We were sitting at the dinner table when Alexis told me she was pregnant. She tilted her head so far down that her hair created a curtain, entirely obscuring her face from me.
When she said the words, I got up in the middle of the room and spun around with my arms outstretched, emitting a high pitched sound like a UFO.
This also happened.
Viewed from the outside, the scene would have undoubtedly looked like an interaction between two clinically insane people.
Alexis was afraid to tell me because of my initial resistance to the idea of getting pregnant, which was understandable but still made me sad. I asked her to pee on another stick so I could feel a little more involved in the big moment. Instead of a plus sign — or something equally bland — the stick just said “Pregnant”, which I found hilariously blunt.
The day after Alexis told me, I sat on the couch and freaked out for about 20 minutes. “It’s too soon. We’re not ready. We haven’t been together long enough. We don’t truly understand each other yet. The time and energy required to raise a child will take away from my artistic life and my alone time and cause me to resent Alexis and the baby and result in a cold and tense family environment that will ruin each of our lives.” After allowing those thoughts to recede a bit, I very clearly thought, “Well, those questions are no longer relevant or helpful.”
And honestly, HONESTLY, other than those 20 minutes I’ve almost entirely felt excitement about the road ahead. In a rare act of pragmatism, I was able to see that questioning the timeline and pace of things was now nearly 100% useless. My time was now better spent preparing for and being excited about a bright, new future.
But I’m still ready to pack a small bag if things go south.