A baby that has yet to be conceived kept me up all hours last night.

I’m not terribly worried about being a “good enough” mother, and I’m certain that Scott will be a stellar Dad.  I don’t know why, maybe because I know if I were to have a baby it would be because I wanted it very much. And if I want it, I’d certainly try to be good at it.
The concerns that equipped my eyes with some glorious gray bags today are of the “holy shit, could these fears be more random” variety.

The thing about long term relationships is that you don’t just get your chosen partner.

For better or worse, you get their family too.
They become an extension of the couple, and the couple an extension of the family.

When E’s grandmother died in early 2009, a full year after I’d left, there was no question that I wanted to say goodbye to her. After all, I’d known her just as long as I’d known E, 15 years. At the time of her death E and I were still “talking” now and then via email and with a good amount of civility. He forwarded me the viewing/service information, and I made sure to pick a viewing hour that I was certain he wouldn’t attend. I took the day off from work and headed to New Jersey.

“609 area code?”

Scott utters this as he reaches across the desk to answer his cell phone.
I figured Scott has people in Jersey, so the fact that my mother might be calling his phone was only a dimly lit possibility as far as I could tell. But as I finished brushing my teeth I though “It would be L who would do something like that.”
I had given her this “key” a few weeks ago, calling from Scott’s phone because mine needs to be replaced and only provides the minimal amount of volume and call stability.
She wasn’t too struck by this being out of the ordinary. At the time.

“Hiiiiiiiiii…”
I hear Scott’s voice, it’s slightly louder than his normal phone voice and soaked with trepidation.
I can only hear his side of the conversation. I finish in the bathroom and peek my head around the corner. Scott sees me and seamlessly continues the conversation while pointing his index figure at me, creating a “come here” motion, and mouthing “it’s your MOM”.

“No it’s not a bother at all. She’s getting ready to head out soon and I’m working. (pause) Right. Of course. (pause) Yeah, she’s a bit sore but glad the biopsy is over and done with. (pause) Yes.”

It only takes me half a second to realize they are talking about my vagina.

The first vocal impressions they are having of each other, forget that in the eight months Scott and I have been together they haven’t met, is within a conversation about my vagina. Specifically the cervical biopsy I had two days prior.
Scott is handling this like a pro, offers to put me on the phone.

His shoulders drop as I relieve him. Like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.
L rambles about searching her call history for my area code, not realizing he and I have the same one. Not realizing I haven’t called her from my phone in a while. She apologizes.

I still can’t decide if I believe her, but I figure if they can get through a talk about my crotch then Thanksgiving dinner should be a breeze.
Right?