So I was on Facebook the other day (if you add me as a friend please understand I’m a brutal, vulgar Facebooker) and I think I asked for something to write about and one of my closest friends from school suggested that I write about labor, since she’s pregnant with her first child.

Lindz, you’re brilliant. That idea slapped an entire series of stories into my head from my pregnancies. I just realized last night that I’ve never talked about being pregnant or giving birth. Since I have absolutely NO intention (or ability) to EVER have another child again, I just never thought much about it but looking back on my pregnancies I realized I have stories.  Lots of stories.

I was going to write about labor, as suggested, but she’s only at like 20 weeks, so I can start at the beginning.  I’ll get done before she delivers.  I’m starting fresh. I’m too effing funny not to.

If only I knew what the future held...

If you know me, you know my uterus was a piece of shit and I had everything ripped clear out of me recently.  If you don’t know me, that means that I had a full hysterectomy because my uterus was a piece of shit.

Growing up, my uterus messed with me on so many levels, I would have ripped it out myself if I didn’t hold out some hope that I’d bear children, even though I was told by multiple doctors that I never would.

Apparently, they were wrong.

Holy Shit, I’m Having A Baby!

On June 14, 2004, I got married in Las Vegas, NV and did not consummate the marriage that night for two reasons.  First of all, I got black out drunk and woke up the following morning in my dress in an empty jacuzzi.  Secondly, I was just finishing up a medical treatment program since I hadn’t seen my period in three years and figured I should look for it.   I was told no happy fun time because if I somehow  magically got pregnant, I’d give birth to Sloth.

July 28, 2004, I got it on.  Awww….yeah.   Since I have no filter, I’m quoting the ending-

HIM: “What should I do?”

ME: “Oh, one time won’t hurt.”

Fast forward to August 2, 2004.  I feel like shit.  Out of habit, I took a pregnancy test.  I knew someone who had a child when she was 20 and I was 12 and immediately got on the pill even though I was a virgin and took a pregnancy test if I had a stomach ache, even if I hadn’t had sex, because I was a virgin.

Needless to say, the test on the second was negative.

It’s August 13, 2004.  I was at my OB/GYN with my follow up appointment to my treatment.  It was agreed that I would be put on that shit that helps get you knocked up, but I had to remember to use protection for months (SUCKS.  I have a latex allergy.  I had to use some WEIRD shit) because if I got pregnant too soon after the emdometrial treatment, I’d give birth to Sloth (if I even got through the pregnancy).

After being handed the script, my doctor stopped and said, “Oh yeah.  Pee in a cup.  Standard procedure,” so I did.  A few minutes later, he walks in, grabs the script and rips it up.  Since I put the “ass” in class, I believe I said “WTF?” only not the letters, I said the words.

“I can’t give you this,” he said, “you’re pregnant”.

My first words?  “No shit.”

After a series of me doubting him and his insisting that he legally can’t joke about such matters, I exclaimed “My mom is going to kill me”.  Yeah.  I was 27 years old but had yet to tell anyone that I had gotten married.  My bad.

Now we have to figure out the due date.  I haven’t had my period in years, so the doctor said we’d have to wait until my ultrasound before we could determine it and in my excitement, I told him that if he could point me to a calendar, I can tell him the conception date.  It was five feet away, directly in front of me on the wall.  Observation is not a skill I possess.

I stood up, walked across the room to where the calendar hung and tripped over the stool in the room.  I was saved before I hit the floor (I fall a lot, not a big deal to me) and saw the calendar.

“June 28th.  It was June 28th.”

“How do you know?”

“June 28th.  You warned me about Sloth or miscarriage, so there’s been no happy fun time.  June 28th I got drunk so felt like getting a little action.  It was June 28th.”

For those of you who have known me since I was roughly 14 and those of you who have pretty much figured out what I was like when I was a child, you’ll appreciate this.

My due date was April 20, 2005.  4/20.  If you don’t know what that means, it translates to the fact that I was a giant stoner until my early (mid) twenties.

