“Where do I start, where do I begin?”
–The Chemical Brothers
Hey person. Jeff here. Good to see you again.
If you are a member of the small (but incredibly intelligent and magical) community of people who read my typing on a regular basis, you’ll know some things about me.
1. I have an internet friendship with Anne Wheaton that perpetually borders on stalking.
2. I don’t like Rihanna.
3. I built a fence.
4. My wife and I have been failing at making babies for a few years.
Well heck, I guess that list needs updated a little bit. Not everything on there is true anymore.
December 23 has always been a good day for me. All through my childhood, it was not just the last day of school before two weeks of delicious Christmas vacation, but it was also my grandpa’s birthday. My tiny family would go out for a nice dinner somewhere, have a swell time and give gramps some gifts. In 2008, it was the day I proposed to Laura. In 2011, it was the day I started my Amazon business that now serves as my full-time job. And in 2012, it’s the day Laura jumped on me at 3am to tell me she was pregnant.
YEAH, SON. THAT.
A few weeks after our last visit to the fertility office, Laura woke up in the middle of the night with the need to dispense fluids. Planning to take a pregnancy test the next morning, she got anxious and decided 3am was as good a time as any. Her expectations were not high, as we had a long time of nothing but failure and both learned to not get overly excited since it only makes the disappointment worse. She glanced at the test expecting to see a negative, sighed a sigh of acceptance, and immediately began a double-take when she noticed the little bugger wasn’t negative at all. It was bright and boldly positive.
I of course learned all this after she ran back to the bedroom, leaped onto the bed like a gazelle, slapped me in the chest and whisper-screamed “I’m pregnant!!!” with all the unrestricted fervor that merits me using multiple exclamation points whether you like it or not.
We stayed awake for several hours having heart attacks of joy.
Christmas passed, I got the flu, she got a flu shot, the holidays ended, and in January we had an appointment to go to the fertility office to get things confirmed and checked out. They would do a 6 week ultrasound to make sure the bits and blobs all looked as they should. I had never seen an ultrasound outside of House or in movies, so it was a really exciting prospect. Plus I’d be looking at a nugget that would become MY OWN little person. That’s wild and crazy, kids.
So we went. She put her feet in the stirrups. I sat on the dad chair and began studying the ultrasound tech’s every tick. Naturally with all we had to do to make this baby, we were concerned something would be wrong. I watched her face for an eyebrow raise of strangeness, or a squint of trouble. I tapped my foot like a boat motor and tried to see her flinch. She was totally Van Damme. Minutes passed and she didn’t say a word. I started to grow concerned by the silence. What was taking so long? What was happening in there? Her eyebrows never moved and she was as focused as a Tour Pro putting for eagle. A few more minutes passed. I was getting more nervous by the second. Then she spoke.
“Ok,” she said. “So… there’s two.”
I can’t quite explain the emotional reaction to that news. It’s an instant combination of shit-your-pants-fear and unmatched excitement. We both started laughing, and at the same time our hearts were beating like we’d just filmed Super Size Me 2. You can’t stop smiling, and you sort of want to barf. It’s wild.
As we waited for the doctor to talk to us after the ultrasound, we sat in complete silence for 20 minutes, just holding hands and staring at the wall as our minds shuffled a million of the exact same thoughts.
The photo of Laura at the top of the post was taken two days ago. We’re at 13 weeks now, and everything is going great. With every passing day, we come up with more and more things to think about, plan for and fear. It’s the most terrifying and thrilling thing ever. The time is passing at a rapid pace, yet I can’t wait for the end of summer to come. And we still often find ourselves sitting and staring at the wall like we’ve just been told the news.