8 weeks

Tomorrow I find out if it's really, really true.

I guess this is common. A woman not believing she's pregnant til a baby's laid on her chest. I'm only eight weeks along, with hardly any nausea. My only sturdy symptoms are breasts that feel like they've been through surgery, and constipation. I fail to mention that one to Jesse.

For now.

I guess at some point it will all get pretty comical. I'll fart in bed and feel no shame in asking for a third helping.

So these moments, right now, are the last. The last in which we are right here. We didn't get as much new couple time as I had expected. Our relationship marched forward and hardly looked back.

A vague fear grows a little bigger in the back of my conscious. That this can't be right. We're doing something wrong. This isn't how it's done!

But there's no place to position my fear, so is there really cause for alarm?

I'm not afraid about this baby. I know we're going to be great parents, and really, we don't have many aspirations that will be hindered by this. In all truth, this was our aspiration. It was only set off in a more time appropriate distance.

Had I not ended this year with pregnancy fireworks, it would have been one of great change anyway. Something clicked in my head. It took a long time to get there, but once it happened, it was set. I don't find myself very important anymore, and dually value life more than ever. I'm happy to be simple. Be loved and love a few people dearly. And hopefully be listened to at times.

I am listened to.

So I find I don't talk so loud anymore.

When the first test read positive, I told Jesse it was inconclusive. He asked me how a test reads inconclusive. I vaguely referred to multiple windows on the stick. He didn't question it.

I figured I had to have done something wrong and I didn't want him to start reacting yet.

An hour later I took the other test and once again it read positive.

As Jesse folded his clothes back into his bag, we talked about when we should leave Johnny's for JFK.

Here it go's.

I sighed, and for some reason, shamefully, said, "The test is positive."

I still couldn't manage to say, "I'm pregnant."

Jesse quietly moved up to the couch and hugged me. I didn't feel an ounce of insincerity when he said that he was happy. But that hadn't been the source of my shame. I knew Jesse was up for it. I feel so right about him being the one. But me? Can I do it? Just how much will I change?

As the weeks have passed, I've been pretty distracted. Unable to talk very long on the phone. Not telling people means that there's not much left for me to say.

I hate to ignore the phone calls and emails but soon I'll be able to explain myself to Colleen and dad and Andy and Josh.

For now I eat my beans, take my prenatal vitamins, and study passionately, because I can't stop obsessing over what I'll need to do to prepare.

I am scared of having regrets, and realize that I will have them. I am scared that I already don't really feel like teaching my new baby French, as I had always thought I would.

For a week or so after the test, I tried not to talk about it very much. I told Jesse that many pregnancies miscarry and we shouldn't get too involved yet. One night while sitting at the kitchen table, we started discussing the bare bones of it. Two minutes in I was crying unexpectedly.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it with my job. I couldn't leave a baby at home."

Jesse said, "We'll work it out before we get there."

Then he said what will probably stick with me in any moment I feel insecurity.

He said, "Rachel, if we were completely taken care of financially, would you have any other major concerns with this?"

I said, "No. I guess I wouldn't."

A smile grew over his face and he said, "That is so good. If all we have to worry about is money, we are in really good shape."

Today he left for a short camping trip with his dad and brother. I couldn't schedule my doctor's appointments for any other time, but it was very important to me that Jesse didn't cancel his trip as it probably wont come along again.

As I walked into the office this morning, the doctor shook my hand and said congratulations. I giggled a little and said thank you.

He made comments like, "Tomorrow when we do the ultrasound we'll be able to put all your friends teasing about twins to rest."

Tomorrow I will get a little picture of our pinto bean. She'll have eyes and fingers and a big hunking heart.

The doctor said that if at eight weeks, the baby has a heart beat, miscarriage is very unlikely. In other words, I'll have to fully accept that this is the real thing.