“It’s a girl. Mark my words. I just know it. You’ve always wanted a girl—your little Cara Jean—and this is her.”
Leave it to Grace to remember the name I’d picked all those years ago. The miniature doll I toted around was my Cara Jean. Grace’s doll went by Pippi, after her favorite childhood stories of Pippi Longstocking. Something tells me that if it were Grace holding onto the stick with the two pink lines, Pippi would be far from her top ten baby names. But for me, Cara Jean was always number one. And if Grace is right and this tiny beginning of a baby inside of me is going to be my first daughter, then Cara Jean it is.
“Come on, Mommy. Let’s think of a way to tell Cara’s daddy.”
Mommy. Wow, I really like the sound of that. I cannot believe I’m going to be a mom!
Okay, this is going to sound super cheesy. But I grew up on Full House. I don’t think there’s an episode I didn’t see, or commit to memory. Who doesn’t remember Uncle Jesse and Danny Tanner pep talking DJ or Stephanie about the meaning of life—well their meaning of life anyway—accompanied by corny background music and theatrical, mushy hugs? But damn it if those episodes warped my brain into thinking that everything could be solved by the end of a thirty minute sitcom.
Like when Becky was ready to tell Uncle Jesse the news about being pregnant. She prepared him a meal of baby shrimp, baby corn and baby back ribs, in the hopes that he would get the picture. Of course, after a whole bit of silly antics, melodramatic misunderstandings and studio-audience ohs and ahs, Becky and Jesse happily accepted that life, or more likely the creators of the show, was turning them into parents.
Foolproof plan, no? How could I go wrong with replicating a Full House scene? Grace cheered me along the whole time and usually what Grace thought was a good idea, was a good idea.
The table is set with the china my parents gave me as part of their wedding present, a pair of turquoise candlesticks that we bought on our honeymoon to Greece to match the linens we received from Declan’s aunt and uncle as a housewarming gift, and all the “baby” sized food I could find at the supermarket. I am most proud of my preparation of his favorite: baby lamb chops with rosemary and garlic. Since being married, I’ve gotten used to preparing a nice dinner almost every night, but this screams special, and Declan will know something’s up the minute he walks into the dining room.
Or so I thought. When he does walk in, past the table and straight to the fridge for a beer, he looks flustered and stressed. My giddy mood takes a nose dive. Crap! This isn’t how it started with Uncle Jesse and Becky!
“Hey, babe. How was work?” Tip toe around the elephant in the room. It’s hidden underneath your shirt for the time being.
He pops off the cap of the Corona and walks over to me, planting a kiss at the corner of my mouth. I contemplate pulling him in and relieving his stress the good old fashioned way, but he’s already left my embrace before I can take it any further.
He rakes his fingers through his perfectly, floppy hair, taking a swig of the beer. “Don’t ask. Shitty day and I have to go out of town next week for a few days.”
Already? Damn, they weren’t kidding when they told him they were throwing him right into it. “Well, you’re home now. Let’s talk about it over dinner. I made your favorite.”
I slide off his suit jacket, lingering at his broad shoulders, hoping to massage away his sour mood. I don’t want anything to spoil this moment I’ve created for us. All three of us.
Patting the non-existent bump, I usher him into the dining room and watch as he blinks, taking in the overdone scene. Seeing it through his eyes, I’m kind of embarrassed that I went to all this trouble. What if he doesn’t take the news well? What if this isn’t what he wants?
I see a faint transformation in his weary eyes as he makes a bee-line for one of the baby lamb chops. “What’s all this, babe?”
“Oh...nothing.” I suppress a giddy grin. I am failing miserably at this playing it cool thing. There is no way I’m going to make it through an entire dinner without telling him.
“These are incredible. You went through a lot of trouble, wifey. Let me pour you a glass of wine to go with this feast.”
And there’s my cue. “Um. No wine for me. Just sit.” My lips tighten as I try to hide my secret.
He eases into his chair, staring at me.
I can almost see the wheels turning underneath his trendy, grunge inspired hair style. You can take the boy out of the ‘90s, but you can’t take the ‘90s out of the boy. “What’s up, Mia? You’re acting weird.”