Just don’t tell me about the syringe you used.

Today was a busy day of telling.

It began with my aunt, who is more like a third parent. I called her this morning and, in thanking her for money she had given us a couple of months earlier, I told her what it had been used for and that I was pregnant.  She was thrilled.  She asked when we were due and whose eggs we had used (in preliminary conversations with family members we had maintained the possibility of using IVF with Sea’s eggs).  We answered the first question and not the second, and the call ended with many more congratulations.

Next we told a couple of friends, a friend couple.  Sea has a very locked down Facebook album with the ultrasound photo and one future baby announcement, which she gave said friends access to this morning.  Within fifteen minutes they had liked and commented on the photos and within twenty minutes they had texted to ask if they could come over.  An hour later they stopped by our house briefly with congratulations and this book.

The big announcement, though, was later in the day: Sea and I had agreed to tell my parents.  We had even agreed on how we would tell them—on Skype while they were both in the room, we would tell them.  Then only my mother appeared on my screen, and told me that my father was too busy cooking dinner to speak to us.  I refused this information, and told her to go and get them.  He reappeared without her, and we realized that trying to get them in the same place at the same time was a little too much like herding cats to be feasible.  So we told him first.  The conversation:

Us: “We have some exciting news.  We’re having a baby.”

Dad: “What?  You’re planning to have a baby? Or you are having a baby?”

Sea (muttering in my ear): “You explain it.”

A: “We’re having a baby.  I’m pregnant.”

Dad: “Who’s pregnant?  You?  A?”

A: “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

Dad (laughing, excited): “Bingo! [pause] Just don’t tell me about the syringe you used.  Don’t tell me anything.”

A couple of minutes later he went to get my mother.

Mother: “Dad tells me you have some exciting news?”

Us: “Yes, we have some exciting news.  We’re having a baby.”

And then we realized that my mother definitely did not know before that moment.

I actually captured the exact moment of realization in a screenshot: my mother’s arms in the air and her mouth a shocked “o”: I wish this blog wasn’t anonymous so that I could share it with you all.

My mother began squealing and oohing incoherently.  A few minutes later, slightly more composed, she asked if I was the one who was pregnant.  We confirmed that I was, and then the questions began.  When are we due? Did we use an anonymous donor?  A fertility clinic?  Whose eggs did we use?  How long was the process?  Why didn’t I tell her?  How could we have stayed in a hotel room together without me telling her?  Who else knows?  My aunt already knows?  Why did we tell her first?  Am I still riding my bike?  Is Sea feeding me enough green vegetables?

We had expected these questions and had answers prepared.  We’re due in November.  Yes, we used an anonymous donor and a fertility clinic.  We’re not telling people whose eggs we used.  The process took several months.  We weren’t telling anybody.  A couple of friends know and we told my aunt this morning.  The timing made it easier to tell my aunt first.  I am still riding my bike.  We’re both taking care of ourselves and each other.

A couple more questions followed, still in a near shriek.  She told me that she wouldn’t tell anybody, but that she would think of little else.  And then the conversation was done.  Sea and I high-fived and hugged.

And with that, in a single day, we’ve doubled the number of people who know.  I’m exhausted.

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5 thoughts on “Just don’t tell me about the syringe you used.

  1. Wow, I am so glad it went well. And, I wish I had been clever enough to think about NOT telling people whose eggs we used. (Smacks forehead)

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