Today is ranking up pretty high on the Crappy Days meter, which reminded me that I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile. So maybe it will distract me from the screaming kids and flu-bug husband.
Did I ever tell you about the day I found out I was pregnant with this baby (Joshua)?
In case you weren’t aware, we were actively trying not to have a baby. After having two kids 26 months apart, we wanted to wait until David was 3 to have a third. I was a little more than slightly overwhelmed when David was born, juggling a needy 2-year-old and a very-needy-and-didn’t-sleep-and-nursed-32-times-a-day infant. (And God laughed. David and Joshua will be 27 months apart.)
THAT day, I took Libbie and David to the pediatrician. David was 19 months and needed a weight check, because he’d lived happily on the 2nd percentile for months. Aaand he still hadn’t gained any weight. The pediatrician told me I HAD to see a GI doctor, when I was pretty sure having a 5’5″, very small daddy is reason enough to have a petite but healthy child.
Then we went over to our friends Miss Ann and Mr. Bill‘s house. The kids were playing contentedly on their patio while I shared about our recent trip to the Outer Banks for my best friend’s wedding. Libbie picked up a watering can from their patio to pretend-water some flowers …. and a whole swam of wasps flew out. She got stung twice on her little hand and was, understandably, absolutely inconsolable. It’s been a long time since I had a sting, but those suckers hurt. Especially from wasps.
So I gathered up the crying little ones, retreated to our car, and came home. And took the test which I was about 95% would be positive. I don’t know why I waited until then – I think maybe I wasn’t sure I had one, but I did, a little lonely dollar-store thing shoved in a cabinet.
The day before this, I had slept the entire day and chalked it up to exhaustion from traveling and the emotions of the past several weeks, plus a lot of medicine for my back. But seriously. The whole day. And then that night, I had a very vivid, um, hormone-charged dream. Which only happens when I am in my first trimester. And that’s how I knew, or at least suspected.
I peed on the stick in my kids’ bathroom because my husband was in the shower. It was hot pink right away, that plus sign of mixed emotions bright as bright can be.
I barged into our bathroom and loudly proclaimed, “David has to go see the GI doctor, Libbie got stung by a wasp, and I’M PREGNANT.”
Subtlety is not my strong point.
Suffice it to say, Mr. V was much more graceful and excited about the pregnancy than I was, although I’ve gotten there. (Of course, he doesn’t have to lug a baby around in HIS stomach for 9 months.) And you would think that was the end of a day of emotional lows and surprises.
But oh, no!
That very same afternoon, I found out my debit card number had been stolen and there were 20 or more transactions I didn’t make on my account, adding up to hundreds of dollars. So in my state of pregnant shock, I got to spend the whole afternoon on the phone with Bank of America, trying to fix that issue.
At least it served as a distraction.
Today doesn’t seem so bad in comparison to that July day, actually.
So do you have any REALLY BAD DAY stories?