At 27, in a doctor’s office being examined for a kidney infection would be the last place in the world you’d expect (or even want) the news, “Congrats! You’re pregnant!”. However, it was the place where I found out that I was, indeed, 12 weeks pregnant.

My head spinning, feeling like my world was ending, I texted my boyfriend, (yes, I TEXTED HIM, at work no less) ‘I’m pregnant”. It took a good 5 minutes for a response. This was no surprise, I could only imagine the look on his face, when he got the message. He responded, “When life hands you lemons . . . lemons . . lemons . . ” As odd as it was it made me laugh. At least he was handling it alright for now. After the text, I took a shower, and laid down. I needed an escape. When I woke up I was greeted with kisses and flowers.

End fairy tail scene.

My pregnancy was HELL, and I’m putting it nicely. I had sickness after sickness, kidney stones, rashes, IV’s, shots, pills, the whole nine yards, and to top it off my son was born 5 weeks early. There were no complications, he just wanted the hell out, who could really blame him? But the question really was, was I ready for him to be out?

No, not in the slightest.