Posted by: laughing4heir | August 28, 2009

Word is getting out

Im telling.  Who else is telling?

I'm telling. Who else is telling?

I finally talked to my boss yesterday to tell him that I was pregnant.  Or rather – am – pregnant.  I was going to hold off until Tuesday afternoon to have the talk with him, mostly because I wanted to make sure, after our Tuesday appointment that everything’s still going well.  That we have a little, beating, breathing, wiggling baby inside me.  But my closet forced my hand.

What’s that?  My clothes have been getting tight lately, but I’m still in my regular clothes.  (I tried a belly band last week and it didn’t do much more than escape my pants and seek refuge around my waist like some bad lycra belt.)  Yesterday morning, however, I pulled on a smocked top sundress that I was looking forward to wearing, and I looked a lot more like I was packing a bump than I ever have before.  As someone who carries her fat in the front and who has been asked by people in the past if I was pregnant, this is saying something.  So, I scrambled as best I could to put something together that didn’t make me look totally with child and decided to lay it out for him yesterday morning.  He already knew I wanted to “chat” about something, and was nervous.

But I was weepy.  Not with him, thankfully. Just leading up to it.  Leaving the house; sitting at my desk.  I was so scared.  Not of what he would say – I knew he’d be happy for me – but of bringing it to his attention.  Thus far, we’ve told just about everyone who needs to know:  family, very close friends.  And we’re letting it out among the wider circle of friends who may not have known we were even trying, much less all the heartache that’s been leading up to this.  I was pinged by a friend on Facebook who heard it through the grapevine of our performance community.  The news is now spreading beyond me.  But for some reason, letting my boss know – even more than letting my female coworkers know, who’ve known for weeks – was seriously tough.  It’s like admitting to him, officialized it. “I will need time off to bond with and care for my baby.”  It made this more real and less retractable.  I don’t want to have to “un-announce” to anyone, and statistically, it’s unlikely that I’ll have to.  Nonetheless, when it comes to babymaking, I’ve been on the losing end of statistics so much in the last 4 years, that I no longer trust the notion of the “likeliest outcome.”

I’ll be at 17 weeks this Sunday, and have a check up on Tuesday morning.  It can’t come fast enough.  I just want to take a peek or hear a heartbeat or anything to assure me that we’ve still got a growing baby in there.  And I know it’s still kind of early to feel kicking, but I want to feel it so badly.  I want this little critter to communicate with me and let me know he or she is doing well.  Every day I take sometime to feel around on my bloated, rubber ball of a uterus and hope for some movement.  Invariably, I always get my own pulse and the palpitation of my excited breath as it courses through my body.  <sigh>  Hurry up, little bug!

My therapist was right:  this is going to be a loooonnng pregnancy.



  1. I have goosebumps. I’m so excited for you. I hope it went well with the boss. How could it not?

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