"Mom, I'm finished with my homework," Lesa said as she waved it in my face.
I took the math paper from her and scanned it. Two-digit multiplication and most of it incorrect. Why hadn't she asked for help half an hour ago? Or forty-five minutes ago? I grabbed a pencil and began circling the wrong answers.
I sat beside her and explained how to multiply, over and over and over and over again. By the fifteenth problem, I was frustrated beyond belief, but I tried not to take it out on Lesa. It wasn't her fault that I was knocked up and feeling stressed about it.
When the mad rush of homework was finished, checked, and corrected, it was time to make supper. I really just wanted to cry. As I peeled an onion and gagged at the smell, I knew that dinnertime wasabout to becomeeven more difficult, if not impossible.
"Can we play badminton?" Lyn asked while I stirred the ground beef and onion. I nodded, told the girls to watch their brother, added the rest of the chili's ingredients, and then sat on the couch.
The doorbell rang and our dog Silver (sometimes referred to as Damned Dog depending on what kind of mischief he's gotten into) started barking and raced to the front door. I peeked through the blinds and sighed...Jehovah's Witnesses. I always try to be cordial, but I got rid of them as fast as I could, citing that I was in the middle of making dinner. I had no sooner gotten back to the couch when the doorbell rang again.
Muttering a string of curse words, I walked to the door. This time, it was Tom. He greeted me with a kiss, took a good look at me and said, "You're still not feeling well, are you?"
I shook my head.
"How soon before the chili's ready?" he asked as he lifted the iPad off the kitchen counter.
"Probably another ten minutes." I stirred the pot then returned to the sofa.
"Maybe you should go to the doctor."
I really wanted to tell him in a special way that I was pregnant. Maybe a picture frame with "I love my daddy" written around the frame and a "See you in June" where the picture should be. Or Timmy wearing an "I'm the big brother" t-shirt, anything other than just blurting it out. If I waited to tell him in a "special" way, I'd probably chicken out until the words "I'm in labor" came out of my mouth.
"Yeah, about that... I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong with me. I'm pregnant."
Tom looked up from the iPad, something that even the words "The house is on fire" would not accomplish. (I know because I've tried it numerous times).
"Are you sure?" He actually set his game aside and I was pretty sure parts of Hell were freezing at the moment.
"Yeah. I took two tests, I'm late, and the signs have been there for at least a week, just thought I had the flu."
He didn't yell, cuss, or carry on the way I had a few hours earlier. What he did scared me even more. What he did was remain silent for a few minutes. I'm a mom. I know that silence usually means trouble. Unless that silence is followed by cackling...and that means B-I-G trouble.
"You need to call the doctor tomorrow and start taking prenatal vitamins," he finally said.
Did he think I was stupid? I didn't bother to ask. I thought I was stupid, and that's what mattered at the moment. But still. Of course I was going to start taking the vitamins and I would call the doctor first thing in the morning.
It was my turn to be silent. That was it? No "This is awful. I can't believe you let this happen. Oh my freakin' god!" None of the harshness that I'd thought this afternoon? Heck, I'd gotten a much bigger reaction while I was subjected to the torture of watching wrestling while we were dating. He and his cousin were ogling the babes of wrestling, so I started to have a little fun. I mean...The Rock! Wow, had I gotten a reaction from him when I'd said that I wouldn't mind being stuck between the Rock and his hard place. He'd been mad at me for a couple of days. I honestly believed he'd break up with me because of it.
And there wasn't the slightest hint of disappointment with an unplanned pregnancy? This was weird.
Maybe he was in shock. I wondered if should I slap him to make sure that he was okay. I wiped that thought right out of my head. Probably not the smartest thing to do when your husband is 215 pounds of muscle. And an army guy.
"Really? That's all you're going to say? You aren't mad? You were done after we had Lyn."
"It is what it is. I'm probably going to need a few weeks to process this. I don't think I'll ever have sex again, and I'll be working until I'm eighty, but it'll be okay."
"That's good on the sex part, because I don't think I'll ever have sex again either...well, unless Brad Pitt suddenly becomes available." I didn't mention the Rock.
He smiled. "When are we going to tell the kids?"
"I'd like to wait for a few weeks, but we'll see how I'm feeling. I don't want to tell them and then miscarry. And I don't want everyone and their brother to know about this. I'm just not ready for the Do-you-know-what-causes-that comments, especially when the people are too far away for me to punch in the face or puke on."
He laughed, came over to the couch, and wrapped his arms around me. "I love you, honey. We'll get through this."
A huge weight fell from my shoulders as I heard the words. How could I have doubted that Tom would be anything other than loving? He was my rock.
