The Day I Got Pregnant (or How I Learned to Accept the Complete and Utter Overhaul of my Entire Life)

When I was little, I never played with baby dolls. I never envisioned myself as a parent raising babies. In my teen and young adult years I never had a pregnancy scare. In my 20s, most of which I've spent married to possibly the greatest man alive, I never babysat my friends kids and dreamed of what it would be like. I've never strolled the baby aisles at Target and cooed over the little blankets and pacifiers. When invited to baby showers I bought kickass gifts and ate the food but abstained from the awful games and passing around of people babies. My maternal clock is on silent. Or broken. Or never set in the first place. The husband and I have traveled all over the place and spent countless nights playing video games until the wee hours. We both train in Brazillian Jiu Jitsu, run, rock climb and are generally active and social. I was chugging along thinking how we would be 80 years old doing just that, so imagine my surprise when the husband got baby fever. I would say my panic attack lasted no longer than 3 days. The very idea of giving up my lifestyle to cater to someone else was, no IS, terrifying. After a few weeks of contemplation and a few months of cleaning out the house I was pumped up for a potential life change. We could try to conceive. I'm 35, so I expected some challenge. I wish I had a picture of my face staring at the two pink lines after only one month. Are you fucking kidding me? What I expected was a year of trying and then settling on the fact that it just wasn't meant to happen. Surprise. Looking back I shouldn't be too shocked. I know how biology works, I had been taking vitamins and tracking my cycle. If the two pink lines weren't enough, the four other tests I took were a solid confirmation. Okay, so I guess that's happening. Looking back I don't regret my initial reactions. Any other way just wouldn't be me. Worlds okayest parent.