My Husband And I Are Either Going To Buy A Dog Or Have A Child. We Can't Decide Whether To Ruin Our Carpets Or Ruin Our Lives. (Rita Rudner)

I guess it was an evening of scores. After how miserable things were last summer, I had the most uneventful pregnancy on record. (No complaints from me.) If it hadn't been for the jeans getting tighter, I wouldn't have had a clue. But I knew—and it took a lot to keep from spilling the beans.

And we didn't.

Mother did.

We held the bash of the century for, appropriately enough, her 100th birthday. Her favorite gift? A diary from Gibbs. A five-year diary. The rest of us were a little confused, but she got it right away. "Oh! How lovely! Now I shall have to be here for another five years so I can fill it up!" She gave Gibbs a sly smile. "I shouldn't want to disappoint Matthew, after all."

"Mrs. Mallard—you never do," he said gallantly.

A couple of weeks later, we were lounging around the new coffee table playing, of all things, the Harry Potter: Diagon Alley board game. It was Friday night, a lovely April evening; the whole crew was in residence.

I loosened the drawstring bow on my sweatpants. I found it silly to blow money on maternity clothes; sweats and bigger t-shirts would be fine for this fashion bug. But things were getting tight around the pregnancy pudge; we'd have to make an announcement one of these days.

Evelyn glanced over. "Damn, girl. I heard women 'let loose' after they land a husband, but—" She shook her head, teasing.

"Mommy!" Charlie chided from across the room. "That's not nice."

"That's okay, I wouldn't expect less from her," I shot back.

"I need to lose weight, too," Ev said consolingly. (Yeah, where? Your big toe?) "We can join a gym together."

"Oh, no!" Mother said, sitting up from where she was going over a photo album with Charlie. "That might not be good for the baby."

Charlie gave me a sympathetic glance; Mother had crowed that I was pregnant a couple of times in the past, Charlie probably figured this was another misfire. She said something in an undertone and Mother shook her head obstinately.

"No!" She looked at me, confused. "Cassandra, you are pregnant—aren't you?"

I looked across the table. Ducky probably had the same thought I did—to prolong it at this point would be mean to her. Next to him, Suzy had a sneaky smile on her puss. "You want to add something?"

"Not until you do," she said, grinning.

I sighed. "Yes. We're pregnant." My, "Roughly September 15," was lost in the screams and squeals.

Suzy held her hand out, palm up. "Pay up."

Sighing, Lily dug her wallet out of her hip pocket. "She's been saying you're expecting for months," she grumbled, slapping a ten on Suzy's hand.

I gave Suzy a look. "Honey, I've been a nurse since God was in short pants. I've had five kids, I've got eight grandkids—the only thing I can spot faster is 'under the influence.'"

Hmm. That could prove helpful in the future years…