THE ANNOUNCEMENT

Dad has three kinds of emotional outburst.

If his facial expression doesn't change then he's not happy. In fact, he's either angry or really sad. His unwillingness to talk or short sharp conversations of annoyance are the only way to tell the difference.

If he smiles he's mildly happy or bored out of his skull.

If he smirks then you know he's almost set to wet his pants from elation.

"So do you want to tell them the good or the bad news," Tom started.

We'd been nervous about this moment. We were going to wait but the anticipation has been causing me headaches and we've decided that it's not worth adding to my stress to keep my pregnancy a secret.

"The good," he said.

Mum and dad were tinkering with the BBQ. The step-kids were safely locked inside and oblivious to our little meeting around the meat. Neither appeared to be paying us much attention.

"The bad first," I responded. Tom looked puzzled.

We hadn't planned this, or rather Tom didn't know what I had planned.

Mum looked up from the kebabs.

"I've got a growth." I announced flatly.

Dad's expression didn't change. Mum looked like she was going to cry.

"But the good news," I said quickly not wanting the growth comment to linger too long and into morbidity. "Is that in about seven months it'll come out crying."

Mum cried. Dad smirked. They kissed us and shook hands and the job was done.

For all the trouble my parents are. For all the pain and frustration and anguish they've caused me. I've always been able to rely on their ability to see the joke. They can accept my dry sense of humour without too much fuss and unjustified "insult" at a bad taste joke.

And they couldn't shut up. Dad was adamant he already knew and for the rest of the afternoon he and Tom boasted about their manhood. Mum prattled on about how she was "no good for nothing." Their elation difficult to conceal from the none-the-wiser skids.

Finally the glorious day ended and we headed home.

The next afternoon I spoke to a slightly calmer mum.

"You're to blame you know," she said lightly. "You're father didn't stop talking until until 1.30 in the morning."

We spoke for nearly and hour before exhaustion, at a pathetic hour of 8pm, claimed me and I had to end the call.

They couldn't be happier for us. They couldn't want to do more for us. Dad's making plans and doing what he does best - helping turn the house into a home - by planning new doors and bathroom renovations. Mum's discussing how she's going to take up the cleaning I'm too afraid to do (the duties involving toxic chemicals that I just can't bring myself to touch).

They're doing their thing and it's making them happy.

Me. I'm too exhausted to resist anything - so if they want to run my house they're welcome to. I'll be curled up in bed while my body deals with the scary prospect of growing another human being.

But I'm trying not to think too much about that. In addition to being an exhausting task it's a little creepy to think about the other human being floating around inside my abdomen.

They'll be more than enough time to ponder that creepiness when I start seeing it's foot push out, alien style, from my belly.

THOUGHTFUL

Infinite beauty rosy pallet – to make your day brighter.

I love him. With everything that I am. And just when I think that love couldn’t be any bigger he does something simple – like buying make-up from a saleswoman – to make sure I know that he loves me.

It was a small, red, folder containing make-up and brushes “you know, for when something happens at work or when you’re out and you’ve got to use it… you know.”

The last gift from a committed boyfriend was a Ford Stubbie Holder. I’ve never had a man buy me something that was just for me. I’ve never had a man acknowledge that I was a woman who loved all the girly things.

I was always treated as one of the boys.

Quite frankly, I’d given up. I’d assumed men were simply genetically incapable of understanding what a woman wants or needs.

I started to cry.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty,” he started back peddling. “It’s just that the woman said it was a really good brand and it was red and I know you love red.’

It was the last thing he needed to do and I kissed him as quickly as I could.

“You’ve got no idea. This is probably the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever been given. It’s beautiful.”

I kissed him some more and then cried like the girl I am.

You can blame it on the hormones if you like. Others do. Others who have known me as a cold, hard bitch since my early days of high school (that was if those particular foul-weather friends were still talking to me) would claim this “new” me a chemically educed farce.

But I know better. I know I’ve always been like this only too scared to show it.

Tom’s pretty happy with himself. He deserves to be. And I’m storing the make-up away for a special occasion – because it’s just so precious and I don't ever want to forget what it feels like to be so purely loved.

TIME TO KILL

The News has been slowly seeping out.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

And with one foul swoop I confirmed one co-worker’s query about whether I was pregnant and the headache that had been eating away at my brain for a week abruptly stopped.

It felt good to just let it go.

Still, I haven’t seen nugget yet. The ultrasound isn’t until Thursday.

Technically, if to be is to be perceived, nugget doesn’t really exist.

