Steely reserve is not my hallmark. On the contrary, I'm known, and often criticized, for any lack thereof. One margarita is never enough, I'd forego groceries to buy shoes, and love at first site? I'm a believer with the wedding ring to prove it. Peter walked into the room and I said to my roommate, "There's my husband."
Eighteen months later we walked down the aisle. First came love, then came marriage, and when a plus sign heralded our need for a baby carriage, no one was more surprised than me at my sudden surge of reserve. Peter was astounded when I didn't begin dialing my cell phone from the bathroom with the pregnancy test still in my hand.
Before my own pregnancy, I had casually observed the "telling" policies of other women. I knew a large camp of "waiters" who delayed sharing their news until after the first trimester for reasons ranging from superstition and protectiveness to practicality and privacy. I marveled at their resolve.
Sure, 12 weeks gives you time to do some maternity management and let the news settle in before the bump gives you away, but on a deeper level, I sometimes wondered if the wait was rooted in some delusional form of protective logic. In the emotional equivalent of, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it really make a sound?" would a pregnancy unrevealed make it easier to cope should things go wrong? I do not have the fortitude to spare my friends and family my own pain -- when life hits me hard, I need them to know it. But here I was, one day into my pregnancy and I knew that if I lost this baby, my heart would be ripped to shreds regardless of how many people knew or didn't. Secrecy and timing are no insurance policy for loss.
I also knew lots of "tellers," women who dove into the Mommy pool head first -- struggling to keep maternity jeans up at five weeks, furnishing lavish nurseries months before due dates, eating double ice-cream sundaes before dinner -- and I loved them for it. I was buoyed and inspired by their optimism, yet they also made me anxious. Whilst celebrating their good news, a small part of me was praying fervently that they, and I along with them, would be spared any disappointment and pain.
With the maternity shoe firmly on the other foot, I found myself squarely camped between the "waiters" and the "tellers." I had always fancied myself a teller but the reality of pregnancy had me considering defection.
"Let's wait until I've seen the doctor," had been my excuse for waiting to share the happy news with the rest of our family, but when the day finally arrived confirming the most beautiful sound a woman can ever make -- a baby's heartbeat -- I remained hesitant. When Peter asked, "Can we tell now?" I was overcome by what I can only describe as reverence, and negotiated for even more time to harbor our sweet secret. "Can we wait 12 weeks?" I asked, feeling like a complete killjoy.
I was seven weeks pregnant when my 30th birthday hit. When friends insisted on margaritas, I secretly sipped virgins and Peter covertly shot the poppers the bartender served me. The day after, he was awfully productive for someone who had drunk for two the night before. He was up early, making breakfast, when the doorbell rang.
My mom lived 3,000 miles away and my sister had been full of apologies for being on a trip and missing my birthday, so imagine my shock when they both were standing on my doorstep. "Surprise. Happy birthday," Peter said, grinning.
When he started making let's tell them eyes at me, I experienced a knee-jerk balk, then it hit me -- I simply could not miss the opportunity to tell my mother and sister this great news in person. The time was right to end this pregnant pause in our lives.
So my carefully considered resolve to wait 12 weeks fell short by five. But what are you going to do? Life is full of surprises -- big ones, little ones, cleverly orchestrated ones, and totally spontaneous ones. And the world is full of mysteries that science can only attempt to explain -- sperm permeating egg; positive results activated by hormones; babies under skin one moment, in our arms the next. And with mystery comes fear but also the potential for extraordinary faith and Grace.
Grace, that's what we named our daughter. An apt name for the little person who continues to show me that life is indeed all about timing -- dancing while the music plays, eating before the ice-cream melts, and making a wish at the glimmer of the first star.
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Parent Moments: Timing the Telling
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