Before I got pregnant, I was just like most any other twenty something you would meet. I worked a simple restaurant job (first as a server, then as a hostess), I went out every once in a while and knew how to party whenever I would go out. I love the NFL, so my drinking would normally take place on Sundays and Monday nights on occasion.
I also had managed to lose all the “chunky” parts of my body by the time I was twenty three, which made me very happy to get into a bikini or any other semi-revealing top. I’m a jeans girl, so I never had to worry about fitting into a skirt…because skirts are way to girly. I’ve never been a girly girl, which is something I am extremely proud of.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a woman and I still feel woman emotions, but suffice it to say that I get along better with guys than I do with other women. I have girl friends, but they’re very few and far between and they’re usually very much like me.
Before I got pregnant I smoked cigarettes, drank beer and whiskey, stayed up late, partook in my fair share of Mary Jane every now and then and worked doubles every day that I could. I knew I wanted kids someday, but “someday” was not in my near future by any stretch of the imagination…or so I thought.
I had just started a new job at the restaurant across the street from my old one (it’s a long story) and I was working my very first Saturday double shift. It may sound odd, but I like working doubles for a few reasons, 1) You get a break, 2)You’re among the first to go home at the end of the night and 3) It’s an easy and great way to rack up the hours and make money. Anyhow, eight o’clock came around and we’d finally gotten off of a wait, which is usually what needs to happen before they’ll let anyone go home.
I was exhausted and the most hungry I had ever been in my entire life. I was literally getting a headache that was causing my entire scalp to throb. My manager came over the radio and said as soon as we got some tables open, she would cut the doubles–For those of you who aren’t familiar with restaurant lingo, “cut” is a term used to describe when an employee has been told that they may begin their side work and go home once they have completed said side work. In this case, my side work was to help us clean some tables so that we could stay off of a wait–So, because I was desperate to get out of there and get something to eat, I grabbed a large tray and got to work, cleaning tables until i broke a sweat.
Finally, I heard the magic words, “Amanda, you can go ahead and go home.”
Thank God, I thought as I unloaded the remaining dishes off of the tray and left them in the dish pit. I washed my hands, because I have serious germ issues, and clocked out before I gathered my belongings and power walked to my car. I could feel the headache settling behind my eyes, but I was determined to get to Taco Bell and get me a hell of a grilled steak stuffed burrito and a steak quesadilla.
I got my dinner and hightailed it home. When I got there, my boyfriend was already home, along with two of his friends from work. While company would normally not have offended me, I had such a bad headache that all I could think about was getting this food in my tummy and settling in a dark room until it went away.
I figured if I ate, my eyes and head would at least stop throbbing, but to no avail. I barely ate two bites before I rubbed my temples and told Adam, my boyfriend, that I was going to take a shower to see if that would help. Normally in the shower, I’m all…
…but right then, all I could do was stand under the water, my eyes closed and my fingers massaging my brows until the headache finally subsided enough for me to come out and eat my dinner. After I was done, I sat back on our couch and sighed; relief. I went outside for a cigarette (remember, I didn’t know I was pregnant yet) and then told Adam that I was going to bed. I was exhausted, but thought nothing of it.
Then came the next time I worked, the very next day. I was a lunch shift and by the end of it I was hungry enough to eat a hippo, but not quite as hungry as I’d been when I left the night before. So after work, I went to Little Caesers for a hot-n-ready cheese pizza, went home and watched Reservoir Dogs while I ate my pizza. Normally I would eat one or two maybe three slices of pizza, but before I knew it I’d eaten the entire pie.
I guess I should have thought something odd right then and maybe I did and just didn’t want to see it, but again I smoked a cigarette and continued to watch my movie.
It wasn’t until the next weekend that I began to suspect that I was pregnant.
Saturday night. I got home after a shift to find some of my boyfriend’s and our roommate’s friends in the carport. I forget the occasion, but it was a get together of sorts, with beer, darts and banter. I had one beer and talked with one of our mutual friends for a bit before I announced that I was going to bed. It was only 10:30 at night, something I didn’t realize until I got into our bedroom and saw the clock. I figured it would take me a while to get to sleep seeing as how I would have normally gone to bed around two or three in the morning. To my surprise, I went right to sleep and didn’t wake up until noon the next day.
I knew something was up but it still took my a couple of days to muster up the courage to pick up a pregnancy test. I brought it home and hid it, figuring to wait until I was alone in the house to take the test.
Finally it was time and I peed one the first stick, all the while thinking that it would surely come back negative. There was just no way I was pregnant…was there?
The first stick read positive, but I hadn’t read the directions, so I figured I’d done it wrong and decided to take the other one. First, though…I needed a cigarette. I know, I know what you’re probably thinking, “How can you smoke a cigarette when you’d just found out that you were pregnant?!”
Well, frankly in that moment, I didn’t want it to be true and I didn’t think twice about it. I waited until I’d finished the cigarette and then took the second test, making sure to follow the instructions this time so that I wouldn’t get another false positive…yeah…wishful thinking at the time.
The second line was even darker now and I knew…oh I knew…and there was no one home to talk about it with. I knew I had to tell Adam and I dreaded the conversation. How do you even begin that topic?
“Hey! How was work? Oh by the way, I’m pregnant. What do you wanna do for dinner?”
So, I decided I would wait until the next day to tell him. Have one last night of “normal” before I would say the words out loud and our lives would change forever.
It was actually a little easier than I thought, I simply showed him both tests. He must’ve been in just as much a state of shock as I’d been when I first saw them because he looked at it, squinting slightly as though he wasn’t sure he was seeing correctly. He then stepped into the light, so as to get a better look, took a deep breath and looked up at me.
“Well…” he said, seeming to let the information sink in. “I guess we should make an appointment with a doctor and see what’s up.”
And that was the beginning of our journey into the unknown. Now, almost ten months later, we couldn’t be more excited and anxious to become parents!