Denial (and I don't mean a river in Egypt)

19.5 weeks, originally uploaded by Reid Pierce.

About 15 weeks ago I was standing over the kitchen sink for the fifth morning in a row gagging as I washed out Sawyer's sippy cup. I hadn't gotten much sleep that previous night because I'd been up four or five times, running to the bathroom to pee. Denial is a powerful force.

It was several more days before I found myself counting weeks backwards to my last visit from Aunt Flo. Dear old faithful had returned for the first time in 18 months during my vacation to California at the end of March. Several weeks later we celebrated my 33rd birthday and all Scott gave me was a homemade birthday card ("Happy Birthday" jotted down on graph paper with a ball point pen). Our celebration later that evening was just as much of an afterthought.

So there I was, at the beginning of May, calendar in hand and a churning feeling in the pit of my stomach sharing with Scott my most recent calculations. "You don't know how to count," he said. "You don't pay attention to dates." Yes, denial is a powerful force.

I drove 45 minutes to the nearest Wal-Mart to avoid running into anyone I know and bought the test. I figured I'd wait a few more days to actually take it. Scott - the nonbeliever - couldn't even let me finish my lunch. I didn't look at it. I handed it to him. Sure enough, the plus sign was glowing like neon in Vegas.

Denial is one thing, acceptance is another. While we've always said we wanted children close together, this was a bit sooner than we had in mind. Amnesia hadn't set in yet. I could vividly recall those last, uncomfortable months of pregnancy, the details of labor and the days that followed, those first sleepless weeks and months with a newborn. And, dammit, I had just started drinking wine again!

I faked our first ultrasound, (to steal a line from Sex and the City). I plastered on a Cheshire cat smile as Dr. Stout pointed out the baby's head, slug shaped body and heartbeat. The same strained smile got me through the first round of 'congratulations' from friends and coworkers four weeks later.

Now, almost 20 weeks into the pregnancy, I can feel the familiar flutter of the baby stirring inside. I've finally regained my energy, and I've stopped gagging over the sink every morning. I've begun to embrace the benefits of having our children this close together, and I'm even looking forward to our next ultrasound and finding out the sex.

There's no denying that the next two years are going to be a doozy. And I'm in no rush for January 8. I just want to enjoy a few more relatively peaceful months of doting on Sawyer's every little accomplishment. (see Baby Einstein).