Breaking the News . . . Again

(The last of my catch-up posts. Written 9/20; published 11/1.)

The first time we told our families we were pregnant, the reactions were priceless. Memorable.

My mom screamed and cried.

My dad wouldn't really talk to me and drank heavily.

My father-in-law didn't get it at first, but when he did, he started having hot flashes that apparently only were calmed by spilling stories of the atrocities of pregnancy and childbirth in Soviet-era Russia. Sweet.

This time, we were conflicted. The weekend before we saw two lines on a test we spent in Dallas, helping my MIL who had been in a serious car accident and suffered a facial gash (read: got rear ended and has a bump on her nose). Apparently she had spent some of the time with TH volunteering advice on when we should have our second child. It's important to note here that she had her two children SEVEN YEARS APART. On purpose. So her admonitions about not having another child anytime soon must be taken with a grain of salt. TH responded with all of our well-thought-out arguments about how close the siblings would be if they grew up together, about how nice it would be to have the baby stage over and done with earlier in our lives. And he assured her that we were most definitely NOT pregnant right now.

::cough::cough::

His first thought was to wait to tell them that we're pregnant until I went into labor. Surely they couldn't say anything bad at that point.

After I pointed out to him the futility of hiding a gigantic pregnant stomach all that time, he suggested waiting at least until 12 weeks. That would give us time, time to settle into the idea, time to know the baby was thriving and healthy, and, well, time to NOT have to deal with the comments.

I agreed. That is, until I realized that meant I couldn't tell my family, either. You see, I don't really keep secrets from my family. Or, at least, from my mom, stepdad and siblings. My dad probably couldn't care less if I kept secrets from him, but there would be hell to pay if he ever caught wind that he was last to know something like this.

Then we thought about just waiting until after the first doctor's appointment. Until we saw the heartbeat.

Then we realized that everyone was coming into town for baby girl's birthday party, and that we would be meeting with a professional photographer for family photographs, and that we would have the perfect opportunity to do something I've always wanted to do: have someone capture in a photograph the moment after I yell, "Okay, on three, everybody say, 'Ali's going to be a big sister!!'" What an awesome photograph that would be! What a memory preserved!

So there we were: tell everyone all at once, in this really fun way . . . or wait two weeks longer and tell everyone separately, over the phone.

Once again, we determined that we couldn't live our lives ruled by fear. The only reason we wouldn't tell everyone all together is fear: fear that something might happen and we'll have to "untell" them, fear that they won't react well . . . fear.

With a deep breath, another "holy shit, are we really going to do this?" look, we made the call: the fun reveal.

There were a thousand moments during the day on Saturday I wanted to tell my mom. Laughing about not being able to eat the sandwiches we had catered. Ruminating on the fact that this would, God willing, be baby girl's only birthday to ever celebrate by herself. I don't know how I held onto this secret, how we got through the party with no one suspecting a thing.

We met the photographer at a park after the party, taking family pictures, different groupings of different generations. And then it was time. No more groupings. No more delaying. We gathered everyone together into one giant group shot. I took a breath and somehow, without my voice shaking, without my brain revolting against what I was about to do and clamping my mouth shut, I yelled out, clear and joyful, "Okay, everybody, on three, say, 'Ali's going to be a big sister!!!!!'"

I distinctly remember hearing a "WHAT?!?!!?" before the general roar of the crowd drowned all sensible thought out. Or maybe it was an "OH MY GOD!!!!" I honestly can't remember now. All I remember is that someone, I think it was my mom, yelled, and then everyone yelled, and then I was grinning foolishly and trying to focus on one person's voice, on one train of thought. The general melee scared baby girl and she started crying and hugging my neck. I was trying to take it all in, trying to gauge everyone's reaction. I remember turning to see how my dad was reacting, and he was staring at me, expressionless. My mom leaped into my arms, smothering me with hugs and congratulations. I got the general sense that the Russian consortium was probably mobbing TH because they certainly weren't mobbing me. I heard my dad say "I'm going to go get the car."

Yeah, that stung a little. But hey, it's my dad. The guy who didn't think he was old enough to be a grandfather. The guy who didn't think I should get married, or go on trips, or make any of the other adult decisions that I make. He reacted to the first announcement with heavy drinking. It's what he does. At least by now I recognize that.

So I knew my dad was, well, if not pissed, then highly disapproving. Expected. I hadn't yet really interacted with the Russian coalition much, but I could imagine their disapproval as well. I was relying on my parents, on my awesome, supportive, everything-is-going-to-be-great parents. And they came through. Kind of. At first.

By the time we got home and put the partied-out birthday girl to bed, my parents had gone from congratulations to . . . I'm not sure what to call it. Comments? Jokes? Good-natured ribbing? "Wow, you guys just were able to catch your breath!" "Oh my goodness, a baby and a toddler? :::insert clicking of tongue and shaking of head:::" I think that was probably harder for me to take than any other reaction. I expect my dad and in-laws to be insane. I don't put a lot of stock in their reactions to things. But my parents? My parents are kind of my guideposts through life. And it sounded like even they thought we were nuts.

That was hard.

I went to bed, exhausted. Too much had gone on that day. Too much to process. My brain and body shut down in self-preservation.

And I woke up in the morning . . . myself.

Defiant.

In what TH calls my endearing "punk-ass-ed-ness," my response to anyone who tells me I can't or shouldn't do something is usually a resounding "you wanna bet?"

And Sunday morning, for the first time that weekend, a sliver of that girl started shining through.

I realized that I don't give a flying flip if other people think it's too soon to have another baby. It's not their life. It's not their family. It's ours. And we picked this! Logically. Conscientiously. And we are happy! Yes, it's going to be crazy. Yes, it's going to be hard. But I am so, so excited about the adventure we have just embarked on, everyone-else-be-damned!

So our families know. And their reactions were . . . actually . . . not all that important. Happy, shocked, disapproving . . . it doesn't really matter.

What matters is that it helped us realize what our reaction is.

I've had a secret little smile on my face since Sunday. I can feel my cheeks glow with warmth. I can feel my heart flutter.

I was waiting for that.

Oh, and how could I leave this post without THE picture?? Here it is . . . our big reveal: