Knocked Up, the Sequel?

We definitely want a sibling for the Baby Bug. I’m an only child and I know how bad it sucks, and I don’t want that for her. Husband is in total agreement, and we kind of want to do it sooner rather than later since I’m not getting any younger and I really don’t want to be fat and pregnant and tired and old. So while we haven’t been trying exactly, we haven’t been preventing either.

I take a pregnancy test on a whim Friday night and it’s one of those digital ones. Rite Aid brand.  It says PREGNANT.  And I die.

I mean, we want another baby for sure. But do waves of joy wash over me? Maybe waves of panic.

Visions of months upon months of sleepless nights.  Entertaining an almost two year old while nursing a newborn.  Gaining forty pounds again.  Pumping.

I takethe evidence downstairs to show my husband.  His reaction is exactly mine, but unlike me, he doesn’t internalize it. I’m thinking, this next 8-9 months should be a pleasure.  He grumbles about not being able to fit two carseats in his car.

I don’t quite trust the test that it really could have been accurate, so I take the other test in the box. PREGNANT. Again. OMG. I open the Pinterest app on my iPhone and start pinning nursery ideas.

The tests are Rite Aid brand.  I mean, they are probably wrong, right?  So Saturday, I return to Rite Aid, but leave instead with ClearBlue Easy tests. Digital ones again.  Double the price of the Rite Aid ones, so doubly accurate, I would think.  I pee on both of those and get…. NOT PREGNANT.  I can’t really deal with these tests at this point and tell my husband I need to go to the doctor Monday and find out what the hell is going on.

Two PREGNANTs and two NOT PREGNANTs.  I’m googling “how common are false positives” and “generic vs. name brand pregnancy tests” and of course finding nothing conclusive. Because I can’t wait until Monday, I go to Rite Aid once a third time to try a First Response non-digital, one-line or two-lines test.  I literally am out at the store the second I wake up and don’t even pee first, so that I have the most potent, non-diluted pee possible for the stick. Run home, take it, and one line.  Not pregnant.

So, I go to bed tonight probably not pregnant but not quite sure. After getting the one-line this morning, Husband and I chat it up over Cheerios and OJ. He shares that while he of course wants another baby, he is enjoying the Buggy Baby so much that he doesn’t want us to have to divide our love and attention just yet. I mean, if I really am pregs, I think my due date would be sometime around September.  Maybe October.  Bug Bugs would be a year and 8 months-ish.  Still so little.  And if we have Buggy 2.0, he/she would need pretty much all my attention for a few months and poor little Baby Bugs would be watching a lot of Bubble Guppies.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the doctor and see wtf.  And if I’m not pregnant, I’m writing to Rite Aid and telling them to step up their pregnancy test game.  And if I am pregnant: Pinterest.  And mentally preparing for another year of not sleeping.


Sappy parenting post.

When I first had Baby Buggy, I was determined to nurse for six months. “Breast is best,” yada yada yada. I also knew it would help me drop the freaking FORTY pounds I gained and it’s free. Formula is not cheap. And it’s kind of gross. Anyway, I figured if and when we hit the six month mark, I would reassess.

She’s now almost eleven months and still nursing twice a day. While I am ready for her to move on so that 1: I can have my boobs back (I’ve been praying diligently that they return to their former perky state), 2: my fertility will return and we can try for Baby Buggy 2.0, and 3: I don’t end up becoming one of these, it makes me a little sad that it’s going to come to an end soon. Nursing has been an incredible experience for me and it totally created this indescribable bond between me and the Bug.

Tonight, we did our usual night routine. She had salmon and squash mac & cheese for dinner, followed by playtime, bath time, PJ’s, and about 839 bedtime stories. After that, she always nurses to sleep before I put her in her crib, at which point I can savor an hour of bad television and Ben & Jerry’s. Tonight she literally nursed for about 15 seconds before rejecting me in favor of sucking her thumb. Surprisingly, it made me a little emotional. I mean, I only wanted to make it to six months.

I know we still have a little while to go before she is completely over the boob, but I really want her to be weaned by the time she turns one at the end of next month. Which means our nursing sessions are numbered. I sound like a weenie, but I’m just realizing how fast they really do grow.  The helpless baby/fat and tired/sleep-deprived phase is just a season, and a short one at that. We’ve been so focused on celebrating all of her “firsts” – smiling, crawling, standing, babbling – that we didn’t really consider how bittersweet the “lasts” would be.

In other related news, the fact that she only nursed for 15 seconds instead of her usual 20 minutes means I’m engorged and leaking.  I won’t cry the last time that happens.