Introduction!

My friends and family keep asking if I'm going to blog about being pregnant/having a baby and I have always hesitated a) because I don't really blog about personal things. I mean, I blog about my friend's STDs, and my boobs, and how I am the champion of drinking myself to sleep - but nothing that personal. And b) because when I just typed that sentence, you know the one with "being pregnant/having a baby" in it I had a minor little freak out/meltdown in my head, and then I did again when I just had to retype it. Because you can know you're with child all you want, but the second you type it out it makes it real. Like, seriously real. Watch, I'll do it with something else:

Amy will win a million dollars today.

See, now I have to figure out what to do with all that cash.

Anyway, it's not bad-real, it's just not something you're ever prepared for. No matter how badly you want it. I don't care what you say, you can in-vitro the crap out of yourself, or unprotect your sexing 'til the cows come home, the minute it sinks in - like, really sinks in - your mind is going to explode into a million tiny little pieces and then put itself back together all jumbled, and drooling, and asking for a giant martini.

That being said, I am really, really, really happy! And excited! And elated! And lucky! And blessed! And all of that stuff. Believe me, I'm so thrilled I sometimes can't stop smiling. But, until you've had a human growing inside of you, all alien-like, you might not understand that you can be simultaneously overjoyed beyond belief and terrified to absolute death. More terrified than the first time you showed up to a school dance and realized you forgot to put deodorant on. (Winter Fantasy 1995)

So, I guess the answer is, yes. I'm gonna write about it. And take pictures of things people don't want to see, and things they do. And my baby daddy is probably going to be horribly embarrassed about all of this - but I like the idea of documenting it so we can remember. So that when we're sleep deprived, or when our sixteen year old is sneaking out of the house, or when we get puked on, we can look back and remember how we got here, and how much love, and hope, and faith we have for each other and for this unborn little guy or girl. We can remember it all.

One overjoyed and terrified step at a time.