Telling your husband you're pregnant should be fun, happy and all things celebratory. Pregnancy is a blessing, and being able to share that blessing when you first learn about it with your partner is an even bigger blessing! Well, except when it becomes something that you consider to be one of your most epic screw-ups.
I don't regret much in my life, but I really and royally muffed up the first time I told my husband we were going to have a baby back in January 2010.
I wasn't ready for a baby. I wasn't prepared for a baby. The whole thing was a total surprise. I freaked out, and I wasn't shy about letting it all hang out in front of my husband.
My mind raced beyond control. My heart started pounding. It was the first time I'd ever felt panic like that in my life.
"You'd better f---ing get in here right now!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, out the bathroom door in our newlywed apartment, while staring at a little pink plus sign in total disbelief. No way. This is not happening.
Because of a career surge I was having at the time, a baby was not yet in my wicked plan. My husband was immediately thrilled, but I was shocked in a way I’d never been shocked before. (I was basically an idiot who got really, really lucky against all odds, but was too dumb to see it at the time.)
I can't have a baby right now. What will I do with it?! My mind raced beyond control. My heart started pounding. It was the first time I'd ever felt panic like that in my life.
My husband appeared in our bathroom doorway. I don't even know if I said anything. I may've just held up the test for him to see and burst into tears.
"Oh my gosh," he smiled. His face beamed, in fact. "It's going to be fun!"
He kissed my lips. I did not kiss back. I had tears streaming down my face and felt as outside of myself as I could've possibly felt. (My husband was ready for a baby at this point in time. In fact, we'd had previous conversations about it before this fateful day with me always being the one that said, "Not yet, it's not time." Joke was on me, I guess.)
Because of my fear-filled and ignorant perception at that time about how incredible motherhood truly is, all I could do for the rest of that day was mope, cry and wrinkle my face in worry. I've since wondered if that was the start of some kind of prenatal depression.)
We worked out together that morning after the pink plus sign's appearance, and all I can remember was feeling mentally and physically lost. I laid down my blue mat to do sit-ups in our living room (as if I'd always done sit-ups at the end of my workouts) and questioned my husband about whether or not I could still do sit-ups at all. I sighed heavy sighs throughout the day, I acted as though we'd been punched with terrible news. Shame on me.
My head knew it was wrong, but my emotions couldn't catch up for a long time. I'd been socked by a surprise, and I couldn't handle it.
Now that I know better, I look back on that day with poignant regret and remorse. How dare I ruin one of life's most precious memories with my husband? How dare I cheat him from a celebratory day because of my immature fears? How dare I not even try to think outside of myself (during that day) in an effort to be thankful for a husband that was excited to have children with me? That day haunts me, especially because I am now so grateful for my two daughters showing up in our lives exactly when they did.
I guess life isn't life without regrets? But this is one that I truly don't wish on anyone.