Because I suck at it.
The Hubs and I determined that we would wait until after the first trimester to tell our families about their impending Grandma-Grandpa-Auntie-Uncle-dome. Do you know how long we knew we were having a baby before we could tell anybody? Almost TWO MONTHS!!!
I can’t keep my mouth shut for 5 minutes. Two months is a stretch.
I’ve gone 10 days without white flour, sugar, dairy or alcohol. I’ve gone 90 days on P90x (or close-ish… look at these guns and tell me I didn’t do 90 days!). But going from November 7 to December 23rd without being able to tell anybody about this business was hell.on.earth.
Here are a few reasons why.
1. The first trimester is the time when most of the nastiest pregnancy symptoms strike in full force – you know, morning sickness, being tired, skin weirdness, gas and bloat-age, moodiness, inexplicable weight gain, etc. I didn’t have the luxury of blaming the baby for any of this kind of stuff… not that I was in bad shape through the first trimester, but I would have loved to have made Baby Dub the scapegoat once or twice.
2. You, the pregnant party, are the one making all the life-style changes right off. You’re getting fatter, more tired, grouchier and you can’t drink to take the edge off. Not being able to bask in any of the pregnancy glory kind of sucks during the first few weeks of adjustment.
3. If you’re like me, you’ll forget that you haven’t told people you’re knocked up, and you’ll unintentionally drop hints while just commenting on your life at the time. For example, “Man, I am starving like every hour on the hour!” “Dude I went to bed at 7:30 last night.” “Lay off me, I’m STARVING!!”
4. The longer you keep the secret, the more attached to it you become. I was almost sad to spill the beans. It wasn’t that I didn’t look forward to the reaction, to the excitement, and the general clenched up fists, jump-for-joy everybody was feeling when hit with the news. I was sad because once everybody else got the news, it wasn’t “our” (me and the Hubs) little secret anymore. I no longer control the reality of the baby joy – it has taken on a life of its own.
I’m definitely not complaining. I’ve traded one delightful little private reality for a bigger and more collective anticipation that reminds me every day that I have been blessed not only with the best HUBS in the world, but with the best family (immediate and in-law) and the best friends (pretty much family) that are going to welcome the newest Walter to the world with the fanfare normally reserved for marathon runners and really great cooks.
Wait, I’m both of those things. Booya!
Little known fact: a common second trimester symptom? Becoming a braggart.