart a couple of moths back when the words not pregnant flashed at me after five minutes. It sucked. If the meanie test tells me I’m pregnant, then that is a result I can believe. I am on the phone with my father, telling him the good news as I pay for the meanie test.

I come home, where John is almost fully recovered from his ailments of the day before. While he finishes a conference call, I take the test. Within moments it flashes at me. Pregnant. I am having a baby. No more trying. No more being frustrated or disappointed.

We pick Sophie up from School and give her a random assortment of cheap and useless Valentines gifts. Then we sit her down and tell her she’s going to be a big sister. She doesn’t buy it. You don’t look pregnant. No, not yet. But within the hour she is very excited and wants to tell everyone, which we ask her not to do.

The weeks pass without event. Being pregnant, apart from exhausting, is boring at this stage. The highlight of my first month of pregnancy is finding out my breasts have exploded. There is pain and soreness when my bra comes off at the end of the day, but I keep reminding myself that this is a part of the process. This symptom is the only thing convincing me that I am actually having a baby.

At week six, the soreness lets up but nausea creeps in to replace it. Ever since, I have been useless and blechy from morning to night. The fact that it has only been two weeks of ickiness, is startling and incomprehensible. I feel like it’s been a month of morning sickness now. Eating has been a problem since I have zero appetite and a variety of smells will unpredictably debilitate me. The pasta and bagels (particularly the bagels) I have been avoiding for years, are all I can eat right now. One bagel each day. Thankfully, John’s portion of the DNA I’m carrying around is like a calorie shield and I have not yet gained weight. Although, my pants stopped fitting well. Right in the belly area.

Last week we finally saw an obstetrician. We got to see the small dot that is our baby and hear a heartbeat. At seven weeks, this was finally the confirmation we both needed to feel safe enough to share the news. It was also the confirmation I needed to feel less stupid buying a pair of maternity jeans. Thank god for the demi-panel, which is low enough that I’m basically wearing elastic waist, fashionable jeans. It isn’t super obvious, but I am showing.

And so here we are, just waiting for the next visit and the next scan. I am drinking liters of water each day to keep the worst of the nausea at bay, and so far it is working out.