After you’ve revived your husband, its time to call your friends and family to tell them the good news … that you’re expecting a new sheriff in town! But spreading the good news isn’t enough. Arm yourself, as they will want details … creepy ones. They’ll probably ask the following:

• “How far along are you?” Uh, I dunno. I’ve never done this before. I have a call into God, as I hear He is ultimately responsible; I’m waiting to hear back.
• “Oh that’s okay, it’s pretty easy to figure out. When was the date of your last period?” Uh, I dunno, when I told you I was diligently keeping an ovulation calendar, I was lying to get your overly invested ass off my back.
• “Hmp, have you taken a pregnancy test?” No dumb ass, I consulted the tarot cards, and they told me to consult the stars. Yes, I took one of the pregnancy tests that you brought over last time you came to my house. Thanks, by the way; those suckers are like $30.
• Finally someone within your circle will tell you to go to any number of pregnancy calculators online to figure out how far along you are. As it turns out, you will need to have some idea of the date of your last cycle, as that is when the clock starts. From this day forward you will reference all aspects of time in weeks. This greatly annoys me, as it isolates people who have never been pregnant, and since this is my first go ’round, I’ve historically been in this camp. What the hell is twenty-seven weeks pregnant to a non child bearing person? Resist the urge to communicate in Week Speak, and talk in months. Everyone knows pregnancy lasts for nine months (much to my disappointment, my OB told me its actually ten months … sa-weet), so reference the common denominator.

Okay, so after some research and deductive reasoning, I came to a conclusion: I was about 1.5 months pregnant. And then came the call to my mom that ended in a new Jeopardy category called “Things You Never Want to Hear Your Mom Say.” She was so excited; this will be her ninth grandchild. I hope she’ll be able to remember its name.

Anyway, she immediately asked me what my due date was, which I didn’t know. I explained that closer to two months, I’d go in to see my doctor and he would tell me all the science behind the magic. And then she said it—the creepiest comment in the history of awkward conversations: “How can you not know your due date? You have to have an idea of when you conceived.” I was flush from head to toe. What am I to say to that? It was the stork, the Immaculate Conception. The only thing more creepy is getting lingerie from your mom as a wedding shower gift. For the love of Pete! I fumbled my way out of that conversation to call my sisters and relay. About 70 percent of our phone conversations start with “You’ll never guess what mom did/said this time.” I thought that was creepy … believe me, it’s worse when a co-worker asks you the same thing.

There is no reason to look backward in time to the events that led to my current condition, you pervs. Please don’t deduce the date of the deed.