I lasted about two days before melting into a sobbing mess at my mother's house and sputtering out the words, "I'm pregnant again!" I can't remember what her response was, because I was crying too hard. I do remember that the thoughts in my brain consisted of, "She is going to think I'm a moron," and, "Why the fuck are you crying so hard, this is what you wanted!" Shortly after we told the rest of our collective parents, but figured we should wait to tell anyone else.

I still had four months left before I graduated from college. I had two extensive research projects due, and a chemistry class I had been putting off for three and a half years. Holy shit, this would be a long semester. I immediately decided that most people need not know I was with child until I could no longer hide it. My former roommate, whose apartment I frequented between classes, found out when I broke into hysterics after visiting her after class one day and finding that she had gotten high and eaten all of my dill pickle chips over the weekend. I believe my exact words were, "You really can NOT eat all of a pregnant woman's pickle CHIPS!!!" Then, if memory serves, my head became detached from my body and I unhinged my jaw so that I could swallow her whole. Poor girl. I lived with her for three years prior to that, and never once bought dill pickle chips. She probably thought I bought them on accident and they were fair game for any stoner within a ten mile radius. Being the good sport that she was, she apologized and bought me more chips.

The next people to find out were my brothers. I felt it was only fair to let them know over spring break as we were driving down to Florida. After all, I was a basket case and didn't want them to think I was just some run-of-the-mill dramatic woman. No, no. Your sister is a nutjob because she is pregnant, and is morbidly obsessed with every possible complication that could possibly occur. I remember that we were at a rest stop somewhere in Georgia when I told them. They were both happy and gave me big hugs, and I felt like I should hold on to that moment forever. So I did.

I did because, I knew that no matter how loyal and loving and intelligent I was, most people would still be worried when I told them the news. Most people would also know how unstable, and dramatic, and careless I could be. Most people would still be worried. And I didn't blame them. But for a short while, I could keep this secret between me, Mike, my parents, his parents, my brothers, and my ex-roommate. And I could pretend that everyone would be happy, and that everything would be fine.

And it was :)

Like A Fish

How would I keep this a secret? Why a secret, you might ask. Well, once you lose a baby, you aren't eager to go around telling everyone you are pregnant again. I knew I could keep my mouth shut. The problem was going to be my demeanor and mannerisms. For instance, I drank like a fish. How exactly, would I explain the fact that I no longer consumed alcohol? Red flag number one. I also drank caffeine daily. If I suddenly quit, that would be red flag number two. Then there was this stupid fucking gym membership. I was terrified to work-out. I had read all the baby books. All the "Do Not" lists. Most of them said working out was fine, but there was always that last word of caution... and it always went straight to the back of my mind. And in the back of my mind my subconscious was waiting to remind me, "You were running everyday when you lost the baby..." And so I quit doing anything. Gaining one hundred pounds was better than going through the torment of losing another baby. And so I quit drinking like a fish. I quit drinking caffeine. I quit working out. I quit laughing. I started crying. The bitch of getting what you wanted, is that the only thought you have afterwards is the thought of losing it all.

What to Expect When You're NOT Expecting

Seemed like months and months of peeing on sticks that didn't turn the right color, or produce the required amount of lines. They wore on and on. I finally gave up and decided, "Hey, maybe I should quit being a pathetic fat ass and get back in shape." This realization came after visiting a friend at her house while she was home from college on Christmas break. Her mother, upon seeing me for the first time since my wedding, announced that marriage must really agree with me, and gestured toward my growing double chin.

So, a few days later I joined the YWCA. Actually it was January 11th. I don't know why I remember, but I do. It was two days before the due date of the child I should have had. I was supposed to be a waddling mess of anticipation, but instead I was shopping for gym memberships. So, the YWCA it was. It was three blocks away, and you couldn't beat the price. It was time to stop feeling sorry for myself. After a tour, I quickly signed the paperwork that would allow me to frequent the old, crooked, three story building whenever I wanted; to do cardio, take yoga, pilates, or swim for the bargain price of twenty five bucks a month. I bought myself a pair of new running shoes and decided to get on with it. Some people aren't meant to have babies. These people should at least look really good to make the people with babies jealous of SOMETHING while the childless women cry over the fact that they can't have babies.

I tried not to think about anything the next two days. I tried not to think about how I should be expecting a new little bundle any minute, and how I should be getting the nursery ready for the last time, and packing hospital bags. I tried to forget that January 13th was the day I was expected to have a baby (give or take a few days) and how I had failed at the most basic human function. I turned my attention to my brother in law's 21st birthday, which was the same day my first baby was due to be born.

We were going to Fast Eddie's Bon Air for his party. It is a rite of passage for anyone turning 21 within a 40 mile radius of Alton to go to Fast Eddie's when they turn 21. I was getting ready. Mike wasn't home from work yet. I was a day late and my mind was turning on me. Should I test before I go? I don't want to consume large quantities of alcohol if I am pregnant...Oh, please. What are the odds of that? You have been trying since July. Just go and have a good time. Well, no. Maybe I will just take one test before we go...

I broke out the stash of pregnancy tests I had accumulated over the last six months. Better to be safe than sorry. I took a deep breath and proceeded with the "testing." I didn't even have to wait the three minutes. Two lines, clear as day immediately appeared.

I stared for a few minutes. Unsure of what my next thought or action should be. I looked at myself in the mirror for what seemed an eternity, not able to will myself to move beyond the confines of the tiny half bathroom. Finally, I uttered to myself (a little too loudly to really be considered an "utter"), "You've got to be fucking kidding me."