A little more than two weeks after my daughter’s second birthday my gynecologist confirmed my suspicions that I was pregnant with my second child. Elated, I wanted to think of a fun way to tell my husband.
I was racking my brain for an idea on my way home from the doctor’s office when I remembered that we were out of milk. So I stopped at the grocery store.
Cruising through the candy aisle on my way to the dairy section, I saw a favorite chocolate bar that sparked a plan. After grabbing a carton of cow juice I began scouring the aisles, loading a selection of items into my cart. When I got home I assembled my purchases in a basket and left it on the kitchen table.
When my husband got home from work, he asked what the stuff in the basket was for. I replied with a question: “What do all of these things have in common?” He looked them over and puzzled for a minute or two but couldn’t solve the riddle.
I asked him to read the names of the products out loud. So he began: “Baby Ruth, baby carrots, baby dill pickles, baby peas, baby clams…,” he paused, wide-eyed.
“Are you pregnant? No, you’re not pregnant…are you?”
But he could see from my delighted expression that I was, and I’ll never forget his look of surprise.
He, too, was ecstatic, and how I told my husband, “I’m pregnant!” has become a treasured part of our family folklore.
