And then...

Taking a test at 6:00 a.m. in the morning is not exciting, much less in a foreign country when part of the procedure is not just releasing fluid onto a stick, but actually putting it in a cup and then using a dropper to gather exactly five drops (or six, can't remember, I was barely awake) on the strip and wait for more than one line.

My husband was in the other room, still sleeping and in denial that we were getting ready to go to the floating market outside of Bangkok, an excursion we had by-passed last visit because we were exhausted. This time I managed to convince one of our accompanying friends to also head out to the market and take photos, despite the early departure.

I got dressed and headed out the door with the two men, my mind reeling from what I had seen. I hadn't worked out a plan for how to tell my husband that the experience he was so excited about was upon us. If he asks me, I'll just tell him, my weary mind reasoned.

The whole day went by as we shopped with a newlywed couple from New Jersey and snapped away like crazy. The clandestine trip to the pharmacy next to the hotel seemed to have disappeared from my husband's mind; I was still gathering my own thoughts - like Mary, treasuring them up maybe - when in the bus on the way back from the market he turned me to me said: "What did the test say?"

He is a practical joker so this is one moment he couldn't trust the smile that spread across my face. After all I'm always trying to 'punk' him but never succeed because I'm such a bad liar and break into a hysterical fit of giggles. The shook his head because he didn't believe me; asked me again.

As the news settled in we came back to Qatar and started the round of doctor's visits, nervous about seeing people we knew at the hospital since this is such a small community. Inevitably we did. But that, we were soon to realize, was when the real adventure begins.

The Wait(he)

This summer during the Arabic course I took in Damascus there were many college age Italians with charming accents. One of the words that I would ask our friend Matteo to pronounce over and over again was the word "wait". He would always say it "waithe".

For those of you have been in the waiting process to find out if you are pregnant, you know it isn't pretty. Even if you have only been trying for four months, like we are, there is no reason for the rising panic or fear. But no matter what reason and logic say, the heart still jumps each time you sit down at the toilet the week you are expecting your period, not wanting to see pink.

So you go about your life and each day it doesn't come, is another day you think maybe something is growing inside you.

And that leads to a whole different set of worries -- but mostly the happy kind.
Wait(he) with me.

The waiting is the worst

Anyone who has tried to get pregnant know this to be true: The waiting is the worst part. What has been interesting this week is that I'm traveling with another woman who is in her second trimester. So she knows she's having a baby and has a little tummy to prove it.

Yesterday while I was getting a manicure, the woman at the spa pointed at my stomach and said, "Baby?"

"We don't know yet," I said. Which is the truth. Because although I am a little late for my period, I don't want to hope yet that it's late enough. I would have loved to stopped in any one of the ten pharamacies I saw today and ask for a pregnancy test but our friends were with us. And my husband and I are trying to spare everyone the awkwardness of knowing that we want something someone else already has. Getting my period at this point will be a bigger disappointment than any previous month because this is the longest it's been.

Also then I will have to admit that any of the weight I lost over the summer while studying in Damascus has now come back and directly to my stomach.

We were walking towards the Golden Palace today in Bangkok, Thailand, and a man called out to my husband: "A girl or a boy?"

I hoped he was talking about our friend who was walking behind us.

The biggest advantage to being pregnant will be the ability to be fat and not to have worry about this expanding belly.

Either it's extreme pre-period bloated-ness or my body rebelling for a near month of non exercise.

Stay tuned to see what happens. My mind isn't made up either way. I do know that car fumes in the past have never made me nauseous before; or that the mere act of drinking water can calm that bile rising in my throat; the crunching sounds of our relatives on chicken bones over the weekend had me running from the table; and the smell of fish and other seafood in the markets of Laos and Thailand have me breathing through my mouth.

We may soon have another problem: why at one month I'm three times the size of my friend who is three months.

Life is always about challenges.