Calling All Angels

A week ago tonight, I was running some last minute errands preparing for a friend's arrival here in D.C.  I needed to fill my car with gas.  I also needed Wendy’s French fries and Gatorade.

Today I learned what the OB in “OB/GYN” meant, and after silently practicing the pronunciation in my head several times, I feel confident I would be able to say “Dr. so-and-so is my Obstetrician," without fumbling.  Obstetrician.  Obstetrician.  I’ve not ever typed this word before, so as I sit hear typing, I am aware there is no muscle memory in my fingers:  O-b-s-t-e-t-r-i-c-i-a-n. 

Now, I need to admit, I have gone against The Hubby's wishes that we keep this pregnancy top secret until we get a “medical opinion.”  I guess for him, a pregnancy test isn’t medical enough.  Perhaps he has the same concerns that many others rightfully have about waiting until the end of the first trimester in case of miscarriage.  I can’t even imagine what the heartache of miscarriage must feel like.  I hope that is not part of the story that is to come.  If it is, I will also turn, in sorrow, to these same women in my life for support, just as I turn to them in wonderment now for support, here at the beginning of Week 6. 

Yes, I have gone against Hubby's wishes.  I’m sorry Sweetheart.  You don’t even know yet that I told my parents over the weekend.  When I told Dad, he couldn’t stop laughing, he was so overjoyed.  “Marin, that’s great!  What great news!  Ha!”  His laughter came from his gut, the way it always does.  He was thrilled.  Monday morning, I finally got hold of Mom (Dad has almost been able to keep it secret), and as we talked, she got more and more excited, remembering stories about her pregnancies: running to the teacher’s lounge with terrible morning sickness with my oldest brother Jeff, and not even visiting the doctor until month five with my youngest brother, Brad, at age 43.  With six children, my mom rode her pregnancies like Buffalo Bill rode a horse – with ease and grace as if it was her calling in life.  My mom’s example is perhaps the thing that gives me the most faith, here at 39, that all will be well. 

So, Sweetie, the cat is in the process of coming out of the bag.  But you see, pregnancy is not something a woman endures alone.  A woman isn’t meant to be alone.  She is surrounded by an army of angels who celebrate, mourn, hope, pray, marvel, question and cheer right alongside her.  My angels are my parents, my sister, my best friend Becky, my dance friends, Andrea and Rebecca and Amanda, and other friends who are the most awesome of awesome mothers:  Heather, Emily, Ruthann, Becca, Jenna.  I turn to these women for advice only they can give at just the right time.  So, I am buoying up my defenses here by enlisting these angels early. 

Sweetheart, I hope you’ll forgive me.