In a Family Way
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but that face you all make when you first learn that my wife is pregnant is really special.
If you’re a woman, your mouth opens and your eyes glow…there’s an instant connection. My wife was only a few weeks pregnant when Cristina Worden (of Piropos fame) saw her from across a room and made that face, bee lined towards us and informed her that she was glowing and pregnant. It was some real Argentinean voodoo. “I can just tell,” she said.
At my wife’s first real public appearance as preggers-elect in Parkville, the Great Gatsby party at The National, the attention intensified and her belly officially made the transition to semi-public property, wherein complete strangers felt entitled to place their hands on her baby bump. “Why didn’t you tell us?” people asked. Hey, I’m an intensely private person who shuns attention in all its forms, I replied. Besides, after the first ultrasound, I was convinced we were having a baby panda. We called it “Glin Xi.” (Our obstetrician thinks we’re a little weird.)
The guys are different. If you’re a guy, you offer my wife congratulations, then you look at me and laugh uproariously. For instance, Gary Worden (of Cristina Worden fame) offers advice that consists of variations of the, “Ohhhh…you are in so much trouble!” message, followed by something I can only classify as a contemptuous giggle.
Stop giggling, Gary.
Other friends are more pragmatic. “Is it a boy or girl? Because if it’s a girl, you have to start saving for the wedding TODAY.” Even the women are giving me what I would call — at best– lightly empathetic looks. I imagine they’d have actual sympathy for me if I was the one about to crown a cantaloupe in a few months.
Two weeks ago, I was struggling through yet another deadline day at my home office. Sometime that mid-afternoon, a truck pulled into my driveway and I lost my home office. In the place of my Pulitizer prize winning desk went a crib. My high backed chair was replaced by something called a “glider” and my credenza, which was piled with my world famous “stack of knowledge,” was replaced by something that has a thick, waterproof pad on the top.
See? I’m making sacrifices.
The next day, we were off to the east coast, where my sister, grandmother and I were throwing the 40th anniversary party for my beloved parents. There is, of course, no pressure in something like that. My sister and I have always gotten along perfectly…I can only compare the way in which we work with one anther to Olympic pair figure skating champions. There’s a precision and grace to it, a tradition of collaboration and greatness. We’re like Romanian gymnasts. People often say so, too.
My parents have moved into a new home, and it was really heartening to see that they have extra rooms for all of the relatives. I really did get emotional – particularly when I found out we were having eggplant parmigiana for dinner. It was also emotional seeing my two-year-old nephew playing with his great-grandmother. Actually, I think it’d better be described as anxiety. My sister…she makes that look at me I was describing above. My father, he just shakes his head at me and says he hopes I have a son jusssst liiiike me…and I know that’s as much a curse as it is a wish for comeuppance. My mother though, she just glows and says, “wait until you see your baby’s little face.”
That just has to make you smile – in the family way.