How has not telling the truth imprisoned you? How has telling the truth freed you?

There's an advantage in not always answering these prompts every single day: I can combine the above two questions into one writing!

I was 33, Rich was 35, and we were unmarried when we discovered we were pregnant. I had been using the sponge for birth control and was well aware of its flaws and the risks we were taking. But the truth is, I could hear my biological clock tick-tocking loud and clear. When I got past the initial shock of the pregnancy, I knew I was ready for a baby. And even though I wasn't absolutely certain about Rich's abilities as a husband nor my abilities as a wife after one divorce apiece, I was as sure as I could be that both of us would be great parents. I had witnessed firsthand how Rich loved and cared for his daughter Brianna, and how much she adored him in return. I wanted my baby to have a father who was present and involved, so I decided to propose to Rich. It wasn't my intention to put any pressure on him, but I did explain that I wanted this baby and that I was determined to give birth regardless of his response to my proposal. He told me he hadn't really planned on marrying ever again, and he had to think about it. After warming to the idea for a couple of days, he accepted my proposal.

It was awkward meeting Rich's parents for the first time under the circumstances, but they were kind and accepting. Where my hang-ups laid was in telling my own parents. My dad and particularly my mom had always been uncomfortable, embarrassed, and silent on the subject of sex. Neither of them ever had "the birds and the bees" discussion with me or my brother. Once when I was in college and home for a weekend, I accidentally left a birth control pill sitting out on my dresser. My mother let me know that she found it and was disappointed in me. She felt that my boyfriend was taking advantage and coercing me. She said, "Someday you will meet someone who loves you for the person you really are." She was refusing to admit that I was a willing participant in any kind of an intimate relationship. A few months later, when I was planning to work in Glacier National Park for the summer, I drove back to school to visit that same boyfriend before I left. My parents refused to lend me their car for the trip, so I made arrangements to borrow my cousin's truck. When my mother realized I was going anyway, she relented and let me drive her car. My dad was so upset he didn't speak to me again before I left for Montana. He didn't even say goodbye when I left, which really hurt me. So that's the attitude I was dealing with and the valid reasons behind my fears about being honest with them.

For two months I stewed about telling my parents the truth about my pregnancy. What should have been a joyful period of time was being spoiled by a big black cloud of uncertainty hanging over me. After lots of deliberation, I decided to write them a letter. That way, my mother would have time to consider her response. I just couldn't face any type of immediate negative reaction, or risk hearing voices tinged with disappointment and disapproval. I only remember the last sentence of my letter:  "I'm happy and excited about my choice to marry and have this baby, and I hope you will be too."

Interestingly, my mother chose to write me back in return. I wonder why to this day. Maybe she realized that couldn't trust herself to keep the disapproval and hesitation out of her voice. Maybe she was avoiding her feelings of embarrassment and discomfort by choosing the option of writing and keeping a distance between us. Her words on paper were supportive but restrained at the same time. The uncontained excitement that I longed for wasn't there, but I didn't really expect it anyway. That simply wasn't her style. Instead, there was a general feeling of resigned acceptance. She did question why I wanted to wait until August to have the wedding (undoubtedly thinking of the embarrassment of an obviously pregnant bride). But she concluded by saying that she and my dad would always love me, and if I was happy, then they were happy for me.

My feelings of relief were palpable and washed over me like a wave. I was starting my second trimester of prenancy and was finally free to enjoy the excitement of planning a wedding and the birth of my first baby. I could experience the wide range of emotions that every bride-to-be and first-time mother deserves to feel, unclouded by distress and worry over my parents' reactions. And by the time nine months rolled around and Michelle was born, their initial hesitation had evaporated completely. They were as excited and thrilled as any first-time grandparents could be.