Part One here.
Hubby and I sought help from a fertility doctor after 6 months of trying to become pregnant to no avail back in 2000. It was determined that while Hubby was fine (a huDge boost to his male ego, that), I, however, was not ovulating. In December, I began taking Clomid. It didn't work that month. However, in January, it worked! And then along came Eldest 9 months later.
After Eldest's birth, I chose to not go on any sort of birth control, figuring that we would take our chances. We needn't have worried. Nothing happened. But this second time around, I knew what I wanted. And that? Was an early summer baby so I could have the entire summer off! So back to the fertility doctor we went. Once again, the Clomid didn't work that first month. But once again, it worked the second time around in September! And then along came Middle 9 months later. My June baby.
So, of course, after Middle's birth, I wasn't taking any birth control. Why would I? I vividly remember being asked at my 6-week postpartum checkup what birth control I planned on using. And when my answer was nothing, my doctor said to me, "That's fine. As long as you're okay with the possibility of having 3." I simply shrugged it off, positive that if we wanted to go for #3, we would be going back to the fertility clinic, same as before.
Oh, the irony, folks.
It was mid-November. Just before Thanksgiving. A random Thursday.
I realized I hadn't gotten my period. I had gotten it for the first time postpartum while we were in San Diego in September.
So I stopped at Wal-mart on my way to work that Thursday morning. And bought a pregnancy test. Just to confirm that I WASN'T pregnant. I mean, how could I be? I had only gotten one period since giving birth! And who the heck had time for sex? C-section recovery + colicky baby = abstinence, my friends.
I peed on the stick in the bathroom at work. And the em-effer showed a pink line. Immediately.
I was in a state of shock. Of numbness. Of disbelief.
I calmly walked into work. Went straight to my office, shut the door, and called Hubby.
(Me, sobbing) "I have something to tell you."
(Him, worried) "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
(Me, hysterical) "I need you to be really good about this, ok, because I am SO NOT right now."
(Him, questioning) "Is it the car? Were you in an accident? Did you wreck the car?"
(Me, blurting) "I'M PREGNANT!"
And then, he pulled through. He really, really did. "It's okay. It will be fine. It was meant to be. Don't worry." He said everything I so desperately needed to hear at that time.
My next call was to my OB's office. My favorite nurse happened to come on the line. I began crying to her. "I just took a pregancy test and it turned positive. What should I do? Do you need to see me? Should I come in?"
She chuckled sympathetically. And very firmly told me that no, I didn't need to rush in. That the pregnancy test was most likely correct, and that they would see me at 12 weeks.
To be continued...