Posted by: bourbonmama | 13/01/2009

WBW #4: Nate, Part 1: The Discovery

In two weeks from tomorrow, my itty bitty baby boy will be turning one (we’re pretending like it’s Wednesday, not Tuesday, OK?) (long story short, I may or may not be serving on a jury on Wednesday) (yes, I just used back to back parenthesis-grammar shmamar). One whole year. Pause for ohhh’s and ahhh’s. So, in celebration, the next three WBW’s will be about him. Also, don’t be disappointed if you only get one post a week. My son’s first birthday also means that I will have my and Philip’s families in our house, our dirty, filthy house.

So, It was June of 2007, I had just quit one serving job, and was about to start another. I was super emotional, picking fights with Philip and not even knowing why. And I thought I could be late, but I’m always a little irregular, so I couldn’t be sure. I told my friend Dana about it. “Are you peeing a lot?”
“I dunno, what’s a lot?”
“I’m bringing you a pregnancy test. Is Philip home?”
“Nope.”

Dana comes over and drops it off. There is no way I’m taking it now. I’ll wait, we have a yard sale tomorrow, I’ll do it after that. The next day we woke up super early and set up the sale in our front yard. All night long, the test had been calling my name; I had barley slept at all. So I said, screw it, I’ll take it now. It’ll be negative, just like the other times, and then I’ll get my period tomorrow. I went inside to use the bathroom and left Philip to haggle with our customers. I waited the allotted two minutes thinking about the last month. I quit a job, a good job, because I hated it. The week I gave my notice, I had cried in a bathroom stall twice, because I hated being there so much. That was a month ago. Two weeks ago, Philip’s sister-in-law had asked me if I was pregnant. “No.” “Well, I’m never wrong about these things…” Last week, Stephie had called to invite me to breakfast. “It’s weird, I’m never hungry for breakfast, but all week, I’ve bee starving when I wake up.” I stuff another bite of waffle in my mouth. “You’re pregnant.” “You shut your dirty mouth!” Won’t it be funny when I call her and tell her she was wrong? Ha, ha, we’ll all have a good laugh! Time’s up!

There they were, two pink lines. Just sitting there, mocking me. That can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant. This isn’t supposed to happen this way. Something’s wrong with this test. It must be old. I picked up the phone and called Dana. Dammit, voicemail. “Uhh, Dana, there’s something wrong with this teat. There’s two lines. That can’t be right, can it? Call me back.”

What seems like four seconds and an eternity all at once, Dana calls back. “I’m on my way. Have you told Philip?”
“No.”

I have always wanted kids. Tons of them. Philip has not. It had been an issue with us for a while. I was scared shitless. He’s gonna freak out. He’s gonna disappear to the mountains. Oh my God, he’s gonna freak out.

I walked back outside, and sat down at the table next to Philip. It was starting to get muggy, it was going to be hot that day. I shivered. “You cold?” He asked, as he turned his head to look at me. “What’s wrong, Caroline? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I smile,. sort of.
“Whatever, there’s something wrong. What is it?”
Oh my God, don’t freak out now, on our front lawn, with strangers rifling through our stuff. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“No, you’ll tell me now. What’s going on?”
“I’m pregnant.” A look of sheer joy came across his face. And then he started laughing. Then I smiled. The whole day, things looked different, smelled different. I felt light and airy. It was like a dream day. Little did I know what was to come in the following months. But that’s for next time.

<—–Those kids have NO idea what they’re in for.

(This is Philip and me, circa 2002, around 4-6 months into our relationship.)

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