Only Me

Here’s one for the “it could only happen to me” file.

On Saturday, I went to my friend Chloe’s birthday party.  It was her 30^th, and she had decided to relive her 10^th birthday with 90s themed decorations, food, and games.  One of the games that she and her husband had planned was a massive Capture the Flag battle.  Fun, right?

Yes, except for the fact that they had re-imagined it into a drinking game.  Instead of flags, we were retrieving bottles of booze, which we had to bring back to our safe zone and chug in order to win.

Oh, and the bottles each had our names on them, so that there could be no cheating by not having someone drink their own bottle.

Oh, and the bottles had all been pre-filled, so I couldn’t fill mine up with something non-alcoholic.

Oh, and Henry was not on my team to help me be sneaky.  In fact, most of my teammates were people I didn’t know very well.

Henry and I were giggling SO HARD when the rules for the game were explained.  I’d been pregnant a week and was suddenly in one of the hardest to get out of drinking situations of my life?

Thankfully, Chloe knows we’ve been trying (though not the details of my infertility) and is used to me occasionally being a teetotaler for a week or two, so I was able to just pull her aside and say “What if you’re not drinking?”  There must have been something different in my voice because she said “For real this time?!” but thankfully she recovered and said that I didn’t have to answer that before I stammered out something awkward.  She gave me permission to pour out my bottle instead of drinking it, which I did and all was well.

So, the rumors have probably started. (Really, they probably started last week when I passed up the opportunity to have $1.25 good beer, but I was able to use the Lent excuse that time).

Anyway, ultrasound tomorrow!  I’m feeling much better about my beta numbers, so thank you all for the reassurance.  It’s so easy when you’re reading stories on the internet to focus on the ones that turn out badly instead of the ones that turn out well.  When I forced myself to look only at the ones that were closer to my actual situation, it seemed like those usually ended up fine.  Next time I do this, I might just ask for the initial beta number but then only have the nurse tell me if I'm rising at an acceptable rate.  Too much information = too much stress.

All that is not to say that I’m not still very nervous; however, I will be exactly six weeks tomorrow so there’s a pretty good chance that I will get to see a heartbeat to ease my worries.  Henry is hoping for two, but to me and my nerves that just seems greedy.  I say let’s stick with one good one.

I promise to keep you updated!