For some time, I've dreamed about the moment in which I would discover my first pregnancy: the pregnancy test illuminating a brilliant blue, the Hallmark embrace with my loving husband, the single tear I would shed in the most elegant possible way.
I did not picture myself at 5 AM, bathrobe and slippers, shoving a stick (upon which I had just urinated) into my husband's face shouting "look, you can almost see it if you hold it up to the light." And him smiling through bleary eyes, saying "that's great, sweetie," and promptly falling back asleep.
I certainly did not picture myself buying an economy-pack of pregnancy tests so that I could start testing myself at nine days post ovulation and then daily until I achieved a shade of blue with which I was satisfied.
The other thing about knowing stuff is that occasionally, it makes you an absolute stud.
Basal body temperatures charted. Ovulation predictor kits utilized. Ovum fertilized. We knew we wanted a baby and we were not. joking. around.
The other thing about knowing stuff is that occasionally, you're wrong.
And this is where where we wait patiently to see if the other shoe drops...
My name is Erica and I'm a Pediatric Nurse Practitioner. Children are my business. I listen to heart beats, clean runny noses, pat babies on the head and hold mommys' hands. I debate feeding schedules, wax eloquent about limit-setting, and check upwards of forty ears a day. I can coax an 18-year-old to tell me about her drug use, and I can examine an 18-month-old without a single teardrop.
And - holy crap - I just found out that I'm pregnant.
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