For the next 30 minutes, my doctor explained the delicate circumstances of this pregnancy.  It was detailed and terrifying, but I vowed to be the best pregnant woman I could be and I would indeed have this child.  Upon leaving the office, I excitedly asked my husband how he felt.

“I’m excited but that doctor was a little rude.  He walks into the room, tells you you’re pregnant and leaves?  What’s that about?”

Yep.  The man blacked out.  For like 45 minutes.

Since I found out I was pregnant VERY early on, I waited until I got the sonogram on 10/5 before I could make the announcement.  I was too scared to jinx it and I managed to keep my mouth shut until I reached the safety zone (thank God I wasn’t a blogger lol).  I of course immediate took the picture at the top to document everything.  I felt I looked so pregnant at that time, I walked around with both hands on my back and gave the REAL pregnant women the head nod like I had already joined THAT club.

HE wrote "baby's arm" on it because that's what we were told. Grammar isn't his thing.

I remember the song that played on the ride home from the doctor’s office after that sono – “I’ve Seen All Good People” by Yes.  My whole life, I’ve had some Partridge fantasy of me and my family singing along to that song together on a family car trip.  Whenever we went anywhere with my dad, we all sang and one night my brother Chris, Joey Oey (RIP) and I walked around the lake with a case of beer and sang it.  It’s my thing.  It’s significant.

I get home, I’m shaking.  It’s time to tell my very conservative mother.  Following the usual small talk, I start crying out of fear and say I’m pregnant.  To my surprise, my mother exclaims “That’s wonderful!”

“It is?”

Even though I knew it was indeed wonderful, I felt like I was 17, not 27, when I broke that news.  My mother tells me no one ever believed I’d have a child, so of course it’s wonderful and then she hung up the phone.

Fifteen minutes pass.  The phone rings.  “Julie, listen to what I just told Al.  I said ‘Al!  Julie’s pregnant!’ and he said ‘Julie who?’ and I said ‘Julie! Your (Step) daughter!’  Isn’t that just hilarious?!  No one ever thought you could get pregnant!  This is great!”

Just before we hung up, I requested that my mother please refrain from telling anyone this news (she didn’t).  It’s news I’d love to break myself, since it’s so unexpected (no clue how she beat me to it).  I hated that it all had to be done by phone since I lived out of state, but it was still going to be exciting to tell (She has NO problem using the phone to break news, it seems).  I managed to tell one person live.  My sister (she faked shock).  I worked for the airlines and had to pop in to NY for a day and she was the only one I saw.  It was WAY too early to tell anyone, but she’s my sister.  I had to.  THAT was probably one of the single greatest moments ever.  There is nothing like grabbing hands with your sister and jumping like little kids over news I never thought I’d tell.

Anyway, the conversation with my mother ends and I’m guessing about three minutes goes by before my phone rings.

“Julie.  You have to get married. “

“I already did.”

I give a very brief overview of my Vegas wedding, grateful that at least I was able to say I was married PRIOR to getting pregnant. I felt kind of shitty for not telling or inviting anyone but this was my second marriage and there was some drama involved, so I kept it my own.  Imagine that.  My life dramatic?

Wait five minutes.  The phone rings.  “Julie?  What’s your last name?”

“Maloney.”

No shit.  Just like that.  I called my mother, told her I was pregnant, followed it with a marriage announcement THEN told her my married name, all in about 15 consecutive phone calls.

So that’s it.  That’s how I found out I was pregnant with my first child, Jacob.  I’ll continue to talk about the pregnancy and then the ones that followed (the miscarriage one is funny, sad and twisted) in the next few weeks but I want to advise those of you that don’t want to find out the sex of your child to avoid a sonogram.  I wanted to know because patience is not a virtue I possess, but I pretty much had it figured out in about ten seconds, without the help of the technician.  Without delving too deep on the personal anatomy of my first born, I’d like to formally state that he will be both feared and revered when he becomes sexually active.

Did they REALLY need to say "Boy"?

Be Sociable, Share!

•