Good Things Happen in Threes

I peed on the stick on Valentine's Day. After which I promptly went outside with Fable and blew bubbles between tears and shakes and wtf, holy shit, wtfs. I told Hal the news in a card and when he cracked the envelope, I burst into tears. And then he cried because I cried and then we went to dinner at this restaurant where Charlie Chaplin movies are projected on the walls and spent the entire evening smacking each other in the face and saying "Fuck! Holy fucking fuck-fuck!"

We hadn't been "trying" but we weren't really not trying either. Pretty sure it happened on our anniversary. Art deco buildings are the keystones to fertility after all. I'm still in shock. Hence the waiting two plus weeks to break the news, here and elsewhere. Excited, yes, but also terrified. It's one thing to want a third child, quite another thing to conceive one and the guilt I feel for not jumping for joy has paralyzed me these last couple of weeks. That and the fact that I feel wretched, the kind of sick I didn't think was possible, especially after two nausea-free pregnancies. Sick and emotional and allergic to touch, smell, sound, et al. In short, I'm a disaster. Everything annoys me. The inner bitch I always wished would come out and defend me when I needed her has appeared with a vengeance and cannot be stopped. Just ask the dude I caught stealing shirt-fulls of oranges from our tree and somehow managed to tackle whilst holding a bag of groceries, my giant purse and Archer's backpack. (I'm usually eager to toss our oranges at strangers because they're so delicious and I like to share. NOT ANYMORE!)

The kids know I'm pregnant and are excited. I know many people wait before they tell their children but I believe in honesty from the get. This is as much their experience as it is mine. This is OUR family journey and I want them to be feel included, invited and welcome always, no the matter.

Archer has stepped up as head household caretaker when Hal's at work, tucking me into bed and administering me lemon heads (an apt cure for nausea I now know) like vitamins while Fable stands by as his assistant to administer me band aids on my face and hair.

I go in for my eight(ish?) week appointment next week. Estimated (via Babycenter) due date is October 23rd, or as Archer says, "My birth day and Fable's birth month." It's a sign, I think. Just like conceiving on our anniversary. Just like having unprotected sex once and, hi, here we are. All signs point to YES, this is right.

I'll be thirty years old when our third child is born, each child spaced three years apart. This is also the year of my parent's 33rd anniversary and we're already planning on naming this child Trinity. Just kidding.

My emotions are high octane forces to be reckoned with so if you could please keep that in mind these next few weeks I'd appreciate it greatly. I'm an insane person who hasn't eaten anything but saltines, lemonade and ginger root for two weeks. (Do you know how hard the Eat Well posts have been for me? I've literally been gagging through them because the sight and smell of food, no matter how deliciously sustainable makes me heave.) I'd also appreciate if you cut me some slack in the posting department these next few weeks. There may be days when posting a photo and some baby name ideas are all I can muster.

To recap. Are we excited? Yes. Are we shitting our pants scared out of our minds? Yes. Overwhelmed? Yes. Crazy? Totally. Already in love with our blueberry-sized baby-in-the-making? Yes, yes and....

GGC

*I just realized today is 3/3. Joey Lawrence whoa.