She and I agreed that it would be prudent for us to tell our parents first. This quickly became one of those moments that was easier said than done for me. As I would assume the majority of husbands out there can understand, there is a bit of an unspoken pact that exists between a man and his father-in-law: no matter how many times you've been fishing together, or had too much bourbon, or argued over your favorite football team (he has seriously got to be kidding with those Cowboys), or even taken a road trip and passed out on the same deflated air mattress on the dirty floor of your college friend's apartment, you do not, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, talk about the <ahem> "biblical elements" of your marriage to his daughter. ...at least, not without protective padding and a new pair of running shoes.
What I was expecting to get from Jan's father.
Just thinking about how to go through with this made me flash back to the time that I picked up Jan for our first official date. We were seniors in high school, and despite having actually known each other since we were in the same kindergarten class, had only been "together" for around a week or so. We had worked together all summer, and after the start of (I kid you not) band camp, decided that we should go out. This, of course, meant in a high-school sense, where everyone knew you were "going out", but you hadn't necessarily gone on a date yet. Reflecting back on this it all sounds unbelievably trivial and silly, but believe me when I tell you that my wife remembers every single one of these days and reminds me of them annually. Anyway, we decided to actually go out on a date. I washed my car, bought flowers, and dressed appropriately enough for 2001 (I'm positive it was a pair of jeans and a sweater, not like a "Nelly" t-shirt or anything). As I approached Jan's front door, I was replaying all that she had told me previously about her father, and how he was a high school football player, loved sports, played golf, and worked a physical job for a living. I was unbelievably self-aware that my letter jacket, that I was most assuredly wearing, was earned for band and also bore a pin from the high school theater department; that my time spent on the football field was exclusively as a marching band member; and that I couldn't even consider myself good at putt-putt. It was the most tense 87 seconds of my life. I could feel him sizing me up from his corner of the sofa in their living room, and although pleasantries were exchanged, I sensed that behind his eyes, he was wishing he had a shotgun to clean at that very moment. Again, our relationship is fantastic now; but I'm sure he'll smile if he reads this, knowing that he did his job as the father of a daughter causing me to almost defecate on myself right there in his living room. My intentions were honestly pure all those years ago, but now... well, now there's actual proof that Jan and I, at least one time... well, you know. This is all I kept hearing in my head:
Before I get too far ahead of myself, allow me to point out a few things, and introduce a few more players. A few years ago, Jan and I moved back to our hometown (more or less), where her parents were still living. My parents, who for all the years we were growing up lived literally 1 mile away (seriously, how cute are we?!?), retired and relocated to a warmer, southern coastal state. So there is a physical disconnect between us and our two sets of parents, and Jan and I always have in mind how to best balance between the two families... it's not perfect, as one family is obviously a lot closer than the other (25 minutes versus 10.5 hours), but we always have everyone in mind. So when it came time to announce that we were now establishing biological fitness for our parents, we had to coordinate a time when we could tell everyone at as close to the same time as possible.
<<PLEASE NOTE: henceforth, I shall be referring to Jan's parents as MGM and MGF (Maternal Grandmother, Maternal Grandfather) and my own as PGM and PGF. The rationale here is that it not only respects their anonymity over the internet, but also helps to keep from confusing everyone, as they each have their own individual ideas of what they would like to be called by our daughter that don't necessarily match with the choice of their respective partners.>>
We were able to find a time that PGM/PGF would be visiting for the weekend, and my brother would come down from where he was living, 3 hours away, so we could all get together and celebrate our birthdays (occurring right around that time). We anticipated their arrival on a Saturday morning, so we decided to visit with MGM/MGF on Friday night. Perfect. Jan and I came home from work, I mustered up my courage, and as we were climbing into the car and Jan called her mother to confirm our impending meeting, she glanced toward me with a surprised scowl.
"...he WHAT?!? ...why?? But he never... yes, we're still coming. Ugh, okay. Goodbye, mother."
MGF leads a fantastically predictable existence. Up before the sun, he makes his morning coffee, dresses for work, watches 15 minutes of SportsCenter as he feeds the dogs, curses about getting old, and leaves the house before there's even a hint of natural light on the horizon. He works unbelievably hard all day, is home by 3:30pm, in his chair by 3:32pm, and is more often than not accompanied by a well-deserved Coors Light. He feeds the dogs between 7-8pm, and on weeknights, is asleep by 9:30. That's it. I know where this man is. I can find him in a pinch. So, why oh why, on today of all days, would he decide to be spontaneous and drive 2 states away after work to go to a high school football game with his brother and a childhood buddy?
The plan was already in place. We had no room for error, as my parents were on their way; we'd have to think on the fly. Jan and I are often suckers for romanticizing moments, as if at times we wanted to live our own TV show or romantic comedy. Perhaps that's why we're always laughing so much, because we have learned to enjoy when even our best laid plans blow up in our face and we have to roll with it. So, here we go again.
We arrive to find MGM puttering around the kitchen. Jan and I bite our lips, swallow hard, and dive into... the most awkward 5 minutes of small talk ever known to humankind. The weather. Business at MGM's work. Car tires. Anything to avoid what we had done to Jan's abdomen. Finally, we exchanged a glance and almost sheepishly presented a small, shoddily-wrapped rectangle, telling MGM that we bought her something at Kohl's. ...she picked it up and put it down on the counter. Jan giggled slyly, and implored her to open it. The only thing that kept running through my mind was how to detect if someone is having a stroke; at what point do I ask her to raise her arms and speak a simple sentence? She eventually unwrapped a small frame into which we had inserted an ultrasound photo; as I looked around to see if there was a nearby chair (and perhaps a team of nurses), she coolly walked to the other side of the room and produced a small wooden cutout, presumably purchased at the same store, that perfectly summed up her reaction:
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Sometimes, spoken words aren't necessary.
