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That would be telling

Last summer, I let my grandparents know that Paul and I were having trouble conceiving. Although they haven't been privy to the details of our treatments, they know we've been trying hard, and that we've sought medical help.

When I told my grandfather about this pregnancy, he thought for a minute, cocked his head, and said, in a deadpan voice, "Practice, practice, practice."


I have lost control. Now that a few family members know, they'll feel quite free to tell all the others. I didn't anticipate how vulnerable this would make me feel. My grandfather told my uncle, who then called my cousin, who claimed he'd already known, that he was "in the loop." My sister-in-law told my brother before I had a chance to tell him myself. The children will probably be told before I feel entirely comfortable with the idea of them knowing. It's out of my hands entirely.


I told family members one by one. I didn't want to make any kind of announcement; at any rate, there was no opportune time to do so since the kids were always around. I told my grandmother when she and I were alone. She teared up, hugged me several times, and wished us well.

I told my grandfather quietly when the room was filled with boisterous activity, leaning close to speak into his ear.

I did not tell my sister-in-law. I didn't have to. I didn't get the opportunity to. As soon as I'd told my grandfather, she rushed over to hug me. How did she know?

She had read my lips from across the noisy room.