But there you have it. It’s Thursday evening, and in 3 days and a sleep, I will be at the ultrasound clinic getting Blob’s happy snaps. Most days now, I feel too normal. My pants fit. Today, I wore a skirt, and zipped all the way to the top. And as for getting rather bosomy, I am completely and utterly gypped in that department. On the one hand, I’m told the morning sickness is supposed to abate as I approach the second trimester. On the other hand, I’m half-convinced that Blob has left the building because I’m such a blabbermouth and prematurely telling random people that I’m expecting. Presumptuous cow that I am.
Speaking of random people.
Two colleagues this past week decided to play psychic. The first one, while we were harmlessly talking about crazy workloads, suddenly came right out and asked if I was pregnant. Which made me laugh nervously to buy time for a witty repartee (which NEVER came because my brain is traitorous.). Which led her to whisper, “I knew it! I knew it!” very excitedly. And then there was really no returning from that point. She claims she had her suspicions because I fell ill the day that yet another colleague had announced her baby news. The trouble was, I really DID have the case of bad hayfever. But hey. Since my branch seems to be breeding babies left, right and centre, I guess every sick female colleague is newly knocked up, unless proven otherwise.
Which led to the other colleague randomly dropping me an email mid-week, telling me she had the most vivid dream of a heavily pregnant me. She was apparently helping me with my copious number of shopping bags. All I managed to eke back in reply was a question – was my face puffy? She said my eyes were really emotional and I was radiant. I then replied that I could tolerate having soulful eyes, but not a puffy face. And that it was a sure sign that we had to go shopping.
Crisis temporarily thwarted.
Tony told his second sis yesterday, and then the news was broken to my younger sister-in-law and her husband. ‘Noni’ promptly texted her congrats, and a kidding-rueful bit about not being impressed with the secretiveness. And this is why, dear friends who are not pregnant yet, that you should start making a list of
- who you want to tell and in which order once you find out
- how long both of you want to keep it secret
- whether you should even bother with the sacred 12-week rule when you’re as gleeful and excited as a pig with a new trough of nom-noms
- what to say when people start making wildly accurate guesses that make you want to snort your mango ice tea out your nose.