I arrived in the City and settled in at Nonna’s for my business lunch. Now, I was beginning to think I really had the flu. I was having wicked hot flashes, and I felt an overwhelming urge to strip all of my clothes off in the restaurant. Since I was sort of covered in a cold sweat, perhaps “peel” my clothes off is more accurate. With my clothes slowly beginning to strangle me, I suddenly felt like I was going to pass out. Literally, I was going to face-plant in my chicken salad. My friend, Megan, ordered a lovely wine to accompany lunch, and the moment the wine touched my lips, I thought I was going to gag. It was the worst thing I’d ever tasted, but I knew I had had this particular type of wine before and enjoyed it. I told my friend, Megan, that I might have to miss the meeting as I was feeling sick. She took one look at me and said, “Are you pregnant?” (Well, that might not have been the direct quote, but this is a family blog.) I immediately responded, “I don’t think so.” We finished our lunch and by the time the afternoon rolled around, I felt just fine.
Despite all of these little events, I just never put it together. That night, on the way home, I started trying to remember when I had last had my monthly blessing of womanhood, and I flat out couldn’t remember. When I got home, I took a cheap pregnancy test to you know, rule out the baby flu. It was a plus-minus test, and the horizontal line was a little blurry but the vertical line was black as night. Even then, I was suspicious: I mean, it was a little blurry, right? The following morning, I took three more digital tests. You know, the tests that say “Pregnant” and “Not Pregnant?” Well, I bombed all three: It was like a scene out of Juno and my eggo was definitely preggo.
The following Tuesday, Joshua and I went to the doctor to confirm my condition. They again asked me to do my business in a cup to confirm. Frankly, I had a little performance anxiety: I mean, this child already forced me to do something unpleasant in a Turnpike bathroom, and now, they expected me to tinkle in a pink cup while the nurse who looks like she could play linebacker for the Raiders waited outside the door. My result: A little more than a raindrop. I opened the little door to deposit my sample after writing my name on the cup only to discover another patient’s sample waiting for testing. At first, I was totally grossed out, but then I was amazed: I mean, her pink cup was practically brimming over. I shrugged and put my raindrop right next to it. I have a feeling this may be only the beginnings of confronting my inadequacies as a parent.
Luckily, I was so pregnant, the doctor could confirm our child’s existence from my raindrop. We went to Barnes and Noble and bought our first round of pregnancy books: What to Expect When You’re Expecting and The Expectant Father. Apparently, our child, affectionately deemed Pistachio Almond Allison until birth, is currently the size of an olive, and my uterus is the size of an orange. I know, it is shocking. You know, I’ve learned lots of shocking things from my pregnancy reading. The book has almost an entire chapter on spider veins and multiple birth mid-wife delivery (with pictures). Apparently, some babies are born with a full set of teeth or with their entire bodies covered in a thin layer of hair. Let me say that for a first time mother, it is so reassuring to read about how your body will soon look like the purple road map from hell while you prepare to give birth to a monkey baby complete with canines and fur.
In all seriousness, Joshua and the family seem to be over the moon with excitement. Joshua has been an absolutely angel, taking care of his little family after working hard all day. Baby Mama is pleased but apprehensive. I appreciate that Pistachio hasn’t made me too sick. I mean, this child already knows how to bond with his or her mother, in that, I have quite the complex about yacking. I went cold turkey off caffeine after I discovered my condition when Joshua told me our child was going to have ADHD because of Starbucks. I’m not certain how scientific that is, but frankly, after all I put my parents through, I figure I probably have some payback coming. I don’t want to push my luck by throwing possible hyperactivity into that mix. Pistachio apparently likes snacks every 3 hours or so, particularly edamame, almonds, and kiwis, and likes to make his or her mother crash about 2:00 PM. Pistachio also finds it amusing to make his or her mother get up to go potty several times a night. So hilarious!
Well, my mom suggested I blog my pregnancy, so I suppose this is the first in my series. We head back to the doctor on Friday, so hopefully, I will have a picture to share with the blog world, even if the kid will probably look something like a blurry squirrel. The baby is set to make his or her world premiere on August 24 which makes me about ten weeks pregnant. Please leave your comments about the baby’s gender. My best pal, Lisa, has already decided it is a boy. So, cast your vote by commenting on the blog!
Mom was ready to head to Babies R Us the same day she learned about my condition, but she held out for a week or so. Dad took some pictures of her first trip, so enjoy!
Seriously, look at that smile. I think she's ready to be a grandmother. 
I appreciate that Dad documented this first trip of many.
Although I cannot say for certain what is in these bags, I can make out some diapers (Dad's purchase), and Emily told me that Mom bought a bib that says, "If Mom says no, Ask Grandma." This child is already spoiled, ten weeks into its existence. 
