Arrivederci Ravioli...

Suddenly, as I'm googling away on my laptop I came to a sickening realization - I was going to have to give up my first love of 13 years, Ravioli.
There I was, an idealistic 24 year old, finishing my BA in Regina.  I had a string of bad luck with cars - first a money pit Ford Probe ($6000 in less than a year!), then bought a brand shiny new Toyota Paseo to have a guy run a red light and destroy her 4 months after I got it. 
I was feeling distraught, searching dealerships and test driving until I was a combination of annoyed from dealer dudes totally ignoring me unless Daddy dearest was with me and completely confused because all I know about cars is how to put gas and windshield washer fluid in and change out my spare tire.
Then one magical day, I went to the used lot at Toyota... And miracles of miracles, a super nice salesman (who it turns out had a daughter too) came right up to me to ask how I was doing!  I told him I thought I wanted a brand spanking new Rav4 and none of the new car people would give me the time of day, so he marched right over and we test drove my Ravioli's cousin (I didn't like the colour and wanted a standard) 
It was love at first drive.
I completely forgot the play-it-cool mantra of buying new cars and signed on the dotted line and handed over almost all my money - at least I was graduating from university so all those tuition dollars got me a discount big enough to cover the taxes.
All that was left was for Toyota to save my dear little Ravioli from the clutches of Winter-peg, and drive her to my door.  I picked her up with just over 600 km on her from her trek out of the wilderness and we've been best friends ever since.

Now the reason her name is Ravioli - she only has 2 doors and isn't much longer than a smart car.  Crap.  No room for a baby and baby stuff. On to kijiji and there, posted about the same time as the appearance of the dreaded blue cross was an ad: "WANTED: A 2 door, 2WD, manual transmission RAV4."
The exact description of my baby.  Email the guy, then he test drove it with his wife. I could see the look in their eyes - Ravioli had them under her adorable little car spell.  Then he offered me 5 grand in crisp $100 bills. 
Just like that I said good-bye to my partner through most of my adult life.  Arrivederci Ravioli...  Great, now I want pasta.

Is this pregnancy or prison?

So being a newly pregnant woman with a ton of snow outside, I did what anyone would do - I started googling.

1. What can't a pregnant woman eat?
There's the obvious ones - no alcohol or caffeine.  Duh.
For the rest, could I get some consistency?  Eat fish, but not too much fish - too much mercury and definitely no delicious, soy sauce and wasabi drenched sushi.  
Eat fruit but not too much tropical fruit and not too much juice or you'll get gestational diabetes - oh wow, more needles. How fun. 
Eat veggies but some will make you extra special in the gaseous fumes department. 
No hot dogs (unfortunately, no buts - my inner 5 year old loves hot dogs). 
Soft cheeses - bu-bye my beloved brie and camembert (mind you, since I can't have the accompanying wine, what's the point?). 
Meat has to be cooked to medium well - okay for most stuff but talk about making a delicious slab of cow unappetizing.
Eggs seem okay... wait!  No runny yolks?!?  No sampling of raw cookie dough batter?!? Blasted.

2. What to do about nausea when pregnant?
Ginger, flat gingerale, peppermint, baths... So in the groundbreaking world of pre-natal research, you don't know why I'm sick and your only solutions are the same ones my mom and grandma have given me for upset tummies since I was a kid.  Gee thanks.

3.  Boy or a girl?
This looks like it may be kind of fun - an old wive's tale quiz to tell me what the sex is going to be!  I know, it really doesn't mean much, but what the hell?  Craving salty - my usual chocolate bars out the window (I apologize to share holders in Kit Kats as your stock prices are going to drop substantially), Nauseous all the time, yes, no, yes, no, maybe, boobs are the same size - press the results button... 50% chance of a boy, 50% chance of a girl.  Does that mean I'm having a hermaphrodite?!?

I hate to say it, but Google is letting me down. I'm even more confused and now I'm concerned about hermaphrodites.  Maybe I should just go have some pizza.

