Two weeks ago, I took a pregnancy test and two lines appeared. One line was very solid and the other was very faint, so I didn't really know what to think. And then Aaron had the most brilliant idea I've ever heard. "Why I don't I pee on a stick, and we'll see what negative really looks like."That is exactly what we did, and his test was a solid one liner. So as it turns out, Aaron is not pregnant, BUT I AM!!
Here are the symptoms I experienced that led us to believe a pregnancy test was in order. Four days before I took the test, somebody walked into my office holding a chocolate milkshake from McDonald's. Let me preface this by saying that I HATE McDonald's and the thought of any item on that menu can give me shivers, make me nauseous, make me gag and give me instant heartburn. But when I saw the golden arches on this person's cup and then discovered the chocolate milkshake that was in the cup, I started salivating. And I did not stop salivating. For four days I thought about the milkshake and could not get it out of my mind until finally, I told Aaron that we were going to drop whatever we were doing at the time and get in the car so I could get rid of this nonsense craving. Well, Aaron had the nerve to try to stall me by making excuses as to why we shouldn't go, and I responded by threatening to shoot him in the face or gut, whichever one was more painful, and then leave him. Permanently. So being a good and obedient husband, we got in the car and headed to the McGreasy's, and on the way there, he said, "Oh, by the way, you are taking a pregnancy test when we get back because this is ridiculous." I told him I pretty much did not want to hear his voice until I got my milkshake. We pulled through the drive-thru (how the heck do you spell that?) and upon placing my chocolate milkshake order, I learned that their ice cream machine was temporarily down, but oh, wait, never mind it was fixed. My blood pressure uncontrollably sky rocketted and plummeted significantly in a two second time frame. Anyway, with that first gulp of chocolate greatness came the biggest feeling of satisfaction, and all of a sudden, I quit salivating. Hmm...maybe I am pregnant?
The next morning, I starting doing calculations. The kind of calculations that would help me determine whether or not this might be the case. I took a home prego test for the first time in my life, and after Aaron took his and showed me what a negative test looked like, I stood in my kitchen with my hand shaking as I held that tiny little stick and Aaron said in a rather loud voice "YOU'RE PREGNANT!"
The next Monday, I went to my doctor to confirm it by a blood test. After taking 20 pints of blood out of my arm, he confirmed it. He referred me to a baby doctor for my first prenatal visit that Friday, where they took another 200 pints of blood and left a big bruise, but they confirmed it as well. According to Dr. P., this baby is due to enter the world on January 1, 2010. This means that I am somewhere in the ballpark of six weeks pregnant. Holy crap.
For some insanely stupid, crazy, idiotic reason, I thought I was going to get away with not having morning sickness because at the time of that visit, I felt like a complete rock star. But a few short days later, I was proved so very wrong when I found myself doubled over trying to hold my breakfast and lunch in my stomach at work. My superpower sense of smell picks up on any and every little scent within a 500 mile range, and unless it is a chocolate milkshake from McD's, it makes me nauseous. This leads me to my next story.
As I mentioned before, Aaron found out he was not pregnant. But he has always had a sensitive stomach, as in he literally can't handle the smell of poop, vomit, or anything that a baby does. Awesome. Anyway, Jake must have ingested something terrible because we found whatever he had eaten plus a a lot of something extra on the floor in the living room one morning. Upon smelling Jake's surprise, an immediate onset of nausea overwhelmed me and I could not so much as think about cleaning it up, much less be in the same house as it. Since Jake is not going to clean up his own boo boo, that leaves the only other person in the house who does not have an ever increasing sense of feeling like death on an hourly basis. After bellyaching for at least half an hour about how he absolutely could not pick it up and threatening to vomit over every inch of the house, he caved. Armed with an entire roll of paper towel, toilet paper, lysol, febreeze, Resolve, kitchen towels, and the fear of death in his eyes, he did what real men do. He picked it up, gagging, coughing, and tearing up along the way. He's going to be a good dad.
But that is not the end of Aaron having to face his fear of reality. A few weeks ago, a little birdie decided to set up shop in the corner of our front porch. I thought it would be cute. See...how nice!
In no time there were about five little birdies just chirpin' and singing away and it was great. However, this is what was not great.
