Announce Your Pregnancy Quotes

I was already planning to return home because it's getting harder and harder to hide my morning sickness.If there were another option,guess what? I'd take it just to spite you! But marriage to the most unfaithful skirt-chaser in London isn't an option, and you've already had my answer. It's not going to happen." "It will," he insisted. "Ha!" "You don't think so? Then I guess you won't mind when your pregnancy is announced in the newspapers." She sucked in her breath, livid with rage. "Why would you do that?" "Because you've finally inserted some doubt in my mind,and as long as there's even a speck of it,let me assure you, I will be damned before I allow any child of mine to go to strangers." "Why don't you just be damned!

We need a test!" I jump up out of the chair and pat my body down. "Where's my wallet?" "In your pocket," she replies dryly. "I'll be back!" I race out of the house and drive the short distance between Dom's estate and the nearest village. After I find a drug store and buy one of each kind of pregnancy test they have, I race back to my hopefully pregnant wife. "That was fast," she murmurs with a grin. She was still sitting in the lounge chair, sipping her coffee. "Should you be drinking coffee?" I ask. "Let's not get crazy," she responds. I need coffee. "I got one of each kind," I announce and opened the bag, sending small white and blue boxes scattering. "Uh, Caleb, we only need one." "What if we can't figure them out?" I ask and pick one up to examine it. "All of the instructions are in Italian." She laughs hysterically and then stands, wiping her eyes. "It's not funny." "Yes, it is. Pregnancy tests are pretty universal, Caleb. You pee on it and a line either appears or it doesn't." She rubs my arm sweetly and kisses my shoulder before plucking the box out of my fingers. "I'll be back." "I'm coming with you." I begin to follow her but she turns quickly with her hands out to stop me. "Oh no, you aren't. You are not going to watch me pee on this stick." I scowled down at her and cross my arms over my chest. "I've helped you bathe and dress and every other damn thing when you were hurt. I can handle watching you pee." "Absolutely not." She shakes her head but then leans in and kisses my chin. "But thank you for helping me when I was hurt." She turns and runs for the bathroom and it feels like an eternity before she comes back out, white stick in her hand. "Well?" I ask. "It takes about three minutes, babe." She sits in the lounge chair and stares out over the vineyard.

The lair needs to know.” “Yeah, I know that, but I would have preferred it if we didn’t have to make a big thing out of it. It would have been easier to just ask you and the other sentinels to pass on the news.” “You’re their Prime, and there are certain expectations that come with that position. Making public announcements about key information is one of them. Celebrating important events is another. Your pregnancy is both of those things.” “Yes, but have you not seen how people respond to a pregnant woman?” By the way his brow furrowed, no, he hadn’t. “Everyone’s suddenly an expert on babies and they’re all full of advice and nosy-ass questions. I’m glad my stomach’s not that big – people are a hell of a lot worse if there’s a bump. They try rubbing it like it’s a damn genie-infested lamp.” “Genie-infested?” he chuckled. “You get my point.

Sometimes adoptive parents will go through a virtual pregnancy, using “birth clinics” or accessories called “tummy talkers,” package kits that supply a due date and body modifications, including the choice to make the growing fetus visible or not; as well as play-by-play announcements (“Your baby is doing flips!”) and the simulation of a “realistic delivery,” along with a newborn-baby accessory. For Second Life parents who go through pregnancy after adopting in-world, it’s usually with the understanding that the baby they are having is the child they have already adopted. The process is meant to give both parent and child the bond of a live birth. “Really get morning sickness,” one product promises. “Get aches.” Which means being informed that a body-that-is-not-your-corporeal-body is getting sick. “You have full control over your pregnancy, have it EXACTLY how you want,” this product advertises, which does seem to miss something central to the experience: that it subjects you to a process largely beyond your control.

