OMG. It’s positive. Wait, is it really positive? It’s kinda faint. I should go buy, like, ten more and take them. Ok. It’s positive. Times eleven. Wait till I tell my husband. Well, he didn’t act excited as I think he should have. Cry. How long until I start to show? Let’s google.
There are so many more months to go. I’m going to be pregnant in, like, three seasons. OMG. I just threw up in my mouth. That was disgusting. How could I have to pee so much? The baby is the size of a kidney bean; it couldn’t possibly be putting pressure on my bladder. Could it? Let’s google.
I think I felt the baby. Maybe? Or was it gas? I have no idea. I’m going with baby. I think I’m showing. I can tell, anyway. My husband thinks I’m nuts. Seriously, was that the baby? Pause. Nope. Gas. When am I going to start feeling the baby move? Let’s google.
Should I find out the sex of the baby? My husband wants us to be surprised. I think there’s no way I can wait five or more months to find out. I’m firmly in the second trimester. I can tell people! Ok, I must find out the sex of the baby. But what if they’re wrong? How often does that happen? Let’s google.
Ok. I’m for real pregnant. This baby moves like crazy. I’m starting to feel it from the outside. My husband swears he can’t feel anything. Just wait. Do I have heartburn or is my stomach trying to climb out my throat? Could this much acid be normal? Let’s google.
I have to pee. I definitely look pregnant now! I’m wearing maternity clothes and everything. I have to pee. Pass the Tums. It might be easier if I could just conduct all business from the bathroom. It would save a lot of time. Seriously, do I have a bladder infection or something? Let’s google.
I can’t sleep. My hips hurt if I lay on my side; my stomach tries to eat my esophagus if I lay flat. Not to mention, sleeping on my back is apparently bad for baby. My husband can sleep through anything. I hate him. No, I don’t. Isn’t there anything I can do to sleep better? Let’s google.
Ok. Things are getting crowded. I don’t think there’s any more room for the baby to grow. He must be at least thirteen pounds by now. I’ll never get him out. I have to pee. I’ve moved into the La-Z-Boy for sleeping purposes. Am I actually going to be able to get this baby out? Was that a contraction? Let’s google.
Hot dog. Thirty-seven weeks. The baby can come safely now. Any day? Thirty-eight weeks. Ok. This will be the one. If he doesn’t come soon, I’m sure I’ll be delivering a twenty pound baby. Thirty-nine weeks. A contraction! Grab the timer. Forty weeks. Seriously. Come out now, baby. Forty one weeks. Contraction. Contraction… Should I go to the hospital? Let’s… Call the doctor.
Thirty-nine Hours Later:
Oh! He cried! He sounds so cute. Is he supposed to be gray? What’s that cheesy stuff? Newborns kind of look like aliens. But he is the cutest little alien ever. Oh! He yawned. I can’t believe he was only seven pounds. I seriously thought I was going in the Guinness Book for largest baby ever. Wait. Is he supposed to do that? Let’s google.