So after feeling like I was going to get my period (sore rack, tender nethers) for about three solid weeks, it finally dawned on me that maybe something else was going on here. So on Thursday, Thanksgiving, I peed on some sticks, and lo!

Marco and I are hugely terrified and a small glimmering little bit of excited too. But for two people who only just recently evolved from balancing dinner on our knees in front of the television to to buying an actual dining table, this feels like a pretty big leap.

We haven’t told any parents yet, since I don’t want to get them all charged up until we make it past the traditional 3 month point — what with me being 38 and this being my first time, it seems this is all probably still pretty touch and go, statistically speaking?

But in the meantime, we’re both sort of walking around in a daze, wondering if this really happening or not, and if we’re really ready or not. For instance the very first day we knew we were pregnant, it turns out I did at least five different terrible and wrong things that the internet has since told me are going to melt the baby, including:

• Fondling uncooked poultry (in the form of a 20-pound turkey, thanks thanksgiving!)
• Emptying the litterbox
• Luxuriating in a a hot bath
• Advil-ing it up
• Coffee, coffee, coffee!

Not to mention the booze I sipped earlier in the month, back when I was young and fancy free.

I’m not so sure I’m going to be so good at this? Eek?

I’ll tell you one thing, though, the television embargo is OFF. If I’m not allowed to sip wine or beer or White Russians, then the television is going to be my only mind-numbing respite. Thanks, Top Chef, Samantha Who? and How I Met Your Mother (all of which I binged upon last night) for soothing this new adult’s churning, worrying brains!