Entry the first: OMG two lines?

Saying you're ready to start on the path to being parents and actually finding out that you ARE going to be parents are two different things. The wistful idea of "ahh... yes. We're ready. Let's start thinking about this." goes right out the window and is replaced with, "OMG WHAT@!!??? Someone is actually going to trust us with growing and rearing a child??!!"

But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

I took the pregnancy test just about a week ago to quell my fears. After going off birth control (to try to ease my migraines... which worked), my period has been a bit erratic. So, I didn't really lose sleep when it was a few days late. Over the past year, a few days here or there is nothing. But then, I crested a week. Nada. Then, at around a week-and-a-half, I went into denial mode. I actually really thought I could feel cramps and whatnot and prepared accordingly. Nada. I came upon two weeks and then decided that I had to take a test just so I could chill out about the whole thing. I got down to it, peed on a stick (which is its own funny act) and walked out of the room, confident that I would return to find a single line and be on my way to cramp city.

Then, I came back in and glanced at the stick. My jaw literally dropped. I looked about the room from side to side, as if I had a captive audience that could say, "oh my, really?" in response to my slack-jawed wonder. My only audience was our cat, Nansi, as Tim was out DJing. Two pink lines. I looked back at the handy guide on the front of the pee stick. Two lines = preg-o. I looked back at the indicator. Two lines. Easy as pie. I was knocked up.

Thus starts the insanity.

I called Tim and, with the thumping of beats in the background, broke the news. He was extremely excited and supportive. He was calm, clear, composed and beaming. I was undulated between being thrilled and terrified. I was in shock. I still kept looking down at the thing. Two lines. Preg-o. Not one- two lines. Goodbye, cramp city. Hello PTA, car seats, field trips, accidentally teaching the kid to curse with my awful driving etiquette, high school proms, high chairs, burp towels, long nights, rearing a young Guitar Hero prodigy and family vacations.

I'm scared that I will suck as a parent. I'm scared because I grew up with less-than-happy circumstances and I am praying for nuture versus nature. I am praying that I have done enough pulling up of the ol' bootstraps from a childhood of pain, loss, confusion and dysfunction to win over and become the best parent I can be. I'm hoping that I have more of my Mom's genetics than my Dad's. I am hoping the kid at least looks back at me and says, "you know, you did OK." I'm happy to graduate with a C+/B-, good try!

Tim I am not worried about. Tim will be the best parent. He will be the overly-prepared Sue type parent (modeled after his Mom. Always juggling things and keeping scatter-brained people like me in line).

Having a kid has already been the most daunting and wonderful thing I've ever experienced. I am crossing my fingers that all goes well. I'm at six weeks now- the "danger zone" in some respects. There are possibilities of miscarriage, but I don't know. For some foolish reason, I really believe this will be just fine.

I was driving home on Monday in the rain and I found myself crying. I was crying for the stress of feeling ready yet un-prepared. I was crying for feeling like I've been promoted to some grand position of Mother overnight and I just don't have the human resources or skill set to deal with it, though DAMN, I'm really flattered to even be offered the title. I was crying to think of how wonderful it will be to play with the larvae in our backyard, teach it to garden and maybe hula-hoop. I was crying because I was scared I might muck this up.

But then, I looked up and I saw a rainbow. And that may be cheesy as crap, but it somehow made me feel like this would all be OK.