You're going to have a baby

for Nikki

The queasy tummy, desire to eat really strange foods, tiredness, hot flashes, and love affair with the bathroom wasn't enough to clue me in. No, we women nowadays, in true instant gratification fashion, aren't even content to wait until a certain biological function doesn't occur on time. We want to know, and we want to know now. For all 3 of my pregnancies, I ran out to the nearest drugstore, peed on a stick, and knew for sure .... I was having a baby!

The really super part is keeping it secret. When I discovered I was pregnant, I'd be walking down the street, and suddenly have the desire to grin at complete strangers with that, "I know something you don't know" smile I developed in 3rd grade. But the really fun part is keeping it secret from your husband. The elaborate, often amusing plans of telling him have taken on the complexity of an operations order for a D Day assault.

Of course, he does eventually notice that --it eating grin on your face, which has a tendency to clue him in. If you can keep that under control, (and if he's really busy and distracted with say, work, moving, or something else that just might take up his concentration) you're home free. The sky's the limit.

With our first baby, my husband was actually attending a training course for about three weeks following my discovery. This gave me entirely too much time to plan how to spring the announcement. Worse, was, I was living with my parents at the time, so concealing the quesy tummy, etc. demanded a great deal of my attention and creativity. Thank goodness my living quarters were in the basement.

When we were finally reunited, he was up to his eyeballs in details and things he needed to to before he could start his new job, move, and all the delightful accompanying details that go with it. I kept hinting we needed to talk, and eventually we went for a walk, at which time I mentioned there were some details we needed to iron out before he departed for Korea. Money, living arrangements, names.... Priceless.

Now, with our second baby, it was even better. Again, we were getting ready to move, starting a new job, and he had a huge race he was getting ready for (see my earlier posting, the Runner's Wife). I sprung the news on him when we were out to dinner, casually mentioning that Matthew would make a good big brother. Our fellow diners were highly amused.

With our third baby, I didn't have the energy or time to figure out anything elaborate. I found out by peeing on a stick, with my two boys (ages 1 and 4 and the time) pounding on the bathroom door, demanding to know what on earth Mommy was doing in there. My poor husband was completely surprised, as this baby wasn't entirely planned for (hey, we're type A+, what can I say). I couldn't have supressed that --it eating grin on my face even if I'd had the energy. To this day, when I have that grin plastered on my face, Josh starts feeling nervous.

But telling the husband pales in comparison to the really BIG QUESTION: "who do we tell next?" My parents? Yours? Both at the same time? I've known couples who've lain awake nights, trying to figure out which set of parents deserve to get the news first. And when you're preggers, you need all the sleep you can get. (You sure won't get any AFTER the baby comes.) And after you've tackled that monumental problem, what about siblings? aunts & uncles? cousins? grandparents? It's a nightmare for every prospective parent. And the all important, but potentially hazardous, "who do we invite into the delivery room with us?" (personally I say piss everybody off and just have your husband)

But what I loved the most is the barrage of advice that comes after the congratulations. What to eat, what not to drink, or smoke, how to sleep, what maternity clothes to buy, put your feet up, get enough exercise, stay happy.....And your mother suddenly becomes the most brilliant, saintly person in the world. Who else can advise you on absolutely everything, yet still assure you that this is your baby?

And the questions from absolute strangers once you start to "show". Personal information you would never dream of sharing with another living soul becomes conversational fodder at the check out line. When are you due? Do you know what you're having? (duh - a baby) How much weight did you gain? (none of your bleeping business) Are you going to get an epidural? (do I look like a masochist?) Are you going to breast or bottle feed? Cloth or disposable? And, my all time personal favorite, "How are you feeling?"

However, you're pregnant. I'm sorry, I know I'm going to get all sorts of hate mail for his one, but I personally never went with the "we're" pregnant. Baloney. I'm the one who's throwing up. I'm the one who's going to get swollen ankles, leg cramps, food cravings, a sore back, and stretch marks. We are having a baby, but I'm was the one who was pregnant. All he has to do is fetch whatever food you happen to want at a moment's notice, massage your back, rub your feet, put up with the mood swings, and at frequent and regular intervals, assure you how beautiful you are. Who gets the easy part, huh?

And the kid's not even here yet. Heck, the peanut's just a blip on the ultrasound at this point.

I've decided I'm going to say just two things to my brother and sister-in-law:

1) you're going to be great parents

2) do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, travel with a brand new baby on a plane for Christmas to your parents' house.