My clothes can’t keep a secret.
We told the boy’s family yesterday. He’s going for hernia surgery on Monday, so he thought it’d be a good idea to get the fam together and announce the news of the pregnancy and see everyone before he went under the knife. Again, my choice of loose attire gave me away – who knew I was such a fangirl for tight clothing ? – his niece Christina sensed that I was about to drop the baby bomb after spying my blue dress. The news went over well, anyway. His mother congratulated us, claimed she already knew, and then was upset because we hadn’t told her before…her baby boy is having a baby. She was hurt. So emotional, that one. Sweet lady, though.
After the family reveal, I headed to Brampton to see my dear friend Radmila and her husband. They’re like family to me, and they were having their annual summer shindig on the same night as the boy’s family do. I’d originally said I wasn’t going to make it, but seeing that my afternoon ended early, and I had news to share, I hopped in the car and headed north.
As I pulled up, I could hear the music blaring. I opened the door unannounced and made my way to the kitchen, where I knew all of the wives and womenfolk would be congregated. Radmila and her friend Karla spotted me at the same time. Karla’s mouth dropped open, and Radmila said, “so, do you have something to tell us?” I spent the night sharing the news with various guests I haven’t seen in a while. I was truly warmed by all of the congratulations.
As one of the youngest adults who make a regular appearance at Radmila’s, I couldn’t help but note that with a bean on the way, folks who had previously treated me (albeit respectfully) as “young” Joanne, were talking to me more like a peer. It’s as if impending parenthood had suddenly levelled the playing field. I wound up in a deep conversation with Radmila’s sister-on-law’s husband, and I had to remark that aside from the occasional ribbing, I’d never truly spoken to the man before that night. “Had I known that all it takes is getting knocked up for you to talk to me, I would have done this much sooner!” I quipped. Hearty guffaws all around.
We hit the Taste of the Danforth festival today. A three-day outdoor feast-a-palooza of primarily Greek food, but there was also “Canadian” fare, sushi, Italian and Indian. It was crowded as hell down there, but it was such a beautiful day. It was nice to spend time together before the big slice. He’s worried about the surgery, but having been under the knife before, I assured him that he’ll be just fine. “Besides, you can’t die on me,” I told him. “I’m not cut out for single motherhood!” (pfft. I got this. But it made him smile. Fait accompli.)
A break from the face-stuffing.
I’ve been dealing with buggy ears for the past 13 years, and on Wednesday night they got so clogged, I could barely sleep from the pain. So bright and early Thursday, I headed to the walk-in clinic to see about getting them flushed or something. Strangely the clinic at the nearby hospital is advertised as a walk-in, yet, as I later learned, it doesn’t actually accept walk-in patients (you don’t have to be an on-file patient, but you DO have to make an appointment). Sensing my disappointment and distress, the receptionist took pity on my and directed me to Emerg. I felt silly going to ER just for a coupla blocked ears, but apparently pregnancy trumps silly. I was relieved to see it was a slow day – not just for the shorter wait time, but because I didn’t want to be taking up space in the queue for something as trivial as my ears. I mean, I’ve lived ten years plus with some kind of pain, itchiness or dizziness – what was one more day? There were two other people in the waiting area, and no sooner than I sat down, I had to get up again because my name was called.
The first doctor I saw was at the end of his shift, and clearly not interested in my auricular situation. He introduced himself, checked my chart, and asked a question or two. Disinterested (or dissatisfied, I’m not sure) with my answers, he informed me that he was leaving, and his colleague, Dr. Shogilev, would be around to help me in a few minutes.
Indeed, Dr. Shogilev (or Dr. Shog, as he said patients sometimes called him) did make an appearance in rather short order. I liked him right away. You know when you get a doctor who really cares about his profession/patients? He was that kind of doctor, amiable and funny. He asked me a few questions about my ears, and had a look inside with his otoscope. He whistled at the amount of blockage.
He jimscreeched a syringe with a bit of IV tubing attached to it, and gave me a paper bedpan to hold alongside my head with one hand, and a styrofoam cup of warm water to hold with the other. He sucked some of the water from the cup into the syringe and then blasted it into my right ear. Um, ow. And holy, effective. What came out of there was disgusting; he did the same with my left ear, and when he was done, my ears were ringing, they were so clear.
Dr. Shog took one more look inside with the scope to ensure there was no damage to the drum, and had me jump up and down to ensure there was no dizziness or vertigo. Once satisfied that I was in better shape than when I came in, he sent me on my way with a handshake and a smile.
Today I’m 12 weeks and two days. According to my pregnancy app, Peanut is about the size of a plum and weighs in at a mighty half-ounce. 😀
It’s an embryo. And it’s plum-coloured. Perfect.