She Went And Got Herself Knocked Up
by Andrea Scott
How it happened. This is pretty detailed, so stop reading now if you are offended easily. I am not responsible for your feelings—regardless if you keep reading or not. And, frankly, I don't really care.
Did you guys know that if you have sex without a condom or birth control that you could get pregnant? Ha, ha . . . I did! Here is my baby-making story—unfortunately without the baby-making music. If I could figure out how to get baby-making music attached to this article, I would. But hey, I'm pregnant, and I don't have to do anything for nine months!
So you've probably heard all those sayings that when our brave soldiers come back from war, they knock up their wives pretty damn quick. In my case, it was three weeks exactly! I quit birth control right after he left because 1) I wasn't having sex (and birth control sucks anyway—let alone when you aren't getting any) and 2) I wanted to have a baby as soon as he got home.
I decided not to do the temperature thing. You know, where you measure your temperature every morning for like ever and wait for it to spike like .03 degrees? Some ladies have time for that. Me, I'm lazy. That is why God invented those fertility/ovulation tests. It's like a pregnancy test, only it lets you know when you are most fertile and when—in laymen's terms—you should let your guy nail you all he wants.
What sucks is, I wish I knew all of this in college when I was popping my pills and making the guy wear a condom. Sexual low-point for me. You are technically capable of getting pregnant only 36 hours out of every month.
Anyway, so every day after my period (yeah, sorry guys . . . we're going to talk about that a bit), I started taking the fertility/ovulation tests. When I got a positive, it took everything in me not to scream. I calmly trashed the positive test and walked up to my husband politely and asked if he might be interested in having sex with me at that very moment, indeed that very second. Guys, this is a request that I'm guessing you don't get as often as you like, so you won't be surprised by my husband's reaction—which was, "hell yeah!" I didn't want to scare him by screaming and jumping his bones right there, so I thought this approach increased my chances of his playing ball. Now if that isn't the best phrase for this situation!
Alas, the deed was done.
Two weeks later, as we were brushing our teeth to go to bed, I decided to take a test. Why not, right? I had missed my period, and I was sick of not knowing. So before I started brushing my teeth, I took the test, and while my husband and I were brushing, we noticed that it was telling us we're pregnant. We started laughing and promptly went out and got more tests. You can never be too sure. We called our families, everyone gave their "opinions," and we began our journey.
My boobs starting hurting, and I got really tired for a few days but learned that drinking a cup of coffee won't hurt so the exhaustion is gone. My husband is watching me like a hawk, and I don't have to do anything around the house . . . he's such a great guy. And today was the final let-go-of-my-college-years when I decided to take out my belly button ring. Pretty tacky to have a mommy with an outtie and a belly button ring, huh? Besides, I would imagine it hurts like hell. Nothing like having it taken out, though. I was in the shower, and I had my husband pour alcohol over it, but the alcohol got into other places as well while we were cleaning my belly button, so I had fire crotch for like five minutes. Don't try this at home, ladies. Go to the doctor and have your piercings removed. It's not fun.
All in all, a great pregnancy story. Not at all the touchy-feely pregnancy stories you may hear from others, but that isn't how my relationship goes anyway. We screw things up and laugh about it. We make mistakes all the time, and that is what I'm looking forward to because with those mistakes come the laughs. My friends are excited to see how this pregnancy changes me, and while I know there will be a lot of changes, in the end I hope my kid grows up happy; regardless of how messed up I am, I hope this kid has fun with it.
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