Chapter 4 - I Waited Eleven Weeks to Tell My Family
Daniel and I had not been aggressively trying.
We wanted:
children.
We stopped preventing pregnancy.
Three months later:
positive test.
I sat on the bathroom floor laughing and crying at the same time.
Then immediately thought:
Rebecca.
Not Mom.
My sister.
I hated that guilt arrived before:
joy.
Daniel knew why.
“What do you want to do?”
“Tell Rebecca first.”
So we did.
I went to her house.
No announcement box.
No cute mug.
I said:
“I’m pregnant.”
She stared.
Then hugged me so hard it hurt.
I started crying.
She pulled back.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m sorry.”
Her face changed.
“Do not do that.”
“What?”
“Do not apologize to me for being pregnant.”
“I know, but—”
“No.”
Then:
“Mom did this to us.”
I looked at her.
“She’s going to lose her mind.”
“Probably.”
“That is not your fault.”
Rebecca did not resent:
my baby.
That truth remained steady through everything.
But I still waited another two weeks before telling:
our parents.
Eleven weeks pregnant.
Mom’s first response?
Not:
congratulations.
She looked toward Rebecca.
Then asked:
“Were you trying?”
I knew immediately what she meant.
Was this intentional enough to count as:
betrayal?
Daniel answered:
“Yes.”
Not entirely true.
He had understood the accusation.
Helen looked at me.
“You couldn’t wait?”
Rebecca stood.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
Helen began crying.
At my pregnancy announcement.
I went home and told myself:
she’s grieving.
Again.
May you like
Always the same explanation.
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