Our "Secret", Part Two.

Every pregnancy I've had, my first "indication" of pregnancy has always been an upset stomach.  I attribute that to the initial surge of hormones at the point of implantation, but I'm no doctor.  My husband and I were out of town driving, and I had to make him pull over - find a rest stop - DO something!  I was SICK! 
My husband was all, "You're totally pregnant" when I got back in the car from visiting a McDonald's bathroom.  I looked at him, rolled my eyes dramatically, and said, "Don't joke around about something that serious."

I really didn't believe I was pregnant.  Like I said, in my world, these things need to be mapped out, planned, agonized over.  I proceeded with my life.  I took up jogging.  I drank iced coffees.  I wasn't concerned.

Memorial Day weekend.  I couldn't WAIT to party with one of my best girlfriends.  She was going to bring her husband and their little girl over, and I was so excited to just let loose (once the girls were fast asleep, anyhow).  My husband and I went grocery shopping the day before, and I picked up a bottle of Skinny Girl white peach margarita.  I held it for a few moments before placing it in the shopping cart. 
What was I feeling?  Hesitation suddenly?  Why?  I'd never tried this flavor of Skinny Girl, but it sounded good, so why the nagging feeling I should put the bottle back on the shelf? 

Shrugs.

The next morning, I got out of bed to go pee.  I realized that my husband's accusation of my being pregnant had been in the back of my mind ever since it left his mouth, and I wasn't about to drink alcohol if there was even a chance.  I opened the bottom drawer next to the toilet and took out a home pregnancy test.  (I had a stash of these and also ovulation kits (ha!) built up from the last time we had been trying to conceive.  Whenever we are TTC I tend to test and retest.  I lack patience.  So the Dollar Tree had become my friend.)

I thought to myself, I'm going to prove once and for all that my husband was WRONG, and that tonight, I'm going to do a number on some Skinny Girl.

You can imagine my shock.

That day, I went back to that same grocery store we'd been in the night before, receipt in hand, giggling to myself. 
I only wish I had a photo of that moment.  The moment I went to customer service and exchanged a bottle of margarita for a bottle of prenatal vitamins.