Who would have thought that bird poop stinks as bad as it does. Trust me, it does. Bad. Very very bad. Like a zoo. Especially when the smell of sugar and water alone makes you want to throw up. And the smell started seeping into our house and I could smell it at all times. Something had to be done, and quick. What better way to clean up 20 pounds of bird hockey than our trusty pressure washer, the thing Aaron claims could make us rich one day if we decided to open a pressure washer business instead of becoming an attorney. Well, the pressure washer certainly saved the day, and it kept whatever food was in my stomach at the time in my stomach, because it worked a miracle. And this was not something you would want to have to scrub by hand.
Don't be alarmed, the birdies had all learned to fly by this point and abandoned their nest. But left their poop. And all the while, Aaron gagged, coughed, bellyached, teared up, and acted like he was dying. But I did not care. I don't have an after shot to show the clean, sanitized front porch, but trust me, there is no evidence that any birdies every took up residence there. So, all of this boils down to the fact that from now on, because I know he can, Aaron will stay on hockey patrol. He's got about seven and a half months to learn how to handle the kind of things that babies do. I'll let you know how that goes.
We drove to Hattiesburg and Jackson for Mother's Day weekend to spread the news. In Hattiesburg, we cornered his dad a few hours before dinner and asked him to include Aaron, me, and the baby that would be born in January in the blessing that night. That is exactly what he did, and it was one of the most beautiful blessings I have ever heard. Until it got interrupted by a stampede of squealing Rice women who screamed and cried and hugged me. And then we finished the blessing. And then we ate the most scrumptious meal I had ever tasted in my life. I even got to select (demand) the menu.
We drove to Jackson on Sunday afternoon where my family was together for Mothers Day. I sat next to my mom as she opened her gift, which was a maroon onesie that said "Future MSU Bulldog (see below)." Her first reaction was to say "Aw, this is cute." And then about three seconds later, her eyes got really wide and she looked at me and said "Are you kidding??" I smiled, and tears instantaneously spouted from her eyes as she yelled to everybody in the house, "We're going to have a baby!!!!" It was great. If "we" are going to have the baby, then why am I the only one on the verge of tossing my cookies every second of the day?
Aaron was covertly in the corner of the room filming it on my blackberry, so even though the quality is less than stellar, this will let you know how cute my mom was when she opened her present. I am sitting on the couch next to my brother and Jake is casually walking around like nothing important is happening. And of course, I choose to keep my food at a close distance, in my hand the entire time. Girls gotta eat.
Then I went to my Dad's house and broke the news to him and Jan. We gave them a maroon onesie with Bully on it, and my dad thought it was an outfit for their dog. Thats right, a doggy costume. He nonchalantly thanked us and mentioned something about how it was going to look good on Max (the dog), and set it aside. It wasn't until my brother Drew said "Umm, Pops, thats not for Max." And I had to say point blank: I'm pregnant, that made him understand the present we got him. Honestly, my dad stared at me for about 30 seconds in disbelief before he could mutter his first word, which was "Really?" He called me the next day to ask how his grandson was doing, and I had to remind him that there is a 50% chance that he will have a granddaughter, but he wouldn't have it. He said Aaron deserves a son first because a daughter would be too much work, especially if it is a daughter of mine. Thanks, Daddy.
I debated whether or not to spill the proverbial beans so soon, but I guess this is my subtle way of asking for prayer over the next 7 months or so. We are so excited, thrilled in an unexplainable way. I have a doctors appointment on May 28 where I will have my first sonogram and we will get to hear the baby's heartbeat. Right now, supposedly, it is the size of a tic tac. But its our tic tac. By the 28th, it will have hands, fingers, toes, and all major organs. Crazy. By having 10 toes, it will already be better off than Daddy. Poor Daddy. So please pray for us Rice's as we enter a journey where quite frankly we have no idea what we are doing. Also, now is the time to come visit us, because we will be sacrificing our guest bedroom for the little kiddo. No pressure, friends and family. Now that I have typed this novel of a post, and I missed my dinner because of it, you can only imagine how I'm feeling right now. I have my eyes on two things right now: cinnamon toast crunch and sprite. Yummy. More updates to come on the little Rice baby.