I started calling my doctor’s office yesterday to try to find out the results of Dave’s cystic fibrosis screen. The nurse finally called me back about a half-hour ago.
Me: [biting my nails and practically vibrating out of my chair with anxiety]
Her: Umm… Are you sure your husband is ok with us giving you his results?
Me: [screaming] YES!!! [calmer] I mean, um, of course it’s fine. The only reason he had to get the test done was because of me, right?
Her: Well, I don’t have a signed consent form, so I have to ask. But I figure he probably won’t sue us… [laughing]
She seriously dragged out the pleasantries way longer than necessary. By which, I mean, about 30 seconds.
Dave doesn’t have the gene for cystic fibrosis. There is no possible way that this baby, or any future children that we might have, could have it.
It’s the strangest feeling. I’ve been on edge about it for so long that when the nurse told me, I thought I might burst into tears from finally feeling like I could stop holding my breath. I probably would’ve cried, except I’m at work, and that is just never a good idea.
I’ll hold in the tears until I’m driving home. Because that’s the kind of safe driver I am.
Now I have to try to wrap my head around the idea that we might actually have ourselves a real, live baby next year. I hadn’t really let myself think about that too much yet because I kept waiting for the Jinx Fairy to strike me down.
A baby. Huh. Whaddya know.
Ok, deep breath in, deep breath out… And for the record, I am *so* going to do my prenatal yoga DVD when I get home tonight. You cannot imagine how much I desparately need it.