I have a habit of downplaying things.
Upon eating a delicious food object, it’s highly unlikely I’ll say something like “Oh my God, that’s amazing! This is the best!” but rather, “Mmm. That’s good.”
Perhaps it’s due to my Midwestern, even-keeled, pragmatic roots, observed my California-born and bred wife, that I tend to temper my reactions. That doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings or passions or enjoy food any less, it’s just that I often reserve large demonstrations advertising them.
She will sometimes become perplexed at my, and many fellow Wisconsinites, subdued reactions; misunderstanding our less than enthusiastic responses as disinterest. Not the case.
This would explain my (under)reaction to when Meghan first told me we were pregnant. As she came hopping down the sidewalk with a huge grin and bounced into my surprised arms and shrieked, “We’re pregnant” and I replied, “Unh, Unh.”
Not exactly a big Youtube shareable, 1 million hits video reaction. Make no mistake, I was hoping for this good news, of course, from the moment I thought of proposing marriage or even years before this moment, to be a dad. Couldn’t wait. Got good training as an uncle and youth sports coach and teacher.
To be fair, we got pregnant on our honeymoon, so it felt a bit abrupt, that’s all. My “unh, unh” was not believing how lucky we are.
“We’ll see” has been my steady mantra. Trying my best without requiring success as the outcome to define worthiness of any particular venture.