Because no, I am not capable of keeping such a massive thing secret, especially from my roommate who has seen us go to not one, but two different blood tests, plus various doctor’s appointments, and who must be wondering why I’m currently on a five-day weekend whereas I was fretting not so long ago about my failing my internship.
(The reason I’m on a five-day weekend is because until we have the more detailed blood test results back, we must assume that pregnancy, ironically enough, has given me the equivalent of a sudden and possibly fatal allergy to children, meaning I am not allowed to work in or around schools, especially with kids under the age of six. Later on we find out that over 5 years working in childcare have immunized me to this particular disease, but for now I’m off “sick”.)
The day I bring home a massive pink and blue box of prenatal vitamines with a picture of a cute little foetus on the front, we decide that telling our roomie sounds more appealing than trying to find a hiding place for the box where I won’t forget about it, which just goes to show how lazy we both are, or possibly how bad we are at keeping secrets.
Roomie is not all that surprised. In fact, it turns out that Bf actually told her one caffeine-less morning that I was late with my period (there’s no such thing as TMI in our house), and then with the blood tests, she basically figured it out before we even knew.
Of course, since Roomie knows, I have to tell our other two other very close girl friends who live close by, because we’re having a meal soon and now I have to be careful what I eat, and also because fuck it.
It’s very, very nice to be able to openly squeal down the phone and jump up and down.
It’s even nicer when we go to dinner (at a friend’s house who is also pregnant, at seven months) and we’re actually celebrating. My pregnant friend and I eat all the guacamole and nobody complains. I could get used to this.
A few days later, since the doctor has put me on leave for a while due to stress (more specifically, due to the stress of knowing I actually don’t want to teach any more), I tell a small group of friends in my class, because this is my second week off and they’re starting to worry I might have cancer or something. I avoid the joke about embryos and rapid cell division because they’re all girls about ten years younger than me and they might be shocked (my sense of humour shocks even me sometimes). Again with the squealing, only it’s on a private facebook group this time.
Another week later, my neighbour who is in my class but not in our work group sees me in a local sports shop looking for bras that might be more comfy than what I’ve got, and she just guesses. And I’m not going to outright lie about it, am I? Then of course she asks if she can tell her mum and her boyfriend, who also happens to be in my class and who I don’t even know very well, and I know that if I say no she won’t be able to keep quiet about it for long…
Then a week later I get a text saying that a teacher (who I hadn’t even told) slipped up about it in class, starting a bunch of rumours, and that means I have to announce it to the class before the whole school starts speculating about this girl they barely know.
The squeeing is massive. I’m in a preschool teaching class that is 97% girls just out of adolescence: The squeeing. Is MASSIVE.
But after the original squee-nami, it all calms down and they go back to panicking about failing their internships, like I was before I got
an excuse to up and quit pregnant.
And that is how it came about that a bunch of acquaintances I might never meet again know I’m pregnant before my own grandparents do.