It Has Finally Happened, Or, How The Stubborn Spirit Of A Spunky Twenty Something Is Trampled To Death And Spat On And How She Got Her Groove Back

It all happened because I woke up on Sunday morning wanting a diet coke. If it weren't for that lousy diet coke . . .

My boobs were sore for a whole week but I was ignoring it. I've had every pregnancy symptom and then some. I think the pregnancy symptoms like to come every now and then to test my reflexes, see if I'm paying attention.
I've gotten pretty good at identifying pregnancy symptoms. That one time I turned around too fast and hit my elbow on the door frame and then endured days of bruising? Pregnancy.
That one time I ate too many M&Ms and felt sick for hours afterwards? Totally morning sickness. And here I was with the throbbing boobs again. And all I wanted was a diet coke.

Usually if I want a diet coke I just drink one, not having been prompted to the testimony of a soda-free life I tend to enjoy my diet cokes the way I enjoy a good prayer meeting, with holiness a clear conscience and an opening hymn.
But only if you are pregnant then you don't drink diet cokes. Written in stone, that one.
And I, I had these sore boobs and all.

I thought about it as I lay in bed Sunday morning letting the cool air slowly drift me awake. Sundays are hard on me. Three hours of sitting on uncomfortable chairs and being a good example and trying to get my husband to tickle my back, it's exhausting. That diet coke was going to start me off right I could just feel it. Only after a whole week of the throb throb throb, I thought that maybe I out to reconsider that diet coke, just this once.
I ran through my mental checklist. On the one hand was my sore boobs, my late penchant for weepiness. The other hand (the stupid hand) a PMS pimple right above my right eye, and also those 16 years of never-missed-a-period-why-start-now.
Then I recalled my other other hand, my Clear Blue Digital hand, leftover from when I recently decided that waiting for a period to surprise me was only bringing about pain and mental anguish and frustration and far too much suspense. And I could just use it while I brushed my teeth . . .

That's how it started.
Here's how it ended:
Tears in Sacrament meeting
Tears in Sunday school
A lot of chocolate in Mutual
Grumpiness on the couch after church
An email from my cousin Sarah

It turns out that what I hate the very most about this life of pious infertility is when people who are pregnant get it into their heads that they have to apologize or tip-toe around us or even worse, not tell us.
Look out! She's infertile! She's going to hate you and curse you and stick pins into her voodoo dolls and cry for the rest of her life and then HATE YOU.
What, didn't I tell you? I haven't gotten pregnant yet, therefore nobody on this planet can until I do. I mean, COME ON. What was you going to do, friend? Pretend you are just "fat?" Have the baby and then it is invisible?
"Who this? Oh, I'm just babysitting and . . . ???"

You who can get pregnant, allow me to spell it out for you, all helpful like:
We are happy for you! LET US be happy for you!

And this is how I came to the conclusion that I am over it.
I am done with it, the tip-toeing and the tears. I'm finished with the eyes misting up when sitting in church behind a large family, all the girls with their matching shoulders. I'm done with it. I'm done with praying and asking and hoping and expecting.

I am over it.


In the late afternoon sun I watched my cute husband eat a turkey sandwich on my red adirondack chair. I announced my news.
"I am over it" I breathed in relief.
"Good!" he said.
He turned his face to the sky and shouted.
"Do you hear that, Heaven? We don't want any babies down here!"
"NOT US!" I yelled.
"Don't you even send us any!" Holbs hollered. "We won't take them!"
"Just you keep them to yourselves!" I agreed. It felt good.

As I shouted to the eternities I thought I could just see those Heavenly angels attending to me. I imagined their understanding smiles and the way they flew off to direct our message.


  1. I agree, I hate it when people are afraid to tell you they are pregnant because they know you have been trying. Seriously, are we that selfish that we can't be happy for our good friends that are so happy they are pregnant. I can't tell you how many times I didn't hear right away that some of my friends were pregnant because they "felt bad for me"

  2. I had one friend apologize to me by saying "I'm 8 weeks pregnant, don't hate me". So I did anyway. Hate her I mean. I just thought it appropriate.

    Oh Stella, I love it when you get your groove on.

  3. Kalli, I deem your reaction highly appropriate. People who think that way are just asking for it, really.

  4. doesn't it feel good? i gave up a couple of months ago. nothing feels better, i promise.

  5. Happy birthday to the Holbs, and happy mentally freeing day to you!

  6. That's right. It's my B-day. 32 years and I have the cutest wife in the world! Just so ya know... her's is October 2nd. But I'll let her tell you what age she's turning...

  7. Jack plus Alli, I don't think I believe you, but here's to hoping!

  8. Oh Sweet One you are making me cry. Not the ugly cry but a pretty cry with wistfulness and then a teeny bit of joy because of how beautifully well suited you and Holbs are. Calling out to the cosmos? Brilliant. Perfect.

    And to the well matched man, The Holbs? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!


    I can say that ya know.

    Hang in there my sweet. Your little miracle will come soon. And you'll be better for the waiting.

    I just know these things:)
    love you tons!!!!

  10. I don't have anything good to say Miss Natalie, but I like what your mom (must be your mom) said. :)

  11. Nat! this broke my heart! you are going to be the bestest mom, you will. I hope you get your baby soon. REALLY soon. even though you are finished I will pray and fast for you. I love you!!
    Happy Birthday Holbs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  12. Thany, thank you for your pretty cry (I love that, by the way). (As if anything from YOU could be UGLY!)

  13. Kristin, it's my aunt Nikki! (My mother is "too cool" for my blog!)

    And Nik darling, will you please come up to Moscow with your four rugrats and let me kiss their perfect little faces? I've been missing you guys!

  14. I wish the Holbs a happy belated birthday because I think I'm too far away from Moscow in Albuquerque for him to be grumpy about it.

  15. Love the blog. I might have a slightly inappropriate crush on your hubby. (I'm irish and have a weird thing for red hair) Keep up the hilarity!

  16. i thought being assigned to the nursery was god's way of telling me i'd never have kids, so use these substitutes instead! it really helped. being with those kids every week make me less bitter and more hopeful. i was quickly released though... so i don't know what that means. but yes, it is horrible when friends keep their good news to themselves because they assume it will hurt. do they think i walk around all day with my eyes closed so i won't see ANYONE'S kids?



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