When I arrived in Florida last Monday night, I knew immediately the original plan of waiting almost two weeks to spill the coffee bean to my parents and brother was not going to happen. In the span of 14 hours, I had to turn down a second cup of coffee and finagle a vague text response to a proposed wine drinking/football watching party. People know me. My brother’s signature Alvarez raised eyebrow at my “no thanks” to coffee was proof positive the news was coming out soon.
I hated that Clayton wasn’t going to be there, but I was more worried about people finding out while randomly eating dinner or grocery shopping, with no fanfare. One more pass on booze or caffeine, and someone was going to call me out right then and there. Thankfully, we have iphones. And they are magic.
On Wednesday night, with Clayton tucked secretly away on FaceTime under a stack onesies, the plan was in motion. I’d been carrying my phone out into the kitchen, then u-turning back to the bedroom over and over again for about 10 minutes, waiting for my mom to wake up. Finally, I turned the corner to the kitchen, and she was standing there. I rushed back to the room to grab the necessary onesies and debated this whole idea. Not just telling them, but being pregnant. It suddenly seemed RIDICULOUS that I could be having a baby.
Obviously, the wrong time for that whole conversation. I swallowed that terror down in a lump and headed with my stack of onesies into the kitchen. I breezed by my parents, mom still trying to wake up and dad busily preparing dinner, to fetch my brother from the patio. He was seriously getting into a cigar and studying, so I was just hoping he’d play nice.
“Tony, come see what I made for Leah’s shower.”
“Now?” Pointing with this eyes to the fat cigar, propped up legs and school book. “Can’t I see them later?”
“No. I want to show you while I show mom and dad.”
And Tony, not known for his interest in party planning or iron-on fabric décor, came inside to humor me.
So I began displaying the onesies I’d made for my best friend’s shower, one by one. Sure, they were adorable, but the boys were definitely counting the seconds until this little show and tell was over.
As I got to the bottom of the pile, the second to last onesie had “01” on the front, like a tiny jersey.
“Wait,” I said. “This isn’t for Leah’s baby.” And I turned it over and “Noa” was on the back. Tony smiled. And my mom stared blankly at me like I’d just offered her a helping of green beans.
I tried to hold the onesie more determinedly in her direction. Nothing. Glass eyes.
My brother said something, and I think that helped clue her in.
“What are you telling me?” She asked, not thinking this game was very funny.
“It’s for MY baby!”
And then she understood. And there were smiles to spare. And the future Uncle Tony got his own little surprise that was hopefully worth the cigar he never did finish.
Clayton was there in spirit and in iphone.
And I could finally stop making excuses for why that merlot was not appealing and beg someone to make me a flippin’ cup of decaf.