The Big Reveal

June 22

We told our families this weekend about the pregnancy.

Mister L. wanted to wait ‘til after all the test results were in: the CVS, the nuchal fold, the first major ultrasound. I am 15 weeks this week, a bit later than when we told them with the first pregnancy.

The final CVS results came back and they were all negative: no increased risk for a variety of chromosomal problems and rare but terrible-sounding diseases that we Jews are more likely to carry. (The best question I was asked before giving blood for these tests: “Is there any way you and your husband are related?” I guffawed and said a hearty No.)

We told Preschooler L on the morning of a Father’s Day barbecue we hosted. I thought it was important to tell him first, before we told everyone else, because his reaction was more important than anyone’s. He came into bed with us early that morning, snuggled between us, and we told him that like his cousins (who each are two-sibling families), he was going to be a big brother. We’d have a new baby for the family, that the baby would be his baby, and that we’d be very excited for our new addition.

He sort of got it, said he was excited (this is a new phrase for him, telling us sometimes that he’s “so excited” to go to a birthday party, or to go swimming), but it was sort of in one ear and out the other. He is three, after all.

Later that afternoon, we had my parents, Mr. L’s father and wife, our siblings and their families over for Father’s Day. Mr. L. had this idea about printing up a photo of a cute baby from off the Internet, telling everyone I had an early Father’s Day gift for him, but that he’d have to wait for the delivery, and then showing the picture to everyone. I’d just thought we could have Preschooler L tell people brightly, “I’m going to be a big brother!”

So the Mister told everyone his story, and held up the picture wordlessly to the crowd.

“Is that (Preschooler L)?” one person asked.

“No! It’s the baby on the cover of your book, right?”

Finally one person was like, “Lyrehca is pregnant!”

After much coaxing, I then prompted Preschooler L to say “I’m going to be a big brother!”

I pointed out that I thought it was obvious, as I have very few maternity clothes for warm weather this time. I borrowed a lot of clothes the last time around, which I’ve since passed on to other people, and I was showing in the colder months last time. So I have plenty of maternity heavy sweaters and winter pants, but maybe one maternity tank top. I have a number of oversized non-maternity tops and elastic waist shorts (fat: it is my reality), but those haven’t been fooling some people over the past few weeks.

As mentioned earlier, my mom’s friend noticed my expanding ass way back around week five and asked if I was pregnant.

Around week 11, a little boy on the playground pointed to my oversize (non-maternity) sleeveless top and asked if I had a baby in there. “No, it’s just fat,” I told him. In the last week or two, close friends have either asked Mister L. out of my hearing if I was pregnant, or have revealed that they suspected it. I’m a good ten pounds heavier than I was before pregnancy, thanks to ongoing juice box consumption to treat low blood sugars, and to me it’s obvious I’m fleshier than usual. My own mother told me last week that, when she saw me in an empire-waisted-but-not-maternity-dress, that she couldn’t tell if I was pregnant or not, but that I was definitely putting on weight.

(Though in a nice twist for me, at my last doctor’s appointment on Friday, the day before when we announced our news, I learned I’d dropped three pounds in three weeks. Apparently, my weight gain is slowing down. Or perhaps I’m retaining less fluid. Either way, I still have plenty of weight on me, so there’s nothing to worry about, pregnancy-wise. The heft continues.)

Being out of the closet, finally, my mother insisted on taking me maternity clothes shopping for summer clothes. We went to one store and I tried on some stuff, but honestly, just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I want to look lame.

One dress was a floor-length sundress totally open on the top so my top half heaved out. “It’s the style to have your bra straps showing these days,” my mother said. “It’s not the style if I feel like I belong in a trailer park,” I retorted. I bought one dress that I hope to wear to my book reading this week, but it’s got three-quarter-length sleeves, so if it’s hot that evening, I’ll have to pray for intense air conditioning. I’m hitting a few other stores today, without my mother but with Preschooler L, so we’ll see how successful today’s efforts turn out to be.