So . . . .

Peter was away on a backpacking trip all weekend. When I peed on the stick on the Fourth of July (in between watching Murphy's Romance, perhaps it is a secret dream of mine to date James Garner?), Peter was far off in the mountains somewhere, diving into glacial lakes and getting really smelly. I didn't even know what the pee stick lines meant, because I'd thrown away the box and directions, so I had to go down the hill to the Long's, which was almost closed up for fireworking, and get another test. I peed on the second stick and yep, it was the same result, and it seemed to mean I was with child. (Or, with Wormy, Elly has nicknamed it Wormy.)

It is way, way early days, and I am trying not to get ahead of myself, and trying to keep on the down low with it. I am just generally trying to be super casual. That's hard though as a diabetic pregnant lady. I'm testing my bloodsugar 10 times a day now (and will probably soon go on a CGM (continuous glucose monitor). I have put myself on a self-inflicted high-protein low-carb diet and am suffering caffeine withdrawal (from only 1 to 2 cups a day, oy). I gave away the red wine to Tom and Chelsea, to whom I also spilled the beans.

Anyway, when I finally told Pee Dizzles he was all jumpy giant sprite troll man excited, but I was already sleepy and grumpy and he smelled really bad from his trek in the woods. I kind of said something to the effect of, yes yes, let's not get too excited, little Wormy may wiggle away, gotta get through the next two months or so and then we'll cross our fingers and hope for the best. His excitement, however, could not be contained. He is way more excited about parenthood than I am, and I think it may have something to do with his general household role in general: court jester, occasional dishwasher, late-night meeting-goer. Seriously though, he helps a lot, but if I'm going to be absolutely realistic I know that it will fall on my shoulders more than his, this little Wormy-kins, both when it's in my belly and out of it.

He has very few questions thus far. This was his first. This morning.

"So . . . can we still have sex, when you're pregnant?"

"Yes, Peter. We can still have sex."

"Like in Knocked Up!"

"Yes, Peter, this entire pregnancy will be just like Knocked Up."

"Boobies."

He didn't actually say that last part, but if he were speaking with absolutely no filter, instead of the 1 percent filter he currently employs, he would have.