And now I feel the announcement a little premature.

And then I’m confident I’ve done the right thing.

And then I feel the announcement was a little premature.

I still haven’t decided yet.

The once thing that’s certain is that Tom and I haven’t told our parent’s yet. We don’t want to just dump it on them. We wanted to make the announcement special.

We want to make sure we’ve both seen nugget and that all is well in the womb before we drop that bombshell on them.

After all, both Tom’s and mine’s parents thought their grandchild days were done and they’d gotten all they’d get.

Surprise!

Sure they’d been nagging but with the questions about my fertility they were more or less resigned to the idea that there would be no more.

The last thing we’d want is to tell them we were going to have a new addition to the family and then it turned out we were wrong.

It wouldn’t be fair.

They’ve both reached a time in their life when they don’t need to support us in the bad times any more. They’ve paid their dues and we’re old enough to look after ourselves.

I choose to tell them only what they need to know to make their life easier – just as they’ve spent countless years making our lives easier.

So there’s only four more weeks to go and then we’ll release the News to the public on large.

It seems so very far away.

SHOWING MY GRATITUDE

Dear all,

My name is Boswell and I have the simplest request.

Do not, under and circumstances, prepare me for the worst.

I want to be surprised.

I want to be oblivious.

I want to be totally and utterly ignorant.

There are worse things in this world than not knowing the statistics for miscarriage in the first trimester of a pregnancy; the world will continue to spin if I don’t know the number of people who starved to death in the last 20 minutes and; the misery of people I do not know has minimal impact on my ability to live my life.

It’s not that I’m cold. It’s not that I’m lacking compassion.

I’m just doing the best I can to live my life.

I know I’ve got it good. I don’t need to be constantly reminded of that. I don’t need people trying to make me feel bad for having a great life.

Above all I don’t need reminding that at the drop of a hat I could lose it all.

I already know how fragile life is.

So let me be happy while I can be.

I understand there are people less fortunate and that they are struggling but how can me being miserable about someone else’s situation be of any help? Would throwing a few dollars at the problem alleviate my guilt? Would carrying their burden change the weight on their shoulders?

I doubt it. I doubt the ramblings of this insignificant on the other side of the world, completely removed and incapable of truly understanding their circumstances, is going to change their life in any great way.

There are people out there who are destined to change the lives of others – I am not one of them.

At this stage in my life, knowing how fragile life is, I would think that I have an obligation to be happy while I can be to show my gratitude.

How ridiculously ungrateful would I be if I were to feel sad and desolate when things are so good? To be miserable and anxious when I have no reason to be only trivialises the pain and anguish of people who are justifiably miserable.

By not preparing me for the worst, not making me feel miserable for all the things I have and for allowing me to wallow in ignorance you would, in fact, be making this a better world. You will be recognising that there are people out there more worthy of your pity (other than yourselves).

That’s all. I don’t really have much more to say today.

Other than I appreciate your efforts to leave me to live my life and to show my gratitude in my own way.

Best of luck to you, on your path.

Boswell.

NORMAL

Whenever I’ve looked at pregnancy woman they’ve always looked like they were glowing.

Pregnant woman have about them a sense of wonder and a beauty that made it all look so incredibly easy – natural.

Sure there were hints of tiredness but they still had a radiance that was to me alluring.

So why, dear God, why, do I look like I’ve been hit by a bus.

I’ve discovered morning sickness is not exactly how they described it.

The stories told about mild nausea and discomfort was all grossly under-exaggerated. I feel like I’ve been chewed up and spat out.

There’s a nausea that pushes to the back of my throat and sits there. I can’t vomit, I can’t swallow it back down. I can only feel it sitting there.

Speaking of sitting. It’s not as pleasant as it used to be. I have this obstruction that doesn’t allow me to sit all the way up. A bubble of a belly that’s protruding just enough to make itself felt, if not seen.

Embarrasingly, to be able to work, I have to pop the top button of my pants and undo the zipper so I can sit upright enough to use the keyboard. Thank God for the second pair of pants underneath to “cover the spread” so to speak.

It’s all as if I had just had a massive meal and it was slightly off.

Kind of ironic really, when you consider that the thought of food makes me want to bolt to the bathroom for a verbose one-sided conversation with the porcelain bowl.

Still, I’m kind of relieved. Odd I know.

But when you read that your should be having morning sickness you get a little concerned that things aren’t progressing as normal.

All I can say is that I’m normal.

So be careful what you wish for. Normality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Quite frankly, it’s sickening.