She could envision Shakespeare's sister. But she imagined a violent, an apocalyptic end for Shakespeare's sister, whereas I know that isn't what happened. You see, it isn't necessary. I know that lots of Chinese women, given in marriage to men they abhorred and lives they despised, killed themselves by throwing themselves down the family well. I'm not saying it doesn't happen. I'm only saying that isn't what usually happens. It it were, we wouldn't be having a population problem. And there are so much easier ways to destroy a woman. You don't have to rape or kill her; you don't even have to beat her. You can just marry her. You don't even have to do that. You can just let her work in your office for thirty-five dollars a week. Shakespeare's sister did...follow her brother to London, but she never got there. She was raped the first night out, and bleeding and inwardly wounded, she stumbled for shelter into the next village she found. Realizing before too long that she was pregnant, she sought a way to keep herself and her child safe. She found some guy with the hots for her, realized he was credulous, and screwed him. When she announced her pregnancy to him, a couple months later, he dutifully married her. The child, born a bit early, makes him suspicious: they fight, he beats her, but in the end he submits. Because there is something in the situation that pleases him: he has all the comforts of home including something Mother didn't provide, and if he has to put up with a screaming kid he isn't sure is his, he feels now like one of the boys down at the village pub, none of whom is sure they are the children of the fathers or the fathers of their children. But Shakespeare's sister has learned the lesson all women learn: men are the ultimate enemy. At the same time she knows she cannot get along in the world without one. So she uses her genius, the genius she might have used to make plays and poems with, in speaking, not writing. She handles the man with language: she carps, cajoles, teases, seduces, calculates, and controls this creature to whom God saw fit to give power over her, this hulking idiot whom she despises because he is dense and fears because he can do her harm. So much for the natural relation between the sexes. But you see, he doesn't have to beat her much, he surely doesn't have to kill her: if he did, he'd lose his maidservant. The pounds and pence by themselves are a great weapon. They matter to men, of course, but they matter more to women, although their labor is generally unpaid. Because women, even unmarried ones, are required to do the same kind of labor regardless of their training or inclinations, and they can't get away from it without those glittering pounds and pence. Years spent scraping shit out of diapers with a kitchen knife, finding places where string beans are two cents less a pound, intelligence in figuring the most efficient, least time-consuming way to iron men's white shirts or to wash and wax the kitchen floor or take care of the house and kids and work at the same time and save money, hiding it from the boozer so the kid can go to college -- these not only take energy and courage and mind, but they may constitute the very essence of a life. They may, you say wearily, but who's interested?...Truthfully, I hate these grimy details as much as you do....They are always there in the back ground, like Time's winged chariot. But grimy details are not in the background of the lives of most women; they are the entire surface.

Congratulations, sir,” Alfred preened as he offered a low bow. “It appears you will have several heirs to boast of, and your women seem quite proud.” “Violently so,” I agreed. “I know it’s a bit early for supper, but I’ve prepared a victory burger for you,” the butler announced as he came forward. “I used bison for the patties to spruce things up a bit, and I’ve taken the liberty of planting a flag in the bun to symbolize your triumph and the claiming of the vast territories that are your women.” “Hell, yeah,” I chuckled as I admired the tiny blue flag. “It looks like I settled some wild ass land.” “You certainly have, sir,” Alfred replied in complete seriousness. “What’s in the glasses?” I asked. “Spirits, of course,” the butler said with a smile, and he handed one to me before he raised the other in my honor. “May your children carry your legacy forth for generations to come, and may your women remain somewhat level-headed throughout their pregnancies.” “Well said, Alfred,” I chuckled heartily.

I want to marry your sister,” he announced after he and Rupert had consumed the better part of a chicken, along with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn, at the simple table in Rupert’s kitchen. Lily had no illusions that Caleb meant what he said. It was just that even he wouldn’t have the gall to stand there flat-footed and tell Rupert he wanted to keep his sister as a mistress. He and Rupert each took a cigar and lit up. “Don’t I have anything to say about this?” Lily demanded, slamming the cast-iron skillet she’d been about to scour back onto the stove top. Caleb leaned forward in the fog of blue smoke that curled between him and Rupert and said confidentially, “I’ve compromised her, you see. There’s nothing to do but tie the knot before she’s ruined.” Lily would have exploded if she hadn’t been so surprised at Rupert’s reaction. He should have been angry—outraged, even—but he only sat back in his chair and puffed on that damnable cigar. “I see,” he said. “I will not marry this—this pony soldier!” Lily raved. “He’s only fooling, anyway! Do you hear me, Rupert? There will be no wedding!” Rupert assessed her thoughtfully. “Is it true that he’s compromised you?” Lily’s face was red as an ember. She couldn’t have answered that question to save her life. “There might be a child,” he reasoned. “Did you ever think of that?” “Yes,” Caleb collaborated. “Did you ever think of that?” Lily groped for a chair and sank into it. Pregnancy was a possibility she hadn’t once considered. She’d been too wrapped up in her problems for that. “Shut up, both of you,” she murmured, feeling ill. “I think you’d better marry the major,” said Rupert. “I think I’d sooner marry the devil,” countered Lily. Caleb chuckled. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Rupert frowned. “Personally, I think she needs a spanking.” “I agree,” said Caleb. “Will you two please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here? And it would take a bigger man than either of you to get the best of me.” Caleb leaned forward in his chair. “Is that a challenge?” “No,” Lily said, and the word took a great piece of her pride with it as it left her mouth. “I thought not,” said Caleb.

