My family is nosey. Or more-so, we tell eachother everything, and when it comes to the possibility of one of us being pregnant, we watch eachother like hawks. And since the day I found out I was pregnant with number 2, my family has been brutal. Every other sentence out of their mouths is in reference to procreation.
Leave it to me to plan on being pregnant on the biggest drinking weekend of the year, Christmas Tree Weekend. What is Christmas Tree Weekend, you ask? Why, it’s only the biggest tradition this side of the Mississippi. Okay, perhaps I’m exaggerating, but to my family, it’s the truth. Every year for the last 20 years or so, my entire family (I mean entire, mom, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, random tag-alongers) goes up to the mountains of New Hampshire and spends a weekend full of snow-filled festivities. We gear up the holidays with sleigh rides, Christmas trees, and drinking, lots and lots of drinking.
Before we headed up, my family made it clear to me that they would be watching every sip I take. Every beer I open, every sign of slurred speech. They were waiting to catch me. And since the plan is to tell my whole family on Christmas Eve, Dave and I needed a plan.We had to convince them, without a doubt, that there was no hormone raging beh-beh inside me. But, since I happen to be knocked up, this was going to be difficult.
And did we devise a plan. A plan that was so dumb, my family would never think we would go to such lengths to fool them. Which is why it was perfect.
A week before Christmas Tree Weekend we bought a 6-pack of St. Pauli’s (one of the only non-alcoholic beers that I find palatable) and a 12 pack of Blue Moon. Blue Moon because it’s twist off. See where I’m going? Dave drank a beer a night until Friday, when we re-filled each beer with the less flavorful, alcohol free brand. Recap, and the plan was in motion.
When we got up to our hotel after a full day of festivities, I was nervous. Everyone cracked a beer. I reached for mine and opened it. I walked out into the hallway and met my brother-in-law, who immediately commented “Oh, Krista’s drinking” and clicked a picture to commemorate the finding. To which my sister responded, “yeah, she probably put O’Douls in there.”
Luckily she was joking, and since then most of the comments out of their mouths have been related to “when” we get pregnant, and how we “better get on it.”