I’ve learned two major things so far about pregnancy. First, everyone is really concerned about your vitamins. Second, if you’re not married prepare to be judged, you whore.

After my first pregnancy test came out positive, I decided – against what I’ve been advised in the past – to buy What to Expect When You’re Expecting. The first chapter was a list of things you cannot do once you’re pregnant. Shockingly, drugs and alcohol are on this list. Wait, you mean meth isn’t good for my baby? My real concerns were the three martinis I had over the 4^th of July weekend and the antibiotics I was prescribed for an ear infection. Luckily, even though What to Expect has been called alarmist, it assured me neither of those had caused my baby to grow a second head and flippers, as long as I took my vitamins. Then there is a little note in the book that explains it uses the words husband and spouse to mean “significant other” and people in non-traditional relationships should just replace them with “partner” in their head. It struck me as incredible lazy. How hard could it be to use the find & replace function before you went to the publisher?

I went in to the doctor yesterday to confirm I really was pregnant before I started telling people. My regular medical care is provided through the military, so I’m seen at the clinic on base. They did a blood test and then sat me down for a talk.

When the nurse started The Talk, I figured it was pretty routine. No, I don’t smoke pot. No, I don’t use any street drugs. No, I don’t smoke. Yes, I do drink but not since I found out I was pregnant. Yes, I understand the importance of not doing these things. Yes, I know proper nutrition is vital. Then she asked, “Are you married?” Wait, what? Why? Is this medically relevant? It just so happens that I am married, but it’s not exactly a requirement to have a healthy baby. Are you going to refuse me care because of my marital status? The nurse told me they didn’t do OB-GYNcare on base and they would write me a referral to an outside practice. I picked one close to my house and was sent on my way with a prescription for a year’s worth of prenatal vitamins. I really hope I’m not pregnant for a year.

The OB-GYN’s office called me in to start some paperwork and lab testing. The paperwork was just like The Talk. Do you use intravenous drugs check yes or no. Do you taken herbal supplements check yes or no. Are you married check yes or no. Wait, what? Again? I thought it might have been an insurance thing last time, but you just made a copy of my ID and insurance card. Why does it matter if I’m married?

The nurse then offered me a goody bag of magazines and coupons for vitamins. I assured her that not only did I already have a prescription for the vitamins, I’ve actually been taking them since last July. “Don’t forget to take one every day,” she reminded me. Oh, I have to swallow them? I thought I was just supposed to keep the bottle under my pillow. I did not say that, but was still sent across the street to another office for more lab tests. I don’t think I’ve had this much medical care since the day I was born.

At the lab they wanted bodily fluids. But wait! Before I could pee on anything they needed some information. What’s your address? Social Security Number? Insurance Company? Are you married? Good Lord, really?

Perhaps this question gets asked over and over again because single mothers need more support and these kindly medical people just want to help. Maybe there are statistics to prove married women have higher risk pregnancies (or vice versa). Maybe it really is about insurance. In 2005, 33.9 percent of births were to single mothers, so is it really still considered unusual? I just know that it surprised me every time, and I was secretly releived I could answer “yes” in case the follow up question was “Then how did you get pregnant, you slut?”

“For something called ‘Clear Blue’, this thing isn’t very clear is it?” said my husband E as we squinted at the pregnancy test, looking for one vertical line.  “Look! It’s right there! I can see it!” I insisted.  “I don’t see it…wait, there it is! No I don’t…oh hold on! Wait…never mind” said E. Stupid pregnancy test, we both agreed. We’ll buy a new box.

We’ve talked about having kids since we got married in August 2004, but only decided the time was “right” last October. But then we decided we should probably wait until he made some career decisions. In January my grandfather died and I had one of those if-we-don’t-have-kids-soon-so-many-people-we-love-might-never-meet-them moments. We decided again to start trying. But I had promised to be Maid of Honor in my best friend’s wedding, so I didn’t want to be pregnant for that.  In March we decided the time was never going to be perfectly right so I threw out my birth control pills. No baby in April. E was out of town for his job in May and the first part of June, so I did some period math and figured out the first weekend he’d be home was just about the week I’d be ovulating. Did you know that when it comes to babies, everything gets counted from the first day of your period? For years I’ve thought I was most fertile two weeks after the end of my period. Nope. It’s days 10-14 of your whole cycle. Aaaaand now that I think about it, I’m damn lucky I never got pregnant accidentally due to my poor reproductive knowledge.

We had sex twice the weekend that was supposed to be right for baby-making. A week later I declared I was feeling queasy and must have morning sickness. Six days before my period I couldn’t take it anymore and bought a box of early response tests. The next morning I peed on the stick and waited three minutes, staring at my bathroom floor. It really needs to be cleaned. Times up, no line. Not even a really really really faint maybe-I-see-it line. According to the very long instructions in the box, there was still almost a 50% chance I was pregnant, but seeing the results come out negative seemed so final to me. I put pregnancy out of my mind and vowed to try again next month.

My period didn’t come. When I was officially 6 days late I couldn’t take the stress of waiting anymore, so I tried another Clear Blue test. This is how we ended up in the kitchen with a piece of plastic I had recently urinated on. “Maybe I’m just a little bit pregnant?” I suggested, even though I knew this isn’t really possible. “We’ll go get a better, fancier test. A digital test,” suggested my technophile husband.

Sunday July 20^th, my mother’s birthday, I took the better, fancier test. PREGNANT said the little window. I just stared at it with my mouth hanging open. “What’s the matter? What does it say?” E asked, grabbing it from me. “Hey, good job!” he said when he saw it. “Um, thanks. I’m pregnant,” I said, in case he was still unclear. “Yeah you are!” he grinned. “I’m pregnant” I said again, showing off my awesome conversation skills, “What do I do now?”

There are a lot of blogs. This is one of them.

I’ve never really been one for sharing, except for vacation pictures and a yearly Christmas letter. But I’ve sort of gotten the hang of it commenting on Jezebel. We share a lot there. Overshare, even. But instead of threadjacking every post that has to do with pregnancy and/or babies, I’m starting this blog. I’m not a writer, a hipster or a trendsetter. I’m certainly not the first woman in the world to have a baby. But this is my experience. All of it.