An Introduction

It was a blustery March evening in Minnesota, and Ian and I sat on the couch talking of our future. 

Our bucket list comprised three items as the fourth, winning the lottery, was deemed "unrealistic".

1. move to Europe

2. get married

3. have kids

Little did we know that all three of these wishes would come true in a matter of months. 

In mid-June, just as I was finishing up my last week of school, my mind was anywhere but on the finals I was supposed to be grading. Ian was auditioning for the Aalborg Symphony in Denmark and had made it to the final round. I stared at my phone. It rang. 

“Do you want to move to Denmark?”

It was nice he phrased it that way, although there was really no question of my going with him. When he got back we discussed marriage in the most romantic terms:

“We should probably get married.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

                                                                  (The sticker on Ian's back was placed by yours truly. It says "Exhibit A".)

A week later we were in a grand courtroom saying our vows before a judge who shall henceforth be referred to as Judge Fife due to his love of the instrument. After seven magical minutes, the deed was done and we proceeded to Judge Fife’s chambers for a lively discussion about civil war reenactment. 

Six weeks of wedded bliss later, I came out of the bathroom brandishing a stick on which I had just peed. 

“Is that a line?” I asked on repeat, as if I was broken. I practically tripped over the moving boxes on my way to Ian and thrust the stick in his face. 

The line was faint, but I swore I saw it. “Ian, can you see it?” 

Ian took a while, but he said he saw it, even being color blind and all. We sank on to the couch, holding the urine stick and staring at it, then each other in wonder. 

It would appear our bucket list was magical. We should have put "win the lottery" on it after all. 

My pregnancy symptoms have improved since being on anti-nausea drugs. Before then…and please, if you are faint of stomach…skip over the rest of this paragraph…would consist of me being super gassy, and my farts smelling so bad that I would proceed to puke so hard that I would pee my pants.  Ian is a lucky man. The barfpees have been a loyal and faithful bunch, but I am happy to say that they have left me alone for a week now. 

Ian and I have taken to calling the baby several names including Yanbear (how Ian’s full name is pronounced in Denmark), baby, fetus, parasitic alien tadpole, and whatever fruit at which it’s currently measuring. This week, the baby is as a big as a lemon, aka. “Lil’ Lemon”. That would actually be a great rapper name. Dibs. I could write such inspiring tunes as:

• “School is lit, yo.”
• “Take your prenatals if you want some seriously shiny hair, boi”
• and when moving: “feng shui yo’ shit”

But for now, my rap career will have to wait. I move to Denmark in two days. How odd to be moving to a country that I’ve never even visited.

More soon. 

P.S. The title and the font was all Ian's idea. He is a mad genius y'all.