Mission Confidential

Keeping Baby Hornet a secret is getting really difficult. People at work are on to me. I'm sicker than a dog everyday and I can barely make the drive to work without contemplating, at least once, to turn around and go home. The dry heaving every morning is wearing me out, and I'm convinced that the acid in my stomach is eroding my bones. People are constantly asking me, "What's wrong?" "Why are you in a bad mood?" "Is everything OK (in their most serious and concerned voice)?" And I want to reply (with my raging hormones in tact), "Yes, everything's fine! I just spent the morning heaving over my toilet for the 7th consecutive day, had to put a conference call on mute in my office today to dunk my head into my recycling bin, and someone just drank the ginger ale I've been stock piling in the cooler. But EVERYTHING'S GREAT - thanks for asking!"

I know they are genuinely concerned, and I feel bad about being irritated about their inquiries, but it's really wearing on me. I guess that's what I get for being a friendly person on a regular basis. Moody people never get harassed. When they're having a bad day or fly under the radar in their office all day, no one thinks anything of it. So - all you nice, friendly girls out there thinking of having a baby - start acting bitchy now so that no one suspects anything later.

Leave me alone, people! How will I ever keep this a secret until September!?!?!?

First Pregnancy Myth Debunked: Morning Sickness

Whoever coined the phrase "morning sickness" is an idiot. I PRAY to only have sickness in the morning. In fact, I wake up every morning knowing that at around 6:30 a.m., I'll be clutching my toilet for dear life and I'm good with that. (Note: Just when you think your toilets are clean, plop down on the tile and take another look. It's a whole new perspective from down there.) And, if "morning sickness" was actually over IN THE MORNING, that would be a blessing. But instead, I have all-day-with-a-brief-interlude-between-six-and-eight-at-night-sickness. Try Googling that.

I have tried most all of the remedies I can find online - ginger ale until I want to puke (literally), lemon water, sniffing a lemon, deep breathing - I mean, you name it, I've tried it. So, I succumbed to my last resort and made my first trip to Motherhood Maternity for what The Bump (for all you Knotties out there, this is The Knot's preggo website) message boards call "Preggie Pops." Everyone on the boards says that these things are like little miracles. That's all I needed to hear. So, off I go to the dreaded maternity store.

Let me set the scene for you. I am feeling like absolute crap. I feel like I have the worst college hangover times ten, and I'm lugging myself across the hot ass mall parking lot, sweating, on a mission for something called Preggie Pops. I make a beeline through Macy's, down the escalator, and dive into Motherhood Maternity. Literally. By this time, I am so hot and sweaty, I'm feeling like I may pass out. I can feel the cool tile beneath my flip flops and think for a quick minute what it would be like to lay my face on that tile. Aaahhhhh....

So, there I am. A visibly non-pregnant looking young woman, begging the uninterested store clerk to point me in the right direction toward the pregnant woman's opium - Preggie Pops. I ask her a million questions - do a lot of women buy these? Do they work? What's the magic ingredient? Is it safe to consume 20 pops in one day? Her manager recognizes that I'm on the brink of a core meltdown and comes to play 10,000 questions with me and deliver the news I didn't want to hear. Preggie Pops are just sour candy. That's right people. No magic nausea-relieving ingredient. No self-induced coma to relieve the dreaded stomach turning that I'm having everyday. Just. sour. candy. But, I'm so desperate, I'm willing to try anything, and I bought them anyway. $5.50 for 20 pieces of mocked-up Jolly Ranchers.

First Things First - Role Sort

After I told my family the good news, it was time for everyone to be clear on their roles over the next nine months. (Yet another way corporate America has tainted my everyday life.) So, I pulled together this brief email to my family:

Now that I've had a minute to take this all in, I've taken the liberty to pull together a formalized role sort for the next nine months.

Please see your assignments below:

Mom - Director of Crisis Management: responsible for making everything ok, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, including the raging bouts with morning sickness that may be on the horizon. This would also require that you start a file (or a spiral notebook - your speciality) with questions for my doctor.

Dad - Director of Do-Whatever-It-Takes: you should be pretty familiar with this role, Dad, as you've been playing it for about 28 years. Just make it happen....whatever it takes.

Eddie - Director of Primary Care: this is not going to be easy....you are in charge of maintaining my emotional and hormonal balance. Lucky for you, you had years of Army Ranger training.

Steiny - Director of Creative Services: responsible for my hair and makeup, including but not limited to before, during and after birth, with a primary focus on the hours after labor. You may also be required to lend your assistance to name, furniture, and clothing selection.

Bowden - Director of Security: responsible for warding off any possible trespassers from the house and the baby, including pulling overnight watchouts in the baby's room.

Please contact me with any questions regarding your assignment.

Best regards,
Jessi Horne
Seargant at Arms

Waiting on a Plus Sign

Eddie and I are going to be parents - can you believe it?
I waited through the entire weekend until Monday night to take a test. And wouldn't you know. We're pregnant. (And for those of you who know me all to well, you know that I took three tests just to be sure.) Another side note...I always make fun of people who post pics of their home pregnancy test. Now I am one.

So...that's how it all began.