I want to marry your sister,” he announced after he and Rupert had consumed the better part of a chicken, along with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn, at the simple table in Rupert’s kitchen. Lily had no illusions that Caleb meant what he said. It was just that even he wouldn’t have the gall to stand there flat-footed and tell Rupert he wanted to keep his sister as a mistress. He and Rupert each took a cigar and lit up. “Don’t I have anything to say about this?” Lily demanded, slamming the cast-iron skillet she’d been about to scour back onto the stove top. Caleb leaned forward in the fog of blue smoke that curled between him and Rupert and said confidentially, “I’ve compromised her, you see. There’s nothing to do but tie the knot before she’s ruined.” Lily would have exploded if she hadn’t been so surprised at Rupert’s reaction. He should have been angry—outraged, even—but he only sat back in his chair and puffed on that damnable cigar. “I see,” he said. “I will not marry this—this pony soldier!” Lily raved. “He’s only fooling, anyway! Do you hear me, Rupert? There will be no wedding!” Rupert assessed her thoughtfully. “Is it true that he’s compromised you?” Lily’s face was red as an ember. She couldn’t have answered that question to save her life. “There might be a child,” he reasoned. “Did you ever think of that?” “Yes,” Caleb collaborated. “Did you ever think of that?” Lily groped for a chair and sank into it. Pregnancy was a possibility she hadn’t once considered. She’d been too wrapped up in her problems for that. “Shut up, both of you,” she murmured, feeling ill. “I think you’d better marry the major,” said Rupert. “I think I’d sooner marry the devil,” countered Lily. Caleb chuckled. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Rupert frowned. “Personally, I think she needs a spanking.” “I agree,” said Caleb. “Will you two please stop talking about me as if I weren’t here? And it would take a bigger man than either of you to get the best of me.” Caleb leaned forward in his chair. “Is that a challenge?” “No,” Lily said, and the word took a great piece of her pride with it as it left her mouth. “I thought not,” said Caleb. “Don’t push your luck,” said Lily. Nothing

Hi, honey, I’m home!” he hollered. “Did you bring flowers?” Lassiter shouted back. “Not for you.” “Damn it. Well, I’m on deck tonight with Tohr, so can we get moving? There’s a full list of appointments, but I want to get back for Hell’s Kitchen.” “Don’t you DVR that shit?” Wrath groused as he and George went into the old dining room. “Yeah, but I have poor impulse control. It was on at nine, okay? And I hate waiting. I put George’s fresh water down by your chair, b.t.dub.” “At least you’re a dog lover. That’s the only thing that saves you.” “Ha! I have wings and a halo, you cranky son of a bitch. I’m already perma-saved.” “Just our luck.” “Hey, my brother,” V said as he came through the archway and lit a hand-rolled. “Where’s your girl?” Lassiter cut in, “She’s got to be coming back soon, right?” Wrath had to smile as he took his seat. About the only time that annoying SOB got serious was when it came to Beth—and he had to admit, that was kinda endearing. “She back yet?” Rhage asked as he walked into the room. “How long can it take to order baby furniture?” Butch demanded while making his appearance. “Weeks,” Z answered. “You have no idea.” And so it went, everyone arriving with the same question, from Blay and Qhuinn to Phury and Rehvenge. The only one who didn’t ask it out loud was John—but he didn’t have to. Beth’s brother had been a quiet, worried presence since they’d made the announcement of the surprise pregnancy. And Wrath loved the guy for it.

After a few more minutes, Josh guzzled back the rest of his beer. “Gotta head out. Elizabeth is making me go to a cake-tasting party tonight. Since when did everything about weddings turn into a damn event? I’ve had to go to a food tasting, a band showcase, and a floral-presentation party. Vegas is sounding better and better.” “Just wait.” Chase stood. “Anna had a bridal shower, a pregnancy-announcement party, and a gender-reveal party. You’re just getting started, buddy.” “What the hell is a gender-reveal party?” The parents-to-be give a sealed envelope that contains the sex of the baby to a bakery, and the baker puts pink frosting inside the cupcakes if it’s a girl and blue if it’s a boy. Then they have a party, and everyone finds out at the same time, including the parents-to-be. Pure. Fucking. Torture. Whatever happened to the kid popping out and the doctor giving it a smack and yelling it’s a boy over the thing crying?

COACHING TIPS • Announce your pregnancy when you’re ready. For a variety of reasons, it does not have to be the moment it’s confirmed by your doctor. You’re entitled to your privacy. Decide on a time that makes the most sense to you and your significant other. • Accompany your announcement with a clear and definitive statement of what can be expected of you during the pregnancy and after. In no uncertain terms, inform your management that you will continue to perform at the level you always have, will prepare for your absence so that nothing slips between the cracks, and will return to work fit for resuming your duties. • Handle pregnancy-related issues (morning sickness, doctor’s appointments, etc.) on a case-by-case basis in the same manner you handle all other personal issues. If you need to miss work, don’t go into graphic detail about why. Simply inform whoever needs to be informed that you’ll be late or out and offer assurance that the projects you’re working on are on track for completion.