November 11
Armistice Day. Let there be peace; let there be understanding but The Pretty Little Dutch Girl’s mom is in full throttle. She wants her daughter at home, under her thumb, jumping when she says how high. So a war that calls itself peace is fashioned between us, her, the shrinks, counselors, Social Workers (who we speculate have escaped from a secret clone lab before all the essential human parts were rightfully installed). My period was trying to kick start, so I felt bloaty, crampy and in a rather unreasonable mood.
November 13
We celebrate your Dad’s birthday. I noticed I was feeling very sorry for myself and not understood by anyone – I indulge in a pity party for one – not my usual “mode of operandi”. By now, though suspicious, I keep my thoughts to myself, and keep running to the bathroom to check if my monthly has come on.
November 20
By now I definitely have a sneaking notion there is a “You” tucked in a safe haven of my body. I remember it was a Friday Night and I had dumped the clean laundry on our bed to fold and put away. I share the suspicion with your Dad and he is over the moon. He fusses over me, even helped put away his laundry. What is that all about?
November 21
I break the news to my Mother and my Sister-Who-Taught-Me-Most-of-the-Things-I-Know. Your uncle’s job is being transferred so they are moving back to Mississauga with Baby Cousin JAG. They are thrilled for me, thrilled for you, thrilled for themselves. Your Grandma dreams of a little girl to dress in pink but I am thinking “blue” for some undetermined reason. My take charge sister wants to bundle me off to a pharmacy for a urine test, to a midwife, better yet to a doctor for confirmation that JAG has a cousin on the way. I have a need to keep the secret a bit longer so beg off, promising I will go to my own doctor. Somehow I couldn’t bear for the doctor to burst my bubble. I enjoyed this particular bubble too much. Don’t wake me up yet, please, let me keep dreaming, at least a little longer.
November 25
Some of your many Aunties-to-Be have been tentatively alerted to the possibility of you. I set up an appointment to see Dr. D. (after work, of course – can’t miss a minute on the job, even for you, it seems), who says, giving the facts and figures, I am probably “with child,” but tells me to leave a urine sample and call tomorrow morning for confirmation.
November 26
Definitely ranks as one of the most pins and needles, clock slowing to a crawl as I wile away the hours, not making the call till 11:55am, to ensure the results are in, so I will not have to telephone back. The receptionist says, “Positive”. My whole family is thrilled while I feel tired, nauseous and totally disbelieving of the results on one hand, yet cautiously elated on the other. We only used birth control for the first six months of marriage since I had a dreadful reaction, causing my irregular glands to become even more grumpy so this day has been a long time coming…like seven years.
The good doctor wants me to come in to get started on the vitamins and also gives me a pill for the nausea . Little did I know, and not till years later when the whole world knew, the side effects it caused in some babes. You dodged a bullet that time and more along the way. Still those pills worked miracles for me! It was day from night, I could hold my head up without it going in circles and read my lips no-more-puking. Seems I could cancel the fertility tests scheduled in December.
Classic
November 29
It was your Grandparent’s 40th wedding anniversary so we celebrated at the home of my Sister-Who-Taught-Me-Most-of-the-Things-I-Know. You can see pictures of that day, all your Aunts, Brother-In-Laws, your Uncle, your Sister-In-Law and myself, with you tucked deep inside of me, lined up in a row. Since the whole gang was there, it seemed a good time to share your existence, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to take the attention from my parents’ day. However your Aunt spilled the beans, it was a secret too good to hide. As you can imagine, knowing my family, as you do, there was a lot of skepticism that we could carry it off. You got to love them.
classic