God Is a Trickster

At 4am on Tuesday, I took a HPT, and it came back positive! At that point I ran back to bed, tapped my snoozing husband frantically on the arm and yelled, "I'm pregnant!" He asked me if I was serious, and I asked him if I would joke about such a thing.

By that point the adrenaline was rushing, so there was no going back to bed for us. Instead, we got up, washed dishes, and did two loads of laundry. And, we actually had time to go out to a celebratory breakfast at Abe's deli... our waitress was the first person to find out our good news.

Tuesday was a rush and a blur. So far we've told most of our families and just about all of our good friends (oy! Ferris... give a girl a call back, would ya?!?). We're going to wait to tell work people for a few more weeks. Right now I'm about five weeks along... we'll probably wait until after the first trimester.

So, I'm nervous. And I'm excited. And nervous. Nervous.

Josh picked up two books for me that I had been requesting: The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth, by Henci Goer, and Ina May's Guide to Childbirth, by Ina May Gaskin. I cannot wait to get further into them.

So, the title of this blog. Let me explain. God is a trickster. Josh and I have been (quietly) TTC since around March. I have been praying/hoping/wishing for a baby since then. About a month ago, Josh and I decided to buy a house. Things have been going pretty well with the sale, but I've really been praying/hoping/wishing that this house thing works out. So, now that the house buying is full steam ahead and we're looking at a mortgage, insurance, taxes, utilities—in short, being poor—God has blessed us with a baby... God's little was of saying, "There you go! Everything you've always wanted! *nudge, nudge* Don't say I never did anything for ya'!" Also, another little 'screw you' from the big guy: I have finally gotten into a routine of working out. My clothes are fitting really well and I feel great. In another few weeks, I'll be big and round and will definitly NOT fit into my jeans.

Still, I'm stoaked.