I had always imagined that I would get to tell BG about a pregnancy in a really creative and fun way, like with little baby booties in his cereal bowl one morning or something.
The way that it actually happened was a lot more prosaic.
On a Wednesday, I burst into tears at Home Depot after two hours spent choosing pipe insulation. On Friday, I got home from work, feeling totally exhausted, went straight to bed, and stayed there until Saturday morning. The Home Depot episode had a clear explanation... anybody would cry after a session like that! However, the exhaustion and nap were not me, but we'd just moved into our new house and we'd been surviving on canned soup and microwave dinners for a week because our gas stove wasn't yet hooked up. Still, on a hunch, when I got out of bed on that Saturday morning, I decided to take a pregnancy test. I was pretty sure it would be negative... all of them had been negative so far, including the one I'd taken just a week before.
I froze. I stared at the stick in my hand, and back at the box. Then I yelled for BG, who was still in bed. He charged in, probably expecting to have to kill a spider. "WHAT DOES THIS TEST MEAN? I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT." He took the stick from me, read the instructions, looked at the test, and said, "It says that you're pregnant."
Oh. I knew that.
So in the end, I never got to tell BG that I was pregnant. He told me.