September 13, 2000
Breaking The News


The way I see it, there are two ways that I can tell you that my eighteen-year-old daughter is pregnant.

One: I can write a long, eloquent journal entry for you, all about how Jaymi left me a cheerful voicemail yesterday saying Call me at work, I've got some news for i don't know whether to kiss her ... or kill her you ... 

... and how I knew what the "news" was going to be, the instant I heard her voice on the message: what else could it be, really? ...

... and how I immediately called her at her office, two states away, and when she got on the phone I didn't even say hello, I just said "What's the news," and she said I've got to put you on hold for a minute, sorry, and when she came back I said "WHAT'S THE NEWS?," and she giggled and said Guess, and I said "You're pregnant, aren't you" ...

... and I could write about how the two of us "talked" on the phone for half an hour after that, but that I remember absolutely NOTHING of the conversation today, except for little bits and pieces, here and there, because basically I was in shock while it was taking place ... except that I do remember asking her if she was happy and she said Yes, and I asked her if she was feeling OK and she said Yes, and those seemed to be the two most vitally-important questions at the moment ...

(although the instant we hung up I thought of a bazillion more)

... and how, as soon as I got off the phone, I went straight to the ladies room and threw up two cups of coffee, a can of SlimFast and half an allergy tablet, and how Audrey from Marketing ran into me in the hallway, as I was coming back from the bathroom, and she said, "Y'know, you have NO color in your face at all," and I said "I just found out I'm going to be a grandmother" ...

... and I can tell you all about how the second thing I did, after I finished throwing up, was to leave David a voicemail message at his new office ("I think you'd better call me"), and the third thing I did was to send my mother an e-mail to her office ("Are we going to call you 'Great-Grandma'? Or would you prefer we shorten it to 'GG?' "), and how both of them responded instantly, with equal amounts of support and surprise and humor ... and how I was especially touched by my mother's e-mailed comment that "as with all other aspects of parenthood, we monitor and adjust - and offer love and emotional support" ...

... and I can end the journal entry by telling you that David took me out to dinner last night after work, to calm me down a little, and even though I was afraid I might throw up again, all over my Applebee's Smothered Chicken and Boboli® Oven Bread, we had a nice time ... and how we talked about a lot of things, including marriage (Will you marry me? he said, and I said "Yes," and then I said "That better not have been my proposal," mainly because I wasn't looking at him when he said it, and he said Don't worry, that was just rehearsal) ...

... and the fact that David loves Jaymi like a daughter ...

... and the fact that we plan to love and support her in ANY decision she makes, and to be the very best Grandma and Grandpa Ю僱êrvØ¡ we can be.

That's ONE way I could tell you.

The other way: I can simply say Guess what?

I figure I'm going to go with Plan B here, if that's OK. I'm not feeling especially eloquent at the moment.

  • No, Schmidty isn't the father.
  • Yes, she's sure that Schmidty isn't the father.
  • (No, I didn't ask her precisely HOW she can be "sure" that Schmidty isn't the father. Sometimes enough information is enough information.)
  • Yes, she's planning to have the baby.
  • No, she's not planning on getting married.
  • Yes, Joel is the father. (See: sometimes enough information is enough information.)
  • No, I haven't met Joel yet, but he wrote me that delightful *sucking-up-to-Mom* e-mail, a couple of weeks back. I am cautiously optimistic.
  • Yes, she is seeing a doctor.
  • No, we don't have a due date yet, although it looks like another May baby for this family.
  • Yes, she and Joel are thinking about moving in together, sooner rather than later probably.
  • No, we haven't broken the news to my ex-husband yet, although everybody ELSE on the planet knows about it. (Or they will, once I post this website entry. And yes, she gave me permission to write about it.) If possible, *I* plan to be on another planet when they tell him.
  • Yes, I plan to fly up to TicTac as soon as I can.
  • No, I am not going to allow myself to be called "Grandma." (Or "Gooma," or "Gonka," or "Nana," or "Grammy," or "Gimmy," or "Grandmére.") *Gramma Secra* will be just fine, thankyouverymuch.
  • Yes, she's happy. And yes, I'm happy. Sort of. Or I think I will be. Maybe.

    As soon as I stop crying and throwing up, that is.

I recently read somewhere that John Lennon's "Life is what happens to you when you're making other plans" has become the most frequently-used AOL profile *personal quote.*

I'm not sure what Mr. Lennon would think about that, if he knew. I'll bet he would probably prefer that people recycle his infinitely-groovier "Reality leaves a lot to the imagination" ... or "Love is like a precious plant ... you've got to keep on watering it."

Or *my* personal favorite: "Lucy turned out to be Yoko."

(The second-most-popular profile quote, btw? "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." Jesus, people. Bumpersnicker much?)

My idea of a perfect saying right now might be something more along the lines of "Life is what happens to you when you're tied to a railroad track in a beautiful new Louis Feraud suit, waiting for the train to run over you, and a fudking airplane falls on you, instead." Please feel free to incorporate it into your AOL profiles.

I'll be back. Right now I've got to go throw up some more.

two years ago: attn. bonnie fuller/my second-to-last hangover
one year ago: solano stroll/breathing vs. not-breathing

throw a rock