Seven years ago today I was gallivanting around Pittsburgh with my aunt, uncle (siblings, not married), and cousin (not the child of either of them) checking out the Chihuly exhibit at the Pittsburgh Botanical Garden. It was magical and amazing and seven years later it represents to me the last moments before I knew I was pregnant with my first child.
We had a blast that weekend, though I was exhausted after eating too much for dinner when we got into town and sleeping in a room with a snorer and a restless sleeper. That crazy busy day was a Saturday, and I spent Sunday recovering, only to discover I didn't feel any better by Monday. Around that time it occurred to me that I hadn't been feeling particularly fantastic for a couple weeks, and I was at the tail end of a round of clomid that was supposed to regulate my system and help me get pregnant. What was supposed to happen didn't, and I was at the point of needing to call my doctor...or both doctors, actually--OB/GYN and my regular doctor, if I didn't get my energy back. However, knowing that the first question most doctors asking women of childbearing age is, "Are you sure you're not pregnant?", I stopped on my way home and picked up a few dollar store pregnancy tests to take that evening. After multiple failed tests in the prior months, I figured it was a slam dunk and I could call the next day with my "Totally sure" ready to go.
Only, I took the test and didn't even have to wait 30 seconds before I was staring at a big fat positive! Craig wasn't even home yet and I was totally freaking out. I didn't even really have time or the presence of mind to craft any sort of fantastic reveal for him. I was in such shock that all I could do was tell him nearly the second he walked in the door so I had someone to talk it through with. It had been such a process up until that point that it never even occurred to me not to share it with him immediately. We were a team and that was the next logical step, I guess.
I was excited, for sure, but terror and panic were right up there, too, because I knew from that moment that nothing would ever be the same. We'd either go along the normal path and have this baby, or something would go wrong and we'd carry that loss with us forever. It got so real so quickly. It consumed me for weeks as I lived that double life of not telling anyone, all while feeling spectacularly crappy all the time. From that day after Veterans' Day when I found out why I felt so horrible until we left for our trip to Florida in mid-December, the funk, the fear, and the nervous excitement ruled my existence.
What a crazy time it was. I look back at that young woman, how she couldn't even fathom all that was to come. So much has happened in those seven years, including this blog (which is still about six weeks shy of its 7th anniversary). Two pregnancies, two deliveries, two energetic little boys, countless doctor visits, tons of sports equipment, and more fun and stress than I could have ever dreamed. And that weekend seven years ago marked those last moments of blissful (and exhausted) ignorance.
Here's a sampling of the best of the best from that weekend...