Happy belated Thanksgiving. I've been colonized. Please send help.

I haven't  blogged much because I didn't trust myself to not share my life story circa now. But since we broke the news, I can talk about it ad nauseum!  Ready? See, what happened was....

I suppose everyone knows how babies are made. "Fruit of our loins," as you Eugenio likes to say. The weeks before I realized I was pregnant I had many conversations with my older sisters and friends in which I went on and on about how I wasn't ready for kids just yet, how I changed my mind, how I was sick of all the pressure, how I was going to run one more marathon before thinking about making a baby, how I needed to call the doctor soon for a new birth control prescription, how I was just waiting for my period to start so I can begin that new regimen. I was diagnosed with PCOS less than a year ago. It was discovered that I rarely ovulate. The egg follicle factor, a number given to indicate how many one has (I don't know the real term. That would require digging up paperwork or doing a simple google search, which I can not be bothered with right now. I'm a mom, guys, I have another human to worry about. I don't have that kind of time.) for a person my age is 3.My number is 38. I think that's a combination of years of amenorrhea due to my eating disorders plus the PCOS. The years of eating disorders really fucked up my body. I never questioned my lack of period; I knew I had done horrible things which I attributed the blame for my irregularity even after recovery.  Anyhow, post PCOS diagnosis, I went on metformin to start ovulation. Is this too much information???  It worked kinda, but not regularly. I wanted to be a normal, bleeding woman before starting birth control again, that way when we were ready to have kids, it wouldn't be another year long process to find out what dosage of metformin would work. I wasn't worried about getting pregnant, especially after all the talk about fertility treatment and in vitro the doctor just gave. Slow your roll, homie, I'm not there yet, I let him know I wasn't interested. We upped the metformin dosage. Looks like it worked. Ugh, TMI, sorry. Hey, would you like to see the ultrasounds of cute cysts on my ovaries?!

It dawned on me that I am pregnant after an attempted 18 mile run for marathon training. At mile 17 I had the most excruciating, blood curdling pain in my lower abdomen. I could not go any further despite my efforts to push through the pain. I felt like crawling. It was really frustrating;  I had never not finished a long run before. I whined like a grown baby woman. Am I getting weak? But I'm in the best shape I've ever been in. I'm running faster than ever. It's not fair! What the hell?! Then I put together all my symptoms and told Eugenio over breakfast, "I bet I'm pregnant," followed by a sigh. He rolled his eyes. A funny thing about the PCOS diagnosis was that it brought to light all the futility of our past pregnancy scares and the many, many boxes of pregnancy tests. Hundreds of dollars. Eugenio has had baby fever forever. He loves kids and wants to be a daddy so badly. It's really sweet and attractive. It was cause for a bit of relationship tension and made me feel like the jack ass for not wanting kids just yet. But I had good reasons -- I need a real career first; you need to have a job lined up post fellowship; I need to do one last selfish thing; I'll run the marathon and then we can try; my tits are going to get rul huge and I can't deal with that thought right now. His eye roll at my pregnancy statement was his response to me bringing up the baby that I was not allowing. "Yeah right, you're not pregnant. You're not allowing that to happen." his eyes said. I reiterated, "I'm pregnant" several times that week, and finally asked him one Saturday before I went to work to go buy me another pregnancy test box, like all the times before. It was waiting for me on the kitchen table when I got home from work, like all the times before. I took it, and unlike all the times before, the second blue line appeared immediately. We always thought that those three minutes were crucial, that you had to set the stick down and walk away. If you looked at it, the results were skewed. Unlike all the times before, I saw the results instantly. I could not stop laughing. Hearing my laugh, Eugenio knew the results. He was so happy. I love the elated look he had on his face. I looked in his eyes and said, "OK, we can't tell anyone." Then I turned around and texted my two older sisters and my two best friends. "Uh, ignore what I said last week..."

My attitude immediately changed. I'll never be the woman who dreamed of having kids since she was little; I'll always be flaky and conflicted and uncertain about everything ever. But of course I'm happy and excited. We made a kid by rubbing our genitals together! That blows my mind! There's a human growing inside of me! WOW!  Then there was the paranoia that I hurt the baby with all the marathon training.  It was difficult to pin down a due date using "the date of your last period" factor because I hadn't had one in over two months, which would have put me at around 10 weeks. We had one immediate ultra sound. We saw the egg sac, the tissue, a heartbeat, and were told an age of seven weeks with a June 3rd due date. We were sent on our way with an appointment in five more weeks. Five weeks is a long time to worry about everything that I had done and was doing wrong. All that crack and booze. Just kidding, I stopped drinking months ago. I didn't do too much crack, either. Just a little. I know my limits. Jesus, I'm kidding. That's our healthy 2 inch alien babe up there.

We broke the news with that picture in a text to my family. Eugenio already told his parents after our 7 week appointment, but I was too wary of miscarriage to do the same. His parents, so happy and excited, shared the news with a few, maybe a hundred people. His aunt, whom I love, and who doesn't get on Facebook much and doesn't really know how to use it properly, commented on a status thread I started about a book I was reading (Gone Girl, so, so good!). She wrote her congratulations to us on the baby, all in Spanish. I laughed and just hoped that the thread got buried and that not too many people understood anyhow. After finally sharing our secret with my family yesterday, my favorite reaction was from my aunt who replied with congratulations followed a few minutes later by, "Sorry I didn't get it. Now I know it was a joke. Gary is laughing at me big time!" I let her know that it wasn't a Thanksgiving-food-baby joke, but a real baby. I like that it was more believable that I was playing some demented food baby joke than that I was actually with child.

That marathon I trained so hard for -- I didn't tell anyone, but I planned to break 3:15 and knew I could do it -- was at 6:30 this morning. I slept in till 10am and woke up still burping the food from yesterday.  First lesson of parenthood: children ruin everything. Just kidding.

So I guess I'm a mommy blogger now?