|Image borrowed from here
Beyonce’s totally rockin’ on stage pregnancy announcement goes down as Best. Baby. Reveal. EVER. And so it got me reminiscing about the way in which I shared my exciting news with my public (aka The Husband) Though, to be honest it was on on quite a smaller scale, minus a song, dance and stage and a few million screaming fans…
We’d been trying for a baby for about 6 months when we decided to halt the proceedings. The lack of initial success was taking an emotional toll (have I mentioned I’m uber impatient??) so with the silly season approaching we agreed to think about starting afresh in the New Year. The upside? This then meant I had the green light to get rolling drunk at the many work Christmas parties I had lined up.
Things were frantic with work, with a restructure in its final stages. I was mentally and emotionally drained from it and quite looking forward to a well earned bevvie or seven!
Of course, the sensible part of me felt it necessary to check I wasn’t pregnant before consuming my body weight in alcohol. ACP Magazines Party – check: pregnancy test negative. Channel Nine Christmas party – check: negative again.
So it appeared I had the all clear to go forth and get very merry!
I remember declaring to my boss, as we drove from the city office to the Willoughby TV station that I was considering my rights to get completely rollicking drunk that night, needing to let off some steam and stress with the open bar, not to mention the fact Sneaky Sound System had been booked as the night’s entertainment. It had been such a rollercoaster year and how better to ring in the end of a weary work season than by dancing and drinking to this super cool band?
And for the record, yes, yes I did have far too many drinks, at both parties. Here’s proof:
A week later it was time for the final curtain call on the company I’d worked for the past few years; the end of an era as the demerger took place. Many of my colleagues and I were parting ways so there was much to celebrate, commiserate and commemorate. A long boozy lunch had been planned, and after which I was taking three weeks leave before starting my next chapter at the newly formed company.
Call it fate, but something made me detour via my local supermarket en route to the office early that December morn. I was bone tired, but put it down to all the festivities and the full on weeks of trying to finalise so much for the demerger. Yet a whisper made me walk in and purchase a pregnancy test on a whim.
And so, there in the toilet stalls of my workplace, to my utter surprise did I see the two little pink lines I’d been longing for, finally appear!
I was faint with shock. For the first time I was performing a test with no preconceived notions of the outcome. I had simply been acting on autopilot but suddenly was very alert to what I’d just witnessed. Perhaps there would be no wine for me that day after all…
The day passed in a blur. I remember my husband calling me on the phone literally the minute I left the bathrooms, and me doing my best to sound normal on the other end. The whole day my mind whirled with an incessant chorus of “Am I? Could I be? Is this it?” but the cynic in me refused to believe it. Yet to be safe I shuffled my wine about in my glass at lunch, fervently praying no one would see me not partaking in the merriment.
I couldn’t get home quick enough. Not convinced that one little test could spell out such desired fate, I purchased another kit at a chemist close to home and dashed furtively into the bathroom upon my arrival. The Husband, for one rare occasion, had beaten me home so again I was faced with acting normal, when truly my brain was screaming with potential excitement.
Two minutes later, two pink lines. Ladies and gents, we had a winner!
Now, the tricky part was decided just how I’d share this momentous news. Forced to think quickly, I placed the cap back over the test and scrambled to the spare room (or future nursery as my mind seemed to immediately squeal) for some Christmas wrapping paper. The Husband had been lamenting the fact that although we already had our Christmas tree assembled and lovingly decorated, there were no gifts bearing his name from beneath. I was about to recifty that.
As casually as possibly I walked over and stood by the tinselled tree, and commented that there was finally a present with his name underneath. He was watching the sport on the news and couldn’t have been less interested.
I sat next to him, and bestowed his pen like present in his hands. “It’s something you should open now,” I remarked, careful to keep my voice as even as possible.
Again he regarded it with minimal concern, more transfixed with the events transpiring in the sporting world. That was, of course, until he had unfurled it from its festive encasing.
I’ll never forget the look he gave me in that very moment. Eyes wide, mouth instantly agape, gasping and grasping for words all at once.
“Is it? Are you? Are We?!” Clearly struggling to string the sentence together that he so desperately sought, he clasped my face in his two hands, searching for the answer. With tears shining in my eyes, and mirroring his own, all I could do was nod and cry.
And for the record, according to him?
Best. Christmas. Present. EVER.