Maybe because I’ve already built it up way too much in my head.

Or because I’ve already seen and heard the words thousands of times in a myriad of ways. Or because I’m slightly afraid that whatever I have that comes after this will pale in comparison — not for you, for me. And because I’m afraid and not ready but ready at the same time. Here goes.

I’m pregnant.

F-ing pregnant, People. Holy Mary Mother of Sweet Joseph with an ice cream cone.

I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I’ve been dying to tell you for weeks now. Weeks! Have you any remote idea how difficult it is for someone like me to want to share for weeks and not be able to!!!

All the while making bullshit appearances on here talking about slowing down and enjoying when the truth? The ugly truth was I just plain couldn’t do a damn thing.

Let’s back up, shall we.

The week leading up to our Douglas Lake departure, I didn’t feel right. That was the exact phrase I used, I don’t feel right. Your girl here might love to nap but I don’t really think it’s normal to take three during one day, is it?

I debated between straight up chronic fatigue syndrome or another round of mono. I was convinced that something was seriously wrong when I couldn’t hold a single static yoga pose. I live for that shit and suddenly, I can’t even hold myself up.

On Saturday morning, with one day to go till Michigan, I felt really bad. Like how am I going to even get up and move and pack bad. Something was not right.

And I knew. I knew with that rare kind of knowing that hits you when you are undoubtedly positive. Like mothers. They just always know.

I went to Walgreens. I remember the family coming out as I was walking in, decked out in their baseball and softball gear. I can tell you the name of the woman who rang me up and how I felt like a total embarrassed failure at that counter. What is it about buying pregnancy tests that reduces one to feeling so … illegitimate themselves? Or am I being overly sensitive?

Three miles home that felt like 30. I remember thinking, my entire fate lies in the hands of an f-ing Walgreens plastic bag.

My heart pounded and my hands shook opening the package. The huge knot in my stomach as I looked down — the pure shock of two lines. Surely it couldn’t be right? So I took another. And two more after that.

And I promptly slumped down on the bathroom floor and bawled hysterically. These sobs that kept rising up from some deep place of pure terror inside of me. This can’t be. It can’t be me. Someone else. Someone more deserving. Not me.

I didn’t want it to be true. Anything but this. I’m not ready. We weren’t even trying! How could this be? Not now. No. No. No and hell no.

The BF came home and that pissed me off. Couldn’t I have my breakdown alone? I knew he’d be able to tell something was up immediately, so I didn’t waste anytime. I’m a straight shooter like that. Get the news out. Let it sink in later.

More tears. More bawling. I looked at The BF, who was the picture of calm and certainty and asked between heaving breaths, aren’t you scared? Aren’t you at all terrified?

People. He wasn’t and he still isn’t. What a guy. I’m a mess and he’s never been more sure of something in his entire life. Thank God one of us is.

I don’t mean for any of this to come across the wrong way, but I have to be honest. I’m scared. I’m a complete mix of emotions and I don’t want that to seem as though I don’t care about this little life inside of me. That I’m not happy about it … it’s just a lot take in when you’re not planning on a child any time in the remote near future.

To know that there’s this whole other being you are now responsible for, because I am. I’m responsible for every single thing I put into my body; my thoughts; my mood, how those things now affect The Babe.

I love kids, I’ve just never been all that sure, the older I’ve become, if I wanted them myself. That’s the great thing about having an adorable niece and nephew — You get to do all the fun shit and then when they have a meltdown, pass them back to Mom and Dad. Not my problem.

I’m completely … shocked. Still. I shouldn’t be, but I bet I will be right up until this little bun is done baking — which will be sometime at the end of April. Another Taurus. Fancy that! I already feel afraid for The BF … two of us to handle.

I’m somewhere between 11-12 weeks … definitely past 11 but not quite to 12, or so they think {and because I’m so weird and superstitious on numbers, I figured I’d prefer to tell you now prior to a definitive 12, because 11 sounds way better}. It could very well change as we see what the growth progression is.

A couple months of feeling like a god damn Mack Truck has hit me. LONG ENOUGH. And Douglas Lake! My beloved DL where I took four hour naps everyday and barely moved. Of course, I still moved my ass — nothing is a motivator enough to know I’m going to be growing an entire human to make me want to work out even more, but it was not a pretty sight.

Hell, it still isn’t. I’m slow. My heart rate goes up through the roof. It takes everything in me to get out and actually move and yoga, but I do it. Still haven’t missed a day.

Who am I kidding. It’s hard to do anything. The BF asked me what it’s like. What it’s like is this: chronic fatigue syndrome meets the stomach flu every GD day.

I’m half thankful I’ve been so fatigued, because that means there is less time to worry and almost zero mental energy to put into concern of any sort, for anything.

Find out you’re having a baby and nothing and I do mean nothing will ever be the same. Things you were worried about minutes prior to, suddenly are laughable. Shit gets serious real fast.

Every single thing is different, because every single thing is suddenly seen not as me or I but as we and this baby; my child. There is not one damn thing anyone could have said to me to have prepared me for that … I think I would have burst out laughing if someone would have said, you’ll never even look at a f-ing wall the same.

Walls, People! Can’t even think of them as walls anymore!

Whether or not I’m ready, this kid is coming. And I have about six more months to mentally prepare. When really I need a good six years.

Pray for me. That’s how serious this is. I need prayers. And if you could ask God that I might be able to eat sometime in the next few weeks or months, that’d be great. I’d really appreciate it.

Who would have ever thunk it in a million years. This Total Taurus knocked up with her own Total Taurus. Sweet Jesus. Send prayers.