From Martinis to Maternity

If you would have asked me a year ago what I'd be doing right now..well, it certainly wouldn't be this. I was busy planning my September wedding, and definitely still being me: a little hazardous, but mostly a good girl.

Really, I should have heeded my grandma's warning last May when she very confidently told me that I should quit smoking so much and start taking pre-natal vitamins. She said I was going to be pregnant and have a boy within a year. And he'd be a violin player. I patted her head and reassured her that it was not happening any time soon. I had things to do: get married, plan my April honeymoon (Paris is expensive, so we had to wait), and uh, you know, relish in being a newlywed! Every few weeks she would ask me if I was taking folic acid, and each time I'd say "Mami, give me two years, then I'll have a baby." She'd say, "We'll see. I'm telling you."

February 2007:

Lesson one: Listen to grandma and her tarot cards.
I was a few weeks late. But, seeing as I don't really keep track of these things because my period is usually like clockwork, I really wasn't sure. I kept saying to myself that it was coming. My husband would say, "I think you're pregnant." To which I would, of course respond, "I am a woman, I understand my body. You're a boy, you know nothing of these things." Then he would repeat himself. And then I panicked. We'd always been so careful, so very good about it all!

I can't be. (denial)
There's no way. (serious denial)
How?! (duh)
Ohhhhhh.....that night....martinis....riiiiight. (gotcha)

I took a pregnancy test one afternoon, after my husband kept insisting that I was pregnant. (I mistook a stomach flu-like situation for morning sickness once, so I just happened to have a spare one at home.) I hadn't even stopped peeing on the stick and there was already a bright blue plus sign. Oh shit.

Husband's reaction: "I told you!" Followed by kisses and him swearing to me that he wasn't mad. (I thought he would be livid...having a kid wasn't exactly on his calendar yet.)
Mom's reaction: "FINALLY!" and even though I had just sworn her to secrecy, and told her to not tell anyone until I said it was okay....she screams to her office where my aunt, grandmother and cousin all work, "JESSICA'S PREGNANT!" Thanks mom.
Grandma's reaction: "Duh, I told you. Now what colors do you want for the blanket?"

Pregnancy actually came at an okay time in my life. I had quit smoking on January 1st because I had decided that my new name was "Health" and approaching my 30th birthday I wanted to look and feel hot. I had just joined a gym. I had actually quit drinking. Well, I forced myself due to too many martinis, vodka cranberries, black outs, dancing myself literally into the ground, falling (I'll save the stories about how I got stigmata one year and bashed my face in, losing part of my eyebrow 3 weeks before my wedding, for another time. Yeah, you can call me Class.), and picking fights. I lived up to my nickname for many years, but now Hazard is about to be a mom.

July 2007:

Fast forward. My boobs are HUGE. I can't get over them. I seriously can't wait to get rid of them either. They get in the way and I feel like a lactating porn star. My belly? Huger. Luckily, since I'm having a boy (aww li'l Hazard....God help me) the belly is going straight out and nowhere else. I'm 6 1/2 months pregnant, but I can still fit into my skinny jeans! Yes, granted they are ridiculously low cut, but humor me, I'm pregnant. These things make me feel better.

Last summer, I was planning my wedding. This summer, I'm helping out with planning my baby shower which shall be a co-ed luau. Can't deal with having too many chicks around me because I'll freak the fuck out. In the grand tradition of any sort of party with me involved, there will be plenty of drinking. Not by me, of course. But, if you are coming to my luau, be warned, your humiliation is my ultimate conquest. I may be big, but I'm still a terrorist.