Two Pink Lines.

I couldn't believe it when I saw them. There they were, however: both as clear as day, and both appearing instantaneously (and not after the 3 required minutes). It was as if the Scary Little Stick had known that my nerves couldn't take the delay.

Five weeks earlier, Cal and I had made the big decision while we were out on one of our semi-regular neighborhood walks. Neither of us had really felt ready for kids, but we also had to be practical. I'm 30. He's 31. We didn't have time to wait until that ready feeling hit, especially considering the family members that we had who had taken months, years even, to conceive. If we wanted more than one, we'd have to take the risk now. Surely no one ever truly feels ready, we consoled ourselves. Plus, it'll be several months before anything happens. We can get used to the idea in the meantime.

And yet here I was, facing the reality that I, of the four of us, am Mom's Fertile Daughter. She had always warned us when we were in high school that "Girls, you come from a very fertile family!" And now, staring at me after one month off the pill, was proof that she wasn't just trying to scare her headstrong daughters into abstinence. She was telling the truth.

Cal wasn't home at the time. We had joked for a couple of weeks about the possibility, but neither one of us really believed it might be true. He got home from softball practice a couple of hours later and asked his usual, "Did you hear from anyone? Email? Phone calls?" And then, with a smirk on his face, "Are you pregnant?"

He couldn't believe it either. He wanted to know if that was possible. I told him that, obviously, it was.

Over 6 weeks later, and we've seen the baby and heard the heartbeat. So far, the only other sign that anything is different is that I've had waves of nausea (but no vomiting), not wanted to eat a thing (now that's a change), and experienced an ever-expanding waistline. My weight has stayed the same, but I can't button my pants. I am currently living without a pair of jeans to my name. I'm down to about four outfits, all of which are stretchy, empire-waist dresses. Thank goodness for the latest fashion and its friendliness to a poochy belly.

I read ahead in my What to Expect ... book to next month's changes and was shocked to see this line: "By the end of this month (next month for me, remember), you may start to outgrow your clothes." Seems I'm a month ahead as far as that's concerned. I told Cal the other day that I'm facing all the frustrations of gaining weight without the pleasures of food to appease me. Getting fat without eating milkshakes, french fries, and oreos? What a killjoy.

I've also felt the infamous "first trimester fatigue," although I wonder how much of it can actually be attributed instead to school starting back up. I'm always tired this time of year, and I usually have caffeine to help me through. Early mornings, no diet cokes, and a tiny parasite growing inside of my stomach? I don't stand a chance.

Cal hates it when I refer to the baby as a parasite, by the way. But, technically, isn't that what it is? Maybe if it were growing inside of him, he'd understand. Can I get an Amen, ladies?

I'm 10 weeks along and due the first week of April. The timing is perfect, as, theoretically, it'll enable me to stop work at spring break for my maternity leave and not go back until next Fall. We weren't going to tell the folks at school until the end of the first 12 weeks, but rumors started flying the first week of classes. Since only family at that time knew the news, it had to just be teenage speculation, but they happened to be right. Things had gotten so out of hand that we decided to go ahead and confirm it yesterday. Since then, news has spread like wildfire. Welcome to Macon.

So, how am I handling the emotions, the reality of it all? Well, I'll admit that I still don't feel ready. I'm in the midst of mourning the loss of spontaneous trips to the likes of Vegas and Puerto Rico, and sad to see our newlywed time come to an end. I'm grappling with the realization that things between Cal and me will never be the same as they have been in this last year as a married-with-no-kids couple. And I'm scared to death that my maternal instinct won't kick in like everyone says it will as soon as I see my baby for the first time.

I comfort my uneasiness, however, with this knowledge: if something were to happen and I were to lose this child, I would be very, very sad. So who knows? Maybe I'm ready to do this thing after all.