The First Weekend

After I told him the news, hung up, and finished my meeting ... I tried my best to be normal the rest of the day. By normal I mean not yelling at everyone, "I can't friggin believe I'm pregnant! Dave and I are going to have a BABY!!! Isn't that NUTS?!"

We sent text messages to each other all day. Asking questions, trying to figure all this craziness out. There was an extreme sense of excitement in between intermittent freaking out. The first thing you notice when you get that news is how many babies and pregnant women are all around you. For me it was at Safeway, a lady with two babies in her shopping cart was right in line in front of me. For Dave it was at his work; a woman who looked like she was going to give birth tomorrow dropped her Porsche off to get fixed and kept walking around the dealership.

It would have been nice to take the afternoon off to freak out ... I mean bask in this news ... but that just wasn't an option. Besides, I heard somewhere that you're not supposed to tell anyone the news until you know fo-sho that you are indeed preggers ... something like 2 months into the deal or after the first doc appointment that shows every thing is a go. How could I excuse myself from work? I wasn't sick, nor did I look it, with the exception of my red face but people are used to that. I couldn't say that I had a doctor's appointment because you have to get permission ahead of time. Since we decided it wasn't time to tell anyone yet, we just had to wait and I continued working til it was quiting time.

We waited until Saturday morning to really freak out ... I mean talk freely about it. Friday night I had plans to go into the city to meet 3 of my teachers and go out to eat. Of course, they all asked me when Dave and I would start thinking about having babies that night. Little did they know!! I barely skated by the subject and just started talking about something else. It took a lot of work not to tell my co-workers that night. I started to realize how difficult it would be not telling anyone. Later that night, I met Dave at his parents house. We couldn't really talk about it then, either. So once we left Tiburon, we could talk about it all we wanted.

All of a sudden we couldn't stop talking about it. Not only that, but over night I turned into the most fragile being to grace the earth. Every thought turned to, "if I eat tuna, or drink coffee, will I hurt the baby?" or "Maybe we shouldn't paint our bedroom, the chemicals might hurt the baby." Then it became a joke, it Dave farted I would say that he's hurting the baby. If I wanted to eat the last piece of pizza I would say that I'm eating for two now so I should get the last piece.

We did research on the internet about the baby. Most intriguing fact: our baby was currently the size of a poppy seed. So then we stopped referring to our baby as a baby and started calling it a poppy seed. "Don't hurt the poppy seed!" I said when he squeezed my hand as we walked back from the store.

We talked more about that darn poppy seed until we couldn't talk about it anymore. Not because we were sick of talking about it, but because we were having friends over on Sunday night. How were we supposed to keep this news locked up inside?