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On March 3, 2012, Mountain Man and I were nose-bleeding it up at a basketball game. By that, I mean we were pretty much in the last row, but we were enjoying ourselves. Around halftime, I could feel the exhaustion setting in. Nine-o-clock, and I was ready to call it a night. Geez, when did I become such a square?! It was then, too, that the guy sharing elbow room with Mountain Man returned to his seat with a hotdog piled high with the most fragrant who-knows-what, and started chowing down. I could deal with tired. I do tired all the time. Besides, I had been dying to go to that game. But tired plus some guy's super smelly snacks? No thanks. It didn't take long before we were back in the car and on the highway headed home. Later, as I went about my usual nighttime routine, I had a suspicion, so I took a pregnancy test. 

June 2, 2012. 16 weeks, 4 days.

How I wish my pinteresting habits were what they are now back then, but alas, they were not even close. Due to the aforementioned, instead of coming up with some painstakingly clever way of announcing to him that we were expecting, I unceremoniously grabbed Mountain Man, and pointed at the incredibly faint vertical line that may or may not have been completing the plus sign. It almost wasn't there, but there it was. Holy. Crap.

I tried to keep our new news to myself, but it was practically spewing out of me. I wanted this baby so bad, and it was all finally happening! My mother got the call moments after we got the positive test, at midnight. I tried to call a few others, but like the (relatively) normal people they are, they were all asleep. I blurted it out to strangers when we ran errands. I especially targeted any employee who helped us anywhere and everywhere, all the while attempting not to plaster it all over Facebook. That lasted all of three days (or two, if you don't count March 3rd), and on March 6th, barely four weeks pregnant, I unleashed our not-so-secret secret. 

38 weeks pregnant

I had roughly two more weeks of newly-pregnant, overwhelming elation. I felt bloated, and could not stop burping to save my life, but otherwise, I felt amazing. Mountain Man and I played  host to a few friends in town for a mutual friend's wedding that took place Saturday, March 16th. We had been talking about Taco Cabana breakfast tacos all week, and finally made it to the drive-thru the next morning (I must add that I ate so many breakfast tacos throughout this pregnancy, we are all lucky that Frank came out a baby, and not a taco. Don't even get me started on their salsa ranch, YUM). I seriously could not wait to get my hands on one of those tacos. The excitement welled up inside of me before we even got out of the parking lot. But to my surprise, it wasn't excitement doing all of that welling. I all but flew out of the car, and threw up in a ditch. This would ultimately set the tone for the rest of my first trimester. I became personally acquainted with several more parking lots, and besides meeting my midwife and a few other little details, it was an all day, all night puke fest. Cute, I know. 

My second trimester was a long, hot, Texas summer. The third was installing new flooring in our house, painting the nursery, baby showers, blood glucose meters, contractions, and waiting. I will spare you a detailed account of my entire pregnancy. It was eventful, to say the least. I intend to be far more patient and creative about spilling the beans whenever baby number two is baking, and have a few ideas in mind already. 

Baby Frank's birth story coming up next.