Most people feel bad to say the words "we did not plan our pregnancy"; around two years ago I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) and from that point on I realised that the conventional life plan might be unattainable for me. After a month or two of moping around I moved forward with life. Please don't think it was a switch I flicked and everything was okay, it took time and I would have days where I felt like utter crap.
So, Lee (my other half) and I carried on with our life in breezy Brighton (I swear sometimes it is the most blustery place in the UK). I focused on work and working out, trying to become as healthy as possible while maintaining a balanced life. I’d still knock back a fair few glasses of red with plenty of pizza, nachos, or a burger... or three.
2017 started as it always does, Dad Rock! Every year Lee and I have rocked out to our fave rock legends while one of our closest friends DJs. Every year has literally rocked \m/. The year went on, Lee turned 30, plenty of beach BBQs, nights out, tonnes of cheese eating and then before you know it is September and my little sister gives birth to my super cute nephew and the year is it almost up. Around this time I started to feel, well, horrendous. It started with a lack of sleep, nothing new there for me. I’m used to a restless few nights a month where I would run on zero sleep. Then BAM, the opposite, I’d come home from work and be falling asleep at 8pm. I started to ache and to be honest I thought I was coming down with the flu. One Sunday night at the end of September I randomly decided to do a pregnancy test before hopping in the bath to unwind. I literally peed on the stick and it changed to 'positive' in a matter of seconds. POSITIVE?! My heart started pounding, utter shock! I nervously walked into the bedroom and asked Lee if he was in a good mood, he responded “Why? What have you broken?” Through a trembling whisper I said “I think I’m pregnant”. I have never seen him move so fast to jump off the bed and thankfully he was smiling. He stared at the stick and hugged me. Then practical Lee kicked in: "What if it was a dud test? We should a take a few more". I peed on the next one from the pack, same result. He then searched the internet to check what the likelihood of two false positives is. Hurrying out the door, we headed to Tesco to buy a different brand of test (...and washing powder, a few snacks and a bottle of water. We might as well grab a bit of shopping while we were here!) to triple check and ensure I was definitely pregnant. At home, I took the next test. And guess what… Positive! There was no way it wasn’t right.
So who do you tell first? Obviously the parents, first of all was Lee’s Mum, she’d been longing for a grandchild for a while. We thought we’d just send a picture of the test with the caption "shit". The message response was lots of expletives, followed by "are you joking, don't wind me up". As Lee called his mum, I messaged my Sister, then my Mum and finally my Dad. My Mum cried, obviously, but I must say my Dad’s response was great, I don’t have the message anymore but it was something along the lines of “This is great news! I finally have an excuse to buy a new car. I’ll need something big enough to fit all three grandchildren in.”
At the time of posting we are 33 weeks in and must say it still doesn't feel real and I don’t think it will until the baby is here.