Well, crap. She wins. We then learn that Jan's sister is expected imminently, so at the behest of MGM, we arrange the picture on the dining room table and sit, waiting to see just how long it takes Jan's sister to notice. Eventually, she bounds through the door, and relieved that her 2-hour trip is over, tosses casual greetings around the room as she hurriedly makes her way to the bathroom. We sit, laughing to ourselves, about the fact that she has already walked past the table twice. She soon emerges, and engages all of us in conversation about what would be for dinner. ...FIVE MINUTES PASS before she finally looks down, notices a distinct black-and-white shape in a photo frame, and exclaims, "Who's having a baby?!?" It is explained that we are, and as her excitement takes hold of her thoughts, she flings herself into the arms of her older sister and queries, "What type of baby is it?!?"
After clarifying that she of course was curious as to the gender (not knowing how far along we were at the time), all eyes fell upon me, and I was unanimously, albeit silently, selected to inform MGF. We sat around the table as I slowly dialed his cell phone. "Put it on speaker," Jan insisted. ...voicemail. I tried again; voicemail. It was as if he knew, and he was toying with me. Finally, he called back. By this point, my stomach was doing flips, and I decided to just spit it out. After yelling 30 seconds worth of questions about the football game into the phone (he was, of course, in a crowd making egress from the stadium), I eventually blurted out, "well, it's too bad you're not here to see the first picture of your grandchild." A pregnant pause seized the line. "...do what?" he replied. Before I had the opportunity to repeat myself, he yelled, "It's really loud here, and I can't hear you. I'll have to call you back." ARE YOU KIDDING ME. YOU WANT ME TO DO THIS AGAIN?? Moments later, the phone rang; my wife, her sister, and MGM can barely control their mocking laughter as I start to repeat myself. Mercifully, MGF interrupts, "Yeah man, I heard you the first time. I was just messing with you." Well played, sir. He congratulated us heartily, and Jan and I subsequently prepared to depart, in anticipation of doing this all over again tomorrow.
Juxtaposed to the events surrounding telling Jan's parents, PGM/PGF were at least a bit more coordinated (to begin with, they were in the same state as each other). I forced myself to exercise that morning in order to calm my nerves, and Jan calmed hers with Oreos. They arrived right on schedule, and as they do with most visits, began bringing things into the house. Items they spotted on recent excursions that they thought we might like, things from my childhood that they had been storing that I had requested, and even on this occasion, their sewing machine (more on this in subsequent posts). Between Camden announcing their presence with the trumpeting song of her people, the outer door to our house slamming, and my parents communicating from the inside of the house to the outside with nothing but the power of the human voice, it was definitely a sensory experience.
PGM eventually burst onto our second floor with a lovely bouquet of flowers that she had brought for Jan. Great! I can quickly come up with some witticism using these flowers and rip off the band-aid right now! ...where's PGF? Oh, he's in the bathroom. Soon, he emerged, and I again composed myself, preparing again to announce our good news, but now PGM is nowhere to be seen. Seriously, you guys; SENSE THE MOMENT.
Eventually, they both are within reaching distance, and I look to my wife for guidance. With a single gaze that seemed to say, "now or never," without regard for what people were doing, holding, or even for where they were standing, I decided to simply yell o'er top of the current conversation, "So, you really brought those flowers for Jan and not for your grandchild?" I cast a glance around the room; my mother, frozen in her tracks, manages to spit out a whispered, "wh-- what?" with a tone of did-I-just-hear-that-right-oh-my-gosh-you-had-better-not-be-joking. ...she then grabbed the back of the couch for stabilization, and for the second time in two days, I had to think back on emergency medical training:
I was unsure of what would happen next. Surely, their reactions would be positive...? I looked down at Jan, who was wearing a face of amusement. This gave me the confidence to look back over to my mother, now stable under her own power, who smiled, and while fighting back tears of joy, proclaimed "I'm going to be a grandmother!" As she rushed forward to hug Jan, I turned to catch my father, who has always seemed to know just what to say. Even under duress this time, he didn't disappoint; making sure that we all knew he was at least still young at heart, he jumped on the heels of my mother's statement by exclaiming, "...and I'm going to be MARRIED to a grandmother!"
We all had a good laugh as Jan presented them with a framed photo identical to the one she gave to her parents. We sat around that afternoon answering all of the standard questions about how far along Jan was, how she was feeling (subsequent post, readers; fear not!), and if we had plans yet regarding where we were going to deliver. We met my brother out at a restaurant that evening for a celebratory dinner; upon his arrival, I took pleasure in announcing to him at the dinner table that he was going to be an uncle. He did a bit of a double-take, and making absolutely certain that he understood, asked "Just to be clear, you guys aren't getting a second dog, right?" We had another round of hearty laughter as he surmised that he now had ample bait with which to "pick up chicks" in social settings (fat chance, bro). Jan and I collapsed back into our chairs, happy but exhausted after having just run an emotional marathon.
Now..... who to tell next??
Spot on!
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