Oh God,
This is pure awesome sauce.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
I'll never tell...
When S first broke the news to me that we were preggers I wanted to call up everyone I could think of right then and there. That I have poor impulse control will come as a shock to no one.* I’m the kind of person who wants to give Christmas\Birthday gifts as soon as I buy them. Waiting for the actual day to come around is pure agony. But, in this case, we decided to wait a week and tell our families on Mother’s Day, purchasing two Happy Grandmother’s Day cards and patting ourselves on the back about how clever and funny we were.
Our families were thrilled. And naturally they understood the need to keep things under wrap for the time being. But this task turned out to be easier said then done. I didn’t develop poor impulse control all on my own, it’s a learned behaviour. For nearly a month now my mother has been driving herself nuts because she’s got such great news and can’t tell anybody what it is. When she got a phone call from my uncle on Mother’s Day we nearly had to restrain her. And it doesn’t help that she keeps buying things ‘for the baby.’
“That’s a real nice high chair you’re buying, who’s pregnant?”
Our reasons for keeping this good news a secret are fairly typical. A woman has a greater chance of miscarriage in the first three months of a pregnancy. After about 12 weeks those odds drop dramatically. So it’s best to just wait and see how things are going before you tell people something you can’t take back. Or, as our doctor put it, ‘don’t tell anyone that you wouldn’t tell if something went wrong.’
Since Mother’s Day we’ve managed to violate our own Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy almost half a dozen times. S was forced to tell a couple people at work so they would know there was a legitimate reason why she couldn’t look at certain patients. And I insisted that I get to tell at least one of my friends so I’d have an outside opinion I could consult whenever some crazy idea pops into me head.
“Don’t tell S, but I really like the name Diana Prince if it’s a girl. Whaddya think?”
We’ve plugged the slow leak but I’d lay money that at least some of our friends have clued in to what’s going on. S’s crew are always on the look out for changes in behaviour. Everyone and everything is suspect. When S took a couple days off work due to her unrelenting morning sickness we started getting quizzical phone calls from her co-workers, not-so-subtly fishing for information.
Apparently we’re also predictable creatures of habit. We went out for dinner with some friends and when S had a 7up instead of her usual beer my ex-roomate piped up with “Wassa matter, you pregnant?”
For me the tricky part is remembering that not everyone knows. I’m plotting the next six months of our around our forthcoming ankle biter and it sometimes slips my mind that I have a secret I’m not supposed to be sharing. So when someone asks why we’re so determined to move before the fall I have to have a credible lie ready to tell them.
Our families were thrilled. And naturally they understood the need to keep things under wrap for the time being. But this task turned out to be easier said then done. I didn’t develop poor impulse control all on my own, it’s a learned behaviour. For nearly a month now my mother has been driving herself nuts because she’s got such great news and can’t tell anybody what it is. When she got a phone call from my uncle on Mother’s Day we nearly had to restrain her. And it doesn’t help that she keeps buying things ‘for the baby.’
“That’s a real nice high chair you’re buying, who’s pregnant?”
Our reasons for keeping this good news a secret are fairly typical. A woman has a greater chance of miscarriage in the first three months of a pregnancy. After about 12 weeks those odds drop dramatically. So it’s best to just wait and see how things are going before you tell people something you can’t take back. Or, as our doctor put it, ‘don’t tell anyone that you wouldn’t tell if something went wrong.’
Since Mother’s Day we’ve managed to violate our own Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy almost half a dozen times. S was forced to tell a couple people at work so they would know there was a legitimate reason why she couldn’t look at certain patients. And I insisted that I get to tell at least one of my friends so I’d have an outside opinion I could consult whenever some crazy idea pops into me head.
“Don’t tell S, but I really like the name Diana Prince if it’s a girl. Whaddya think?”
We’ve plugged the slow leak but I’d lay money that at least some of our friends have clued in to what’s going on. S’s crew are always on the look out for changes in behaviour. Everyone and everything is suspect. When S took a couple days off work due to her unrelenting morning sickness we started getting quizzical phone calls from her co-workers, not-so-subtly fishing for information.
Apparently we’re also predictable creatures of habit. We went out for dinner with some friends and when S had a 7up instead of her usual beer my ex-roomate piped up with “Wassa matter, you pregnant?”
For me the tricky part is remembering that not everyone knows. I’m plotting the next six months of our around our forthcoming ankle biter and it sometimes slips my mind that I have a secret I’m not supposed to be sharing. So when someone asks why we’re so determined to move before the fall I have to have a credible lie ready to tell them.
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