I can't help but remind myself of Miranda from Sex and the City. Her pregnancy was unplanned and unwelcome, she's rich, and she's a character on TV, but her reactions are similar. She faked interest and joy in her sonogram, when she found out she was having a boy, she resented the drain on her energy and spirit, and she rejected the Cult of Mommy. She did not want a shower and only acquiesced for the sake of the gifts and her friendship with Charlotte. I don't think I would acquiesce for either.
While I am not looking forward to the gushing, I do want some people to know. It would be nice for people to understand why I am tired at 8:30. It feels like I am wandering alone through a big secret. On the bus to our work conference up north, one of the girls asked me "Are you pregnant?" I had another one of those can't think of anything to say, can't lie moments, and I answered "yes." It was actually a relief.
I am not sure how I am going to break it to Pete that I want to tell my mom, and, therefore, my dad, sooner rather than later but not tell the rest of the families until later in February. I worry he may think it's not fair, that he may not grasp the difference: me pregnant, my mom, my mom nurse, me pregnant.
A girl wants to talk to her mother.
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