As I mentioned in my two previous posts (part one and part two) about my experience working as the on-set cook for The Drama Club movie, the first week was all night shoots. Our schedule was really wonky— eating breakfast at what would normally be dinnertime and dinner at what would normally be breakfast-time. (why is dinnertime a word but breakfesttime isn’t?) So when I was feeling really tired and cranky and bloated I just chalked it up to a lack of sleep, eating foods I wouldn’t normally eat (like a LOT of cookies and bread) and the constant frustration of not being able to find things in a kitchen that was unfamiliar to me, trying to do a job I’d never done before. Made perfect sense.

I mean, my boobs had been hurting for over a week, but whatever…long PMS. Right?

On Friday (the sixth day of shooting and 13th day since I’d left home) I ate some bad pizza that made me feel awful. So bad that I had to run to the bathroom, thinking I was going to throw up. I didn’t. (I NEVER throw up) But the nausea persisted the rest of the night and into Saturday.

Saturday afternoon I ran down to the gas station at the bottom of the hill (the only “store” in a 35 mile radius) to see if they had some Zantac or something…ANYTHING.  They had three rolls of TUMS and 2 single packs of chewable Pepto. I bought one of each. As the lady at the register (the owner of the store who also lived on the property) said, “you know what worked for me when I was pregnant? Papaya juice. I think I have some at the house, hang on I’ll got get you some.” 

Pregnant? I never said anything about being pregnant.

Five minutes later she returned with two cans of papaya juice. “Here, drink them cold. This should help.” I offered to pay her for them but she wouldn’t take my money. I still bought the TUMS and Pepto…just in case.

I popped two TUMS immediately on my walk back to the house and put the cans in the fridge to get cold. When the nausea didn’t go away, I filled a cup with some ice and poured one of the cans of juice over it and guzzled it down. Instant relief.

“What the crap? I can’t be pregnant. I know math. This woman is getting in my head!”

Fast forward two days, the nausea was still around and I was out of papaya juice, popping TUMS often, and eating mini muffins constantly, to keep the nausea at by. I had to run into town to grab a few things so I while I was at Wal-mart I picked up a pregnancy test, because…maybe?

I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the test. I mean, where I was going to take it?

“Do I slip into the Wal-mart bathroom on my way out? What will I do with this cart load of groceries? Should I go put them in the car and then come back? No. That seems weird. I could take it when I get back to the house, but what will I do with the wrapper? What if someone sees it. That would be even more weird. Gahhhhh!”

I had to stop and get gas so after I was done filling the tank I got the box of two tests out the trunk and stuck one of them in my wallet then headed straight to the bathroom.

Now, when I say “bathroom” what I really mean is “hell hole” with what might have been puke all over the floor and toilet which also had a stack of several seat protectors half-stuck to one side of the seat, the other half hanging in the toilet, which may or may not have recently been flushed– it was hard to tell.  Apparently the this was the last person to use this bathroom’s answer to “cleanliness.”

I grabbed a big wad of paper towel, wiped down the seat and flushed the toilet.

You know, looking back I feel like this would have been a good time to decide to go somewhere else, test back at the house, or maybe just pee on the floor, because who would have noticed? Apparently I wasn’t thinking clearly because after I “cleaned up” I sat on the toilet (I’m too short to hover) and peed on the stick, which instantly…





 What the shit?!

I was in absolute disbelief. And laughing at the whole situation. Now what?

I tucked it back in my wallet (gross) washed my hands (probably making them worse) and walked back to the car. I got a ziploc bag from the unopened box that I had just purchased for the house and I stuck the used test in it and stuck it back in my wallet. I still had another unused test that I had to do something with and since I hadn’t been able to find my purse for the last 3 days I had no idea how I was going to get this stuff in the house without anyone seeing it. 

“Oh wait! I know, I ‘ll stick them in this little sunglasses bag that came with the $5.00 sunglasses I just bought to replace the ones that are currently missing…with my purse!”

That’s what I did. I put both tests in a little draw string bag threw away the box and drove away. Onto the next challenge…

“How do I tell Brett? Do I call him? Text him a picture? Wait until I get home?” 

I called him. Immediately.

The truth is that this story, the way it all went down is so “us” —take the most special times in life and make them as awkward and weird and wrong as possible and you have our lives together. 

I went into town the next day and took another test just to be sure…at Starbucks (a much cleaner experience but equally as unconventional) and sure enough…




My next trip into town I bought 2 new pairs of pajama pants and two pairs of baggy draw-string waistband pants, which I wore exclusively the rest of the week because my jeans and compression capris were so ridiculously uncomfortable.

This, coupled with the fact that all I wanted to do was sleep all the time, made it that much harder not to tell everyone. They’d never met me before so they didn’t know how badass I usually am. I just wanted to say, “I swear! I’m not lazy and I usually wear real clothes but…” I just sucked it up, hoping no one would judge me, or think I was a complete schlep. HA!

That second week of shooting seemed to last forever. Partially because I couldn’t (I mean, I guess I could have, but I wasn’t sure how to) tell anyone on-set, but also because I had to stop drinking and partying with everyone. A small sacrifice, I know, but still! 

I made an appointment with my doctor before I left California. And FINALLY got to get full confirmation three days after I got home, 11 days after I got the positive test in the nasty gas station bathroom.

So far so good!

After I peed on the doctor’s office stick, I asked them to please do an ultrasound so I would know if I could move forward with truly believing I was pregnant or if I should prepare myself for another miscarriage. Thankfully, they were able to work me in, and Brett and I were able to see that little blob on the screen with a little flicker of a heartbeat at 122 bpm.





Based on my LMP, I was 8 weeks 3 days when the ultrasound was done, but because my cycles are long (and I know exactly when I ovulated) I was actually only 6 weeks 1 day as of last Thursday-– which is also what the ultrasound itself shows, size-wise and developmentally speaking. This currently makes me 7 full weeks exactly, as of today. I go back tomorrow for blood work and other fun stuff and I’m hoping I’ll be able to convince them to do another ultrasound soon so I will know if we’re actually making progress…or not. 

I feel like this statement I’m about to make deserves a blog post of its own…

I probably will write more on it later but I have to say that even though I was okay with my miscarriage when it happened in January, and have been okay with it since, I’m suddenly not okay with it now. I’m trying very hard to be happy and excited about this pregnancy, but I’m finding it very hard to do so because…what if it happens again? Ugh!

And because I don’t want to end this post on that note…

Here is a picture of sleeping Cooper’s sweet smoosh face with his wittle bottom wip, we all need a little Cooper in our lives!