Once we got the first ultrasound and confirmation that, indeed, there is a baby, we started telling everyone else. Besides the North Dakota family that found out early (along with my mother around that same time), only a few other people found out. This usually happened when I wasn't drinking, which is highly unusual for a booze-hound such as myself. Otherwise, we kept it generally under wraps until almost 14 weeks. But with ultrasound picture in hand, the news was too much to keep to ourselves.
I'm still amazed we managed to hold it in that long. There times when I could feel the news trying to escape me like some freaky alien pushing against the inside of my chest walls. Telling M's parents was probably the most fun, since they were so taken off guard and surprised they could barely react. After years of listening to us repeat "no kids, no kids, no kids" over and over again, they had probably all but given up on getting a grandkid out of us. So being able to give them such a happy surprise remains one of my favorite things about this pregnancy so far.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
The first to know
I am a big believer in getting past the primary danger zone of months 1-3 of a pregnancy before going baby crazy and telling everyone you know. Having an early miscarriage (as I did, at about 5 weeks in September 2006) will do that to you - make you a little gunshy, a little cautious, a lot nervous. Why spread the good news only to have to turn around and spread bad news - while your heart is breaking uncontrollably, no less.
And there's definitely something about that particular brand of news that's special in a way that, at first, you want to keep private. Well, at least M and I did. Besides the fact that, even though we semi-planned for getting pregnant at some point, it had always remained just that: "at some point". In the distant, unforeseeable, needn't-be-dealt-with-just-now future. So we ourselves had to spend some time getting used to the idea, figuring out how to get on board, and staring at each other in incredulity for a minimum of 2 hours daily. This is no small amount considering we're home and together for only about 5 waking hours on your average weekday. In the first 10 days, keeping this information to ourselves wasn't the most difficult thing we had ever done.
But when we drove to my second-home-state of North Dakota for Christmas to spend the holidays with my father, half-sister, and other associated family members on his side, the news became much more pressing. There's a whole story about part of the reason we needed to tell my dad about the pregnancy that's neither interesting nor relevant. The other, more interesting reason had to do with the fact that, since my mother had had custody of me growing up, my father was always the second to know everything about me. Not that I wasn't close to him - I was. But when you're a girl, and you live with your mom, she tends to be the mouth of the river. All things flowed downriver from her.
Sharing news of the pregnancy, albeit very early, seemed like a pretty decent opportunity to let my dad in on something first for a change. So we told him. And he was thrilled. When my step-mother (whom my father told, as we expected) started pressuring me to tell the rest of the family (aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandmother, and half-sister) I resisted. Sure, they'd be incredibly happy at the news. But I couldn't shake that feeling of "but how sad will they be if it goes badly?" In the end, I couldn't pass up the one opportunity I'd have inside of three years (which is about as often as I get to North Dakota) to share this news with family members I rarely see in person.
And there's definitely something about that particular brand of news that's special in a way that, at first, you want to keep private. Well, at least M and I did. Besides the fact that, even though we semi-planned for getting pregnant at some point, it had always remained just that: "at some point". In the distant, unforeseeable, needn't-be-dealt-with-just-now future. So we ourselves had to spend some time getting used to the idea, figuring out how to get on board, and staring at each other in incredulity for a minimum of 2 hours daily. This is no small amount considering we're home and together for only about 5 waking hours on your average weekday. In the first 10 days, keeping this information to ourselves wasn't the most difficult thing we had ever done.
But when we drove to my second-home-state of North Dakota for Christmas to spend the holidays with my father, half-sister, and other associated family members on his side, the news became much more pressing. There's a whole story about part of the reason we needed to tell my dad about the pregnancy that's neither interesting nor relevant. The other, more interesting reason had to do with the fact that, since my mother had had custody of me growing up, my father was always the second to know everything about me. Not that I wasn't close to him - I was. But when you're a girl, and you live with your mom, she tends to be the mouth of the river. All things flowed downriver from her.
