You're joking, right?

Ok, so I was pregnant. I felt a sea of cold water wash over me as I stared in disbelief at the pregnancy test shaking in my hand. Ok, so it was my hand doing the shaking, not the test. My eyes starting seeing spots and my head felt light as a feather. I had forgotten to remember to breathe. I began to laugh and cry together, choking out sobs between fits of disbelieving giggles. I took several deep breaths and realized that I was still in a public outdoor trailer bathroom at Target. Peeking through the slats in the door I could see other women standing at the mirror, probably frozen in terror at the psychopath giggle-killer having a fit in the stall. I organized myself as best I could and stepped out of the stall into the loudest silence I'd ever encountered. I mashed my teeth together, smiled strained grins and said "I'll just use hand sanitizer" as I shuffled past the makeshift sinks and out of the trailer. It seemed important to me to let those women know I would be cleaning my hands. After all, I was going to be a mother now.

I've never been a person who reacts well in important situations. Once a homeless man attempted to carjack a car I was entering and while my friend calmly called the police I began to run circles around the car, shouting to my friend "Cary, I'm scared!". This time was no different. I drove directly to my husbands work, where he had just begun his day. I entered his building much like I imagine storm chasers entering their RV's: disheveled, heart pounding and ready to vomit. He smiled at me, then, after taking in the sight of me, he quickly brought me to a private room.

Here is where it gets a little tricky. I am a practical jokester. My husband is not. He hates them. I mean hates them. If someone dumped a bucket of ice cubes on me in the shower, I like to think I'd laugh and say "Good one, you really got me there!". Not my husband. I have learned that if would like to stay married, I am not allowed to mess with his shower, his food, or his sleep. That doesn't stop me from hiding around corners and jumping out to scare him, or telling him that the Redskins won (come on, how does he even fall for that one anymore?!), or any other little thing I can think of to mess with his head. So when I showed up at his work and tell him "I'm pregnant" and his response is "Nuh uh" I am not too surprised. So I show him the pregnancy test. He examined the test for a minute and says "Is this a pregnancy test? I don't know what this means." I took out the box and show him that two lines mean pregnant and there are, in fact, two blindingly red lines on my test. "Is this your test? Seriously are you messing with me? If this is a joke it's not funny." I spent the next five minutes convincing my husband that this is not a joke and that I am pregnant and that this is real. I was so busy trying to get him to believe me that I forgot to be freaked out. Then it hits us both at the same time: I am pregnant. This is real.