Even the most graceful of women begin bumping into things when they’re pregnant. Sarah’s weight gain hasn’t even begun yet, but her joints are loosening up and her center of gravity is all over the place. Which made dancing at the wedding interesting. Even under the best of circumstances, Sarah and I are monumentally bad dancers, and we’ve managed to get even worse. We staked out our own spot on the floor and lumbered around in slow, small circles to minimize the damage.

When I went in to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, they ended up in her eye.

When I tried to kiss her, we bumped teeth.

She griped that I was getting sweat all over her face.

We went back to our seats where we belonged. Sarah was tired and nauseous, and her equilibrium was off, and instead of sympathy pains, it appeared I was experiencing sympathy lack of rhythm. According to one of Sarah’s pregnancy books, Babu is currently hopping around in the womb like a Mexican jumping bean. Which means that the kid is already a better dancer than either of his/her parents.

By 10:30, the party was really hopping. Melissa’s drunken brother had his arm around me and was slapping my back, going on about all the shots we were going to do at the after-party in bridal suite. But Sarah looked like Black Death, and was ready to go home. “I don’t want Melissa to think we’re not having fun,” Sarah told me. “Should we just come out and tell them?”

“It’s your call.”

“Let’s say goodnight to her, and if it comes out, it comes out.”

After giving Melissa hugs and telling her she looked fantastic, Sarah and I stood there for a minute staring at each other.

“What?” Melissa asked.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “I’m pregnant.”

“I knew it!” Melissa looked at me. “You’re a pathetic liar.” After receiving a  hug, Sarah had the presence of mind to tell her not to spread the secret beyond the groom. When Melissa ran off to tell her new husband, I knew the secret would die with him, because he was sober and had other things on his mind, like being married and stuff. But with the amount of alcohol being consumed, Melissa’s drunken brother could have commandeered the microphone and broadcasted the news to 300 people while we were driving home.