Plot Twist!

I’ve read somewhere that when something changes in your life just yell “Plot Twist!” and move on.

Well I should have read that sooner because this, dear reader, is how my life was irrevocably changed and how I became lactose tolerant again.

Let me paint you a picture:

It’s mid-October

I had gotten off early from work, for whatever reason eludes me, and instead of going home I decided to stop by my best friend Lena’s house. I had a tendency to stop by and check with Lena and the twins (my favorite toddlers so far) just to see what she or the boys have gotten up to. Also, she is my resident mommy expert and we share similar points of view on many things.

We were sitting in her dining room just talking, and I was telling her how I was late, which is sometimes normal for me, but my “spidey sense” was tingling. She so nonchalantly told me “Why don’t you just carry your ass to the VA and get a test, they do them every Tuesday and Thursday?”

Of course I had the excuses and had taken a test a week prior and it came out negative. In my head it didn’t seem possible. I had just gotten primo orders to Hawaii, which meant I would get to spend two years in San Diego first. I was finally leaving the frozen tundra known as the Midwest. my husband and I were excited, hell we were even looking at houses.

But all the excuses couldn’t hold up to Lena’s mom look. She has it down pat. I mean she’s so good that sometimes when she yells at the kids, I respond. She’ll be like “Sit down!” (talking to the twins) and my ass in the seat apologizing. So I conceded to going to the VA the next day to take the test.

That wait was hell let me tell you. I didn’t say anything to my husband: he’s very excitable. I love him but, as I say to him most of the time, he emotes enough for the both of us. Also, I was sitting through class trying to focus on teaching.

So when the time finally came I went over to the VA and peed in the cup. Everything was so nonchalant, the ladies at the desk were all calm, cool and collected; and I’m standing there internally screaming. I sat there and waited in the lobby for the results. It took about 3 mins, but felt like 20 mins, and the VA is one of those places where it’s a cellphone black hole. I mean 0 bars not even roaming. So I was stuck with either reading baby magazines (not helpful) or watching Sponge Bob (which I loathe).

Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that I didn’t want kids. It’s just the way the military is set up is if a service woman is pregnant she is non-deployable for a year and I was in my last winter there. Anyone who has experienced a Midwest Arctic tundra would understand.  By non-deployable I mean they don’t hold my orders until I’m ready to go I can go. They are gone. Do not pass go, do not sit on white sandy beaches for the next 5 years.

Anyway, back to the wait from hell. When I was on the verge of saying f this and just email me, they call my name. I walk to the desk with the Imperial March from Star Wars playing in my head; you know, the song that plays when Darth Vader shows up?  I get to the desk the nurse is standing there with a clipboard.

Nurse: Good Afternoon Miss Mac

Me: Ma’am *screaming in my head*

Nurse: So your results came back positive, so we are going to need to get you set up with a Natal RN and get you a referral to an OBGYN. We have a list in case you don’t have one in mind.

Me: Oh sh*t what? You said huh?

Nurse: Oh I’m sorry do you need a moment? We can go in the back and discuss all this.

Me:*deep breaths* Naw I’m good keep going

Nurse: As I said your results were positive, so-

Me: Oh sh*t

Nurse: Are you sure you’re ok?

Me: Maybe we should go in the back.

So we go in the back and continues her whole spiel like she’s telling me I need a regular ass checkup. I mean I’m in there in utter disbelief. I don’t feel pregnant, the over the counter test said negative, but false positives are a thing. So she finishes her spiel and I look at her.

Me: So this is really a thing like I’m going to have a baby

Nurse: Yes ma’am

Me: Like for sure like I should tell my husband.

Nurse: (straight faced, calm, cool and collected) Well if it’s his then I’d say yes.

When I tell you it took everything in me not to flip out on this woman; I mean, it took everything in me. In that moment I was a testament to self-control, a Zen master in this bi**h. I don’t know what level of scandalous, Lifetime movie drama she be dealing with on Tuesdays and Thursdays for her to be so calm about coming out the side of her neck and say some… let me stop. It’s not her fault I can’t judge maybe she’s seen some things, but still way to kill my moment.

If it’s his… the nerve

Anyway they gave me the paperwork to give to work about the change in my status and I had to figure out how to tell my husband.

I spent some time on my way to my house, and then work, figuring out how to tell him. Should I go the cute video route, should I get him a present make it a thing? Since it was a thing, but seeing as I was still on shift and as a military member, I am obligated to inform my command of any status change: I couldn’t wait and set something up all cute. After all, the least I could do was let him be the first to know.

So I called him and told him I had to talk to him about some stuff; I was on lunch early so I’d meet him at his job. I drive the 10 mins to his job, and he’s in the parking lot. I see him,  look at the papers on my passenger seat, take a deep breath and grab them.  I got out the car and met him at his car and hand him the paperwork that officially states I’m pregnant.

He reads it looks at me, looks at the papers and says “seriously?” I nod and he immediately bursts into tears. Not misty tears, but full on ugly cry…awkward.  Judging from his similar reaction to them pronouncing us Mr. and Mrs. Mac, I knew these were happy tears.  I gave him a hug and a kiss and looked deeply into his eyes, at this point if I had read that quote earlier I would have said “plot twist”, but instead I said “Soo… you good, cause I have to get back to work.”

And this is why my husband sometimes tells me I have the emotional range of a potato.

Oh I almost forgot about the milk, apparently being pregnant has made me no longer lactose intolerant, I pretty sure that’s my husband’s genes doing that. Plot Twist!