No. Way.

“Because you’re pregnant,” Sally said.

“WHO IS?”

“You are!”

“I’M NOT!”

Sally laughed. “Yes you are!”

“Whose file do you have in front of you?”

“Yours, Erin! Your file. You are pregnant.”

“NO I’M NOT!”

She just kept giggling.

“Wait. Are you saying that I’M pregnant?” I asked.

“Yes, you are. You are quite pregnant.”

“Ok, so I am pregnant.”

This went on for quite a while. It’s a wonder Sally didn’t just finally shout, “NO I LIED. YOU’RE STERILE. SHUT UP.” Finally, I agreed that she had my chart in front of her and that my chart said that I was pregnant. But then, the tears came. No, not tears of joy.

“Sally?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I DRANK BEER YESTERDAY.”

Sally laughed again. “It’s ok, hun. Just don’t drink anymore.”

“Do you think it hurt it?”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

She gave me the run down of all the steps I should take. Go off the pills that regulate my sugar, keep taking pre-natals, don’t take any medicines that aren’t on the list, and try to limit sugar as much as possible. (You’ll learn soon that little rule went right out the window.) Oh, and one more thing. Pelvic rest. Do you know what pelvic rest is? Let’s just say, you can’t do anything fun that involves your pelvis. NOTHING. NO-THING. There are no things you can do that involve fun and your pelvis. Are you getting my hint? ARE YOU GETTING IT? NO SALSA DANCING. And if you know me well, then you know I’ve never been salsa dancing a day in my life. But it’s just AGONY knowing that I can’t start now.

Once I hung up with Sally, I had to call David. I had envisioned all these adorable ways I would tell him someday. Serve babyback ribs for dinner with baby corn and baby carrots. Maybe do like my cousin did and put buns in the oven. Buy “It’s a Girl” and “It’s a Boy” balloons and put them in the hallway for when he got home from work. But I couldn’t imagine keeping this secret to myself for the rest of the day. I couldn’t tell anyone before I told him. And I was practically BURSTING at the seams. I had to tell SOEMONE. So I called him.

“Hey babe. Where are you?” I asked.

“Hey, I’m in Home Depot with my dad.”

Oh shit. He’s with his dad. What do I do here?

“Oh ok. Well, Sally called.”

“Oh. You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. She cancelled our consult appointment.”

“Ok.”

Now at this point I wasn’t sure if he was listening because he should have questioned that, but he didn’t. Whatever. This was no time to start the, “Are you even listening to me?” nag session.

“Yeah, so, she cancelled it because I’m pregnant.”

There was a pause.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.” I smiled through the phone.

“Oh my God. I’m going to cry in Home Depot!”

“Well, don’t cry in Home Depot! Is your dad right there?!”

“No, I ran to the next aisle. He doesn’t know where I am. Oh my God. Are you sure?”

“Yep. Our home pregnancy test was wrong. Very wrong.”

“Oh wow. Oh my gosh. I can’t tell them right now. I’m not ready to tell the family. I need to see you first.”

“That’s ok. You don’t have to tell them.”

“I know, but I have to finish installing a TV for them. It was their Christmas present. I have to get it done today.” He was totally beside himself.

“Ok, go do it. Just come home when you’re done.”

“I CAN’T INSTALL A TV RIGHT NOW! HOW AM I GOING TO DO THAT?!”

“I don’t know! But you have to! Just go do it. It’s ok. I’ll be here when you get home.”

So my poor husband spent the afternoon in his parents’ kitchen installing a TV knowing all the while that his wife was pregnant with their first child. He couldn’t focus. I kept getting text messages from him like, “I’m dying.”

When he finally got home, we just stared at each other. Stared and said things like, “Wow,” and “Holy crap.” We wandered from one room of the house to another staring at each other.

I don’t remember what we did that night. Probably just cooked dinner and watched TV like we do on most nights. But I do remember that when we went to bed, he put his hand on my tummy and said, “G’night mama.”

I giggled and closed my eyes.