So you can't tell anyone you're pregnant until weeks after you discover you actually are. Makes sense. Not only is it just bad baby juju, but you have to allow for the horrific possibility that the baby will not be carried to term and save yourself the pained or confused reactions of peripheral friends and work associates. Fine with me. I don't need Tucker, the crazy receptionist in my office upon whom I SWEAR TO GOD the crazy-ass receptionist from "Splash" was based (you know, the one who shows up to work wearing her bra on the outside of her blouse) talking to me about losing the baby. Which won't happen anyway. Bad juju! Bad!
As a result, my wife and I have discussed what we are going to be telling our friends until we're ready to announce to everyone that we're pregnant. Why isn't my wife drinking at the Halloween party? Why is she having juice or pop or something at Poker Night instead of the usual Mohito-in-a-bottle or hard cider? Uh...medication? Illness? Medication for an illness? Er...protesting the liquor distribtuion industry?
We have elected to say, "We're TRYING to get pregnant, so she can't drink." Fair enough.
So to all of those friends and associates who eventually discovered that yes, we have been LYING to you all this time: it's nothing personal. Avoiding bad baby juju is of utmost concern; I'm sure you understand.
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