I want my Mommy

Okay, so there's a cross.  Shit.  There's a cross. A friggin' blue cross on this friggin' pregnancy test.
(Insert a rather long and colourful Tourette's syndrome-worthy diatribe)

Hands start shaking and the tears start running... Tyler is so excited and I'm just shaking and the first thing that pops into my head - I want my Mommy.  Not a rational "I should inform my parents of this developing situation" kind of impulse, but the I-just-fell-off-my-bike-and-only-Mommy-can-make-it-better kind of impulse.
Thank God for speed dial on my crackberry because I don't know if I do more than hold down one button right now.  Phone ringing... Ah... Mommy answers.  Try to sound cool although I realize my voice sounds closer to the suppressed panic of one being chased by an axe murderer.  Of course, being THE MOMMY, she knows something's up.  I tell her I have a little surprise and that - I'm pregnant.
I can hear it in her voice.  She is struggling between concern for her one and only daughter who seems set on having a slight aneurysm and sheer delight - the fact that, after so many years of hope and eventual waning of said hope, she was going to get to be, better late than never, THE GRANDMA.  Not the Auntie, or the Cousin, but THE GRANDMA.
You see my Mom loves babies.  I know, I know, you're saying who's Mom doesn't like babies? I mean my Mom really loves babies.  To the point that family members know they will have a blood match on their hands if my mother does not get her requisite time holding the newborn.  She even spends her free time as a volunteer at the hospital as a baby hugger - she can sit for HOURS (not even a slight exaggeration) cuddling and cooing and rocking at least once a week.
Crap, my child isn't gonna learn to walk until they're 2 because she isn't gonna put them down.
Where's Dad when I need him.

Damn you Clear Blue Easy

I need to start at the beginning but what really is the beginning?  Is it the fact that for the last few weeks, I just have felt off.  You know, off. 
Food that I adore just didn't taste... right.  I mean, the delicious, sweet, soft heaven that is a cupcake should make my spirits soar!  Instead, I tentatively took a little lick of icing.  Mmm good.  More icing.  Mmm even better.  Time to dive in and take a giant bite of chocolate-y cake-y yumminess to get back... nothing.  Actually scratch that.  Worse than nothing.  A slight feeling of revulsion.  Don't get me wrong, being the trooper that I am, I powered through and finished the whole cuppycake, but afterwards, I needed a nap and flat gingerale. Curses.
Now it's not just that... It was nausea.  Constant nausea - the super bitch of pregnancy.  Morning sickness is the biggest load of bullsh*t I ever heard.  Morning I could handle but 24-7, making me sick while I watch a food related commercial (KFC - pack your knifes, you are kicked off the island, you're fired) is f*ing ridiculous.
Of course, I heard the "Maybe, you're, you know..." with a grand sweeping gesture over the stomach area... To which I responded, what, fat?!  Have indigestion?  Being affected in a new weird and wonderful way by Calgary's chinook winds? To be greeted with rolling eyes and the whisper out of the corner of the mouth of... maybe you're pregnant.
PREGNANT?!  Ya right. I'm 37 and careful. You don't get to 37 without kiddies without being CAREFUL. 
So there I was.  It was the weekend.  I made Tyler (my boyfriend and baby daddy) get off the couch and away from his marathon of pawn-related programming to go to Safeway with me to get a roast chicken and pregnancy test - if I'm going to do this, I ain't doing it on an empty stomach!  Better get some salads and buns too while I'm at it...
I digress.  We come back to our little charming 1 bedroom apartment.  I eat and savour my roast chicken (which doesn't taste right either dammit), drink copious amounts of water and head to the bathroom to just DO IT ALREADY.
Read the instructions.  Control window to make sure the test is working properly, line means nothing, cross means something, results in 2 minutes.  Got it.
Sit on toilet (skip to next paragraph if this is TMI) and had a slight case of stress related pee blockage.  Talk to myself, saying reassuring things to myself like the fact that I'm a careful 37 year old woman and there's no way and this is just to rule this out so I can figure out what the H-E-double hockey sticks is going on.  AHHHHHH... finally a stream.  stick the Clear Blue Easy stick in, pull it out, wipe off with a little TP and...
Holy crap.  It's been like 10 seconds.  The control window hasn't even activated yet.  And there, in the brightest blue imaginable is - a cross.
WTF?  I'm pregnant.