Sharing news of the pregnancy, albeit very early, seemed like a pretty decent opportunity to let my dad in on something first for a change. So we told him. And he was thrilled. When my step-mother (whom my father told, as we expected) started pressuring me to tell the rest of the family (aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandmother, and half-sister) I resisted. Sure, they'd be incredibly happy at the news. But I couldn't shake that feeling of "but how sad will they be if it goes badly?" In the end, I couldn't pass up the one opportunity I'd have inside of three years (which is about as often as I get to North Dakota) to share this news with family members I rarely see in person.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Double or nothing
So the $10 bet became a $20 bet only a day or two after we found out I was pregnant. That Sunday night we found out, M had a vivid dream about a girl, which was enough to convince him that the kernel-sized embryo in me would be of the female persuasion. Upon presenting this notion to me, I responded that I simply had no feeling either way (who does at that point?), so I couldn't commit to one gender over the other. To which he responded, "Double or nothing, it's a girl." So here we are today, with a $20 bet.
I still have no feeling of certainty either way. If I'm really honest with myself, I will probably say that I hope it's a girl, even though "healthy baby" is truly the most important thing. Every mother-to-be says that, but now I know why. It's true. So part of me thinks that because deep-down I want the girl, it MUST be a boy. That's how it usually works for me, so I continue to think of boys names and what it would be like to raise a boy. But then when I imagine the child - all born, present, in this world, and growing up - I think of her as a girl.
Everyone else in our world is split - half say girl, the other half say boy. M and I alternate between "he," "she," and "it" (the worst of all unknown-gender-baby pronouns), but have dubbed it "The Weeble" for official purposes.
We got our first ultrasound pictures of Weeble. There's not much to see. A head, a spine, a brain, legs, arms... the usual stuff. But so much is lost in the translation of mere pictures from that experience. Seeing it move was by far the most wonderful, amazing part. When it kicked its little legs and waved its little bud arms, you realize - wow, it's a little person in there.
I still have no feeling of certainty either way. If I'm really honest with myself, I will probably say that I hope it's a girl, even though "healthy baby" is truly the most important thing. Every mother-to-be says that, but now I know why. It's true. So part of me thinks that because deep-down I want the girl, it MUST be a boy. That's how it usually works for me, so I continue to think of boys names and what it would be like to raise a boy. But then when I imagine the child - all born, present, in this world, and growing up - I think of her as a girl.
Everyone else in our world is split - half say girl, the other half say boy. M and I alternate between "he," "she," and "it" (the worst of all unknown-gender-baby pronouns), but have dubbed it "The Weeble" for official purposes.
We got our first ultrasound pictures of Weeble. There's not much to see. A head, a spine, a brain, legs, arms... the usual stuff. But so much is lost in the translation of mere pictures from that experience. Seeing it move was by far the most wonderful, amazing part. When it kicked its little legs and waved its little bud arms, you realize - wow, it's a little person in there.
Monday, February 12, 2007
I bet you $10 you're pregnant.
That's how it started. We hadn't really been trying, and I didn't have any reason to believe I was pregnant. But M was convinced, based on the fact that I was a little late (not entirely unheard of at the time) and a couple dizzy, nauseated moments. So when I declined to agree with him, he bet me $10, and I took it on.
Three days later, on Sunday December 10th, 2006, I asked him if he wanted me to ruin his life that particular night or wait a few more days. I think he nearly barfed. But in the end we decided I'd go ahead and take the test. I dutifully peed on the little stick while he put food on the grill. Clearly it was one of our tenderest moments. I turned it over so I couldn't see the results and walked out, only to send him back in to find out what it was.
"You owe me $10. And I told you so." Or something to that effect. I'm not sure we said much else for the rest of the night. You find out your entire life just changed, and somehow there's nothing to say.
And that is how it started.
Three days later, on Sunday December 10th, 2006, I asked him if he wanted me to ruin his life that particular night or wait a few more days. I think he nearly barfed. But in the end we decided I'd go ahead and take the test. I dutifully peed on the little stick while he put food on the grill. Clearly it was one of our tenderest moments. I turned it over so I couldn't see the results and walked out, only to send him back in to find out what it was.
"You owe me $10. And I told you so." Or something to that effect. I'm not sure we said much else for the rest of the night. You find out your entire life just changed, and somehow there's nothing to say.
And that is how it started.
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