I was still in a fog as I got into my car in the hospital’s parking garage. I’m pregnant! I repeated in my head. Now what do I do?
I kept one hand on my belly as I drove toward home, ideas racing through my mind on how I could announce the good news to my husband. Sure, we’d been trying for a baby, but telling him we’d actually achieved it was a whole new ballgame. How could I tell him? What would be meaningful?
Suddenly, I knew. Pizza!
Since early on in our relationship, Bryan and I have had a tradition of making pizza together most weeks. Pizza seemed like the perfect way to drop this bomb. Before I knew it, I was pulling into a grocery store parking lot. I entered the store, grabbed a cart, and began filling it with things for dinner.
When I was in the Halloween candy aisle, feverishly grabbing the overpriced bags of candy bars I’d almost forgotten to buy for trick-or-treaters the following night, I ran into a friend and former coworker. “Hi, Jillian! What’s new?” she asked joyfully.
New? What’s new? What do you mean? HOW DID YOU KNOW?! I panicked in my mind. Is it written all over my face? I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant! “Fine,” I smiled, deciding it was probably inappropriate to begin announcing my news to people within 20 minutes of leaving the doctor’s office and before telling my own husband.
When I arrived home, I began making the pizzas. Bryan would be home from work soon, so I had to act pretty fast. Feverishly, I chopped pepperonis into little pieces and arranged them to spell out, “I’M PREGNANT” across both pies. I stepped back to admire my work. Yeah, I nodded to myself, that oughta do the trick. I had just placed the pizzas in the oven when Bryan walked in the door.
“Hi!” he said, as he set his backpack down. “How was your day?”
“FINE! WHY?” I yelled back at him, slightly bug-eyed.
“Ok…? Oh, you already started making dinner?”
“PIZZA,” I said, diving in front of the oven to shield the surprise with my body.
“Cool,” he said. “Sounds good.”
I stuttered my way through distracted small talk as the surprise baked, eventually turning on some music when I didn’t think I could keep the secret anymore. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a terrible liar, and it’s impossible for me to keep emotions from displaying all across my face.
Finally, after 100 years, the oven timer beeped. The pizzas were cooked, and the moment had arrived. I ran to the sink to pretend like I was washing my hands.
“Bryan, could you help me grab the pizzas out of the oven, please?” I called to him in the living room.
“Sure,” he said, standing up and entering the room. He grabbed an oven mitt, opened the oven door and removed each of the pies without saying a word. I stared at his back.
“…soooo?” I eventually said.
“So, yum! Pepperoni! Thanks, babe,” he replied, reaching for a plate. He hadn’t noticed the message.
“I mean, look closer. Does it say anything?” I suggested.
“Umm, It’s a little hard to tell,” he said. “Part of one of the pizzas is a lot browner than the others…” Ahh shoot. Of course I burned the pregnancy pizza. “But…” he paused for what felt like minutes. “‘I’m… pregnant?” he read slowly before turning to face me. “Whoa, seriously?”
“Yeah,” I blushed, my eyes filling with tears.
“Well, come here then!” he said, scooping me up in a hug. “Wow, I– I can’t believe this.”
We embraced for a long time, standing there in the center of our kitchen next to our dinner. Finally, I broke the silence.
“Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure the baby’s yours.”
He laughed and kissed me, our lives forever changed.