the telling

Well, we told people - not all people, but a bunch of family people - on Easter. We stood there, at my parents' house, and said most calmly that we are having a baby, and the mental health police did not come collect me for spreading lies and foisting my personal hallucinations on other people, so we may, in fact, have told the truth.

It was weird. All these years of imagining that moment, and I mostly felt panicky about it, as if sharing the news was the thing that would make everything go wrong. But I took a deep breath, and we told, and then a few hours later I threw up, and then I threw up twice again yesterday, so it looks as if nothing much has changed.

To be honest, a big part of me has relished having this as a secret. Our parents have known, and my husband's sister, and three close friends, but that was it for quite awhile. They knew because we needed people to pray for us and support us during the IVF cycle, and they served as our guinea pigs for telling people - but then six weeks went by with no telling, and now it feels as if everything is changing.

Already, I can't button my jeans (this is probably not baby. Definitely not baby, actually; more likely THE BLOAT and perhaps the eating, although I'm trying to keep that under control). Two weeks from yesterday, I have my 12 week ultrasound, and then we're on to trimester number two.

Holy shit.

We're visiting my in-laws for a few days and my mother-in-law wants to take me shopping for a maternity outfit. I am resisting the demon within me that taunts, "bad idea, girly, that's sure to make something terrible happen" - and, instead, we're going to shop. And have fun. And banish the demons to a dark corner, where they will have to pout and sulk without me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go throw up.