The News.

It occurs to me that it might not be a good idea to encourage the universe to "bring it on."

Lately, I have been censoring myself here. Starting a story, and then stopping, because all the stories are predicated on a very small but important piece of information that I have not shared.

I am pregnant.

It seems simple, innocuous enough. But it isn't.

When I realized that the possibility was there, I ran out and bought a three-pack of HPTs. Why a three-pack? Because I have no willpower, and if they are in the house, I have to pee on them. So the day after I bought them, I took one.

Negative.

And instead of the rush of regret, I thought, I am OK with this. This is easier.

And then a few days went by, and it was Saturday night, and I took another one. And it was negative, and I felt that same sense of OK, and even, truth be told, a bit of relief. And then the second line started showing.

I think my reaction was along the lines of Oh, shit!

So, of course, I immediately took the third test, the bonus test in the package, which was the new fangled digital test. No ambivalence -- after about .02 nanoseconds, Pregnant flashed on the screen.

Holy crap, I whispered. And I walked around the house, returning to stare at the test every thirty-seven seconds while I waited for Mr. WG to arrive.

So, as it turns out, going off birth control and debating what kind of birth control you want to be on is not actually a form of birth control in and of itself.

So I am pregnant. But it is not easy or simple.

I stopped taking the Lexapro I had just restarted, and I started sobbing my way through the days. Mr. WG scheduled an appointment with the geneticist. I agonized over what my parents would say.

The geneticist told us that we had a 1% chance of having another child with Sotos. 1% may not seem like a lot, but it is an enormous risk, genetically. My mental state continued to deteriorate. My OB's office said they could fit me in in two weeks. I cried a lot.

I found out that my insurance company doesn't cover midwives in network. I made phone calls. I calculated costs.

I found a midwife I can sort of afford. I made an appointment with her, and one with her back-up doctor instead of my OB. I went to the appointment. I saw a little gestational sac and had blood drawn. I was told to go back on the Lexapro and stop sobbing myself to sleep. And then, on the way home, Mr. WG told me that my parents had called from the airport in Israel, about to fly home. They asked where I was. Mr. WG told them I was at the doctor. "Why?" they asked. "I can't tell you," he said.

The next morning, as their plane touched down, my father called me. "What's going on?" he said.

"Well, we're having a baby," I said, as brightly as I could.

"Oh, God," he said.

"That's not really the appropriate response," I said.

"I know," he said, "but I'm really not that happy about it. I really don't think it's a good idea." The conversation got worse from there. He told me that I'm already short-changing Baby J. and my other kids, and that will only get worse. And if this baby has special needs, well, then the rest of my kids will really lose out.

Mr. WG came home from morning carpool to find me sobbing on the sofa. I spent the rest of the day either crying or about to cry, and I ended the day exhausted beyond words.

The next day was the day we started the fun stomach virus game, which also marked the demise of my appetite, which has yet to recover. According to some estimates, I am about 8 weeks now, and I have lost a pound or two. And I know, many women lose weight in the first trimester, but let me assure you that I am not one of them. In my previous pregnancies, I gained approximately 7 pounds between the time I peed on the stick and the time the second line showed up.

I am wearing regular clothes, because they fit me. I am wearing my rings. This is, frankly, bizarre.

I guess it's stress, which is not getting better any time soon.

On Friday, I have an ultrasound scheduled to calculate my due date more accurately -- my dates have been off in two pregnancies. So maybe I'm simply earlier than I think I am. Based on what we find out, we'll schedule a CVS. Because we need to know.

But why do tests if you're not going to do anything, right? Yeah, except that it's not at all clear that we're not going to do anything.

And I guess that statement right there is the root of why I feel the way I feel right now. If you had told me that I would be capable of making that statement -- why, I probably would have been feeling the horror I imagine some of you are feeling right now.

But, as my husband has told me repeatedly, no one walks in our shoes. No one lives in our house, day in, day out. No one knows what we know, how much our hearts can bear, and the point at which they simply… cannot.