Wednesday, November 15, 2000

Telling the Family

I handed my parents a stack of blurry and boring photographs in which we'd hidden the ultrasound taken that afternoon. We expect that they'll flip quickly through them, politely, until they reach the ultrasound. On the contrary. Mom finds each and every boring and out-of-focus picture fascinating, and each one reminds her of a story.

Thirty minutes later, she arrives at the ultrasound. She turns it upside down and looks again.

"What's this?" she asks.

"What do you think it is?" I ask back.

"An x-ray?"

"No, I mean, what do you think the picture is of?"

"Frankly, it looks like a uterus."


"Whose uterus is it?"

"My uterus."

"Is there something in the uterus?"

"Why else would we show you a picture of my uterus?"

"What's in it?"

At this point, Dad has figured it out and is looking exasperatingly at Mom.

"What do you think is in it?" I ask, getting exasperated myself and finally pointing to the blurry baby visible in the ultrasound.

Fortunately, the obvious dawns for Mom and she puts two and two together. Hugs and crying all around.

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