The day my husband proposed to me, I was caught a bit off guard.   I didn’t exactly do the whole jump up and down and squeal with delight while shedding tears fiasco.   And once the whole event settled upon me, I wanted to shout it from the rooftops that I was getting married.   It was a euphoric feeling, a natural high, something that generated so much happiness inside of me that I wanted to share it with the rest of the world.  I couldn’t keep quiet about it.   Basically I’m only good at keeping secrets that aren’t mine.  

So, needless to say I’m finding myself wanting to stop each person I see on the street and tell them, “hey, guess what!?  I’m pregnant.”  As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing! 

Two weeks ago, my husband and I enjoyed the geriatric special at Olive Garden, meaning we got there at 5:15 on a Friday when the elderly crowd is eating.   We got a seat pretty quickly and were back home by 6:30.   For a pregnant lady who’s not staying up past 9 these days, that was perfect timing.   So, we’re at Olive Garden and I ask for a non-alcoholic beer.   One of the things that I’m genuinely missing since I became pregnant is the taste of beer.   While an O’Douls doesn’t exactly hold a high-caliber taste, it still makes me feel like I’m drinking a Miller Lite.   Our waitress leaves and then returns a few moments later to let me know that they don’t have any O’Douls, but could she offer me a glass of wine.   Well, I suppose I could have just said “no thanks”, but I felt like I needed to justify my reasons for non-alcoholic beverages and I always want to hear “congratulations” once again.   So, I reared back in my seat and affectionately rubbed my belly while exclaiming, “I can’t.  I’m pregnant.”   I caught a glimpse of my husband out of the corner of my eye, a smile spreading across his face.   I knew what he was thinking,  bless my heart.  Needless to say, the nice waitress did give me a congratulations and I was happy.

Recently, my husband and I were attending a local college baseball game.   While waiting outside for one of our friends, an acquaintance of mine walked by and spoke with us.   He asked if we were going in the bar for a drink.  I said I needed food.   He asked if I hadn’t eaten all day.    And what did I do?   Yep, that’s right.  I leaned up against the wall and began rubbing my belly again before telling him I was pregnant.   And of course I got another, “congratulations.”

Four innings into the game, I decided I just couldn’t take it anymore.  I had my dinner, saw my team score, and was freezing my patooty off.   I wanted my bed and I wanted some ice cream, so I told my husband I was leaving and I would see him at home (as we drove separately to the game).   As I made my way out the gates, I was stopped by the gatekeeper who told me that I would need a stamp if I wanted to re-enter.   What I should have said to the nice man was, “thank you, I’m not returning.”  But no!  I couldn’t leave it at that.   I smiled, turned around, and said, “Oh, I’m going home, there’s only so much my pregnant body can handle.”  I mean really?   Did I really say that?   You betcha I did.   And the nice man said to me with a smile as huge as a proud grandfather’s “Congratulations, dear.”   And I was happy.

My mother likes to give me a hard time about broadcasting too much of my personal life.    She tells me I let too many people know my business and that’s probably true, but in this case I don’t really care who knows.   I want to tell everyone what has happened to me.   It’s a gift, a beautiful gift from God and He has bestowed this privilege on me!   So you’d better bet you’re Aunt Ruthie’s house I’m gonna shout it loud and proud, “Extra! Extra!  I’m pregnant!”