Birth Story Chapter 1: One day late on posting my story about being 3 weeks late

One of my very favorite bloggers, Sarcastic Mom, is hosting a Birth Story Carnival, inviting all bloggers to tell their stories. I’ve had this carnival on my calendar since it was announced several weeks ago and it would be just like me to get an IKEA hankering on the day of the carnival. I’ve never managed to get out of that forsaken place in less than several hours, and last night was no different. Result: I didn’t even sit down to the computer yesterday. So if you want to get all technical, I'm a day late for the carnival. But I’m still sharing my story with you. And since I’m already late anyway, I suppose it’s not a problem if I tell my story in a few installments instead of plopping in all the details into one post for you to fall asleep over. This is one of the stories I hold closest to my heart. It’s quite remarkable, yet I don’t tell it very often at all.

Here’s the prologue.

And now, our birth story:

********UPDATE********
Oh GREAT, I've created some sort of awkward silence - zero comments. So let me add that the next chapter brings an unexpected twist and this story starts to look much more pretty, very, very soon. No need to feel bad for me just because I used the "F" word. Promise. :)
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Chapter 1: 90 Surprises in Under 3 Months

He was different from other guys. Other guys opened doors for me. Fine. This guy pushed in my chair at dinner. He held my coat open for me to slide my arms in. He turned the heater in his car on full blast to keep me from shivering, even though it made him sweat. He deeply respected me. He wasn't too cool to be goofy. He didn't kiss me until Thanksgiving, our fourth date.
And by Christmas, we knew we were forever.
And by New Years, he had picked out a ring.
And by Spring, we had tied the knot.

We came home from our honeymoon to our brand new 600 square foot apartment. Okay, actually it was 40 years old, but it was brand new to us. Our first home together was perfectly tiny. The kitchen had 6 square feet of counter space (I really did measure it).

We woke up every morning at 6:00am to workout and eat breakfast together. After work we’d make dinner together and then cuddle together on the couch, watching television and munching on kettle corn and slices of fresh swiss cheese (not in the same mouthful). Life was so sunny and golden. We were caught up in the whirlwind of newlywed uber-BLISS. So caught up, I didn’t even notice that my body was going through some very rapid, very major changes.

One morning, just several weeks after our May wedding, I was getting dressed, and my size 10 jeans didn’t fit. Man, I couldn’t get that zipper up for the life of me! And here's the real proof I was all fogged over in newlywed bubble-land: It. Didn’t. Even. Phase me. I thought to myself, “Ah, yes. Must be the newlywed 10.” (I don’t know, something similar to the Freshman 15?) As if it was some unavoidable fact of life that would magically resolve itself later. And if that’s not nutty enough for you, it also didn’t bother me to find out later that evening while trying on new jeans that the “newlywed 10” made me jump from a size 10 clear up to a size 14.

But then, a couple weeks later, the same thing happened. My new 14s suddenly didn’t fit anymore. That night I found myself in the dressing room with dozens of hangers ranging from sizes 10 to 22. I left the store with a sac full of 18s and 20s, self conscious and confused. I hadn’t changed my eating habits much at all. I hadn’t become more sedentary. What was going on? I walked to my car with my sac of clothes, newly wed and newly fat. Two and a half months previous, my husband married a thin, beautiful, happy woman. And now some strange enchantment had turned me into a fat person. I was ashamed. I was ugly. I was pissed as hell.

As I drove home that night, I planned the whole thing out: weight loss is mathematical, right? CALORIES IN minus CALORIES OUT = WEIGHT LOSS. I would eat no more than 900 calories per day and do an hour of cardio each morning. I walked in the front door, took three steps forward (in order to cross our tiny living room, go through our minuscule kitchen, and enter our strangely normal-sized bathroom). I stepped on the scale to see just how bad it was.

WHOA.

220 lbs.

WHAT!?

It’s impossible to gain 90 pounds in less than 3 months. Right? RIGHT? Well, at least I had a plan to get it back off. I estimated I'd be back to my normal size in about double the time it took me to gain all this, and that felt conservative. So the next morning, I got to it! I had never worked out so hard in my life. And I stuck with it, too. Every single day for a week and a half, and then? On July 30, 2002 I realized my period was 3 weeks late.

My heart started pounding so hard I was sure I was seconds from a heart attack. I couldn’t believe this was really, truly happening. I couldn’t hide my anxiety behind my newlywed smile any longer. Not even one second longer. I threw myself onto my bed and sobbed into my husband's pillow, staining it with 2 coats of mascara and pink eye-shadow. What could I tell my husband when he got home from work? Three months married, fat, and now pregnant!?

…to be continued.

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