Today, it was my parents. Today, it’s my relatives who will finally hear the news my wife and I have been keeping to ourselves.
The day began with a peaceful breakfast at Csillagfény Panzió, followed by some rest. Later, we headed to my flat, where we had lunch with my parents. After the meal, we retreated to the balcony to relax in the company of birdsong.
There’s this little inside joke between my wife and me: whenever the birds chirp particularly loudly, she grins and says something along the lines of, “They’re gossiping about that odd couple on the balcony again.” It never fails to make me smile.
While she scrolled through her phone, I read a crime novel—part of my Christmas present, which I only received now, as we hadn’t met my parents since the holidays.
After this quiet time, we got ready and went to my uncle’s place. All my cousins were there, along with one cousin’s children and another cousin’s friend. Then came the big moment: we shared our news. Their reactions were a mix of joy and surprise, followed by advice, jokes, and warm congratulations.
They managed to convince me—after a characteristically hesitant pause—to join them for a night out. I walked my wife back to our inn so she could get some rest, and then headed to meet the others.
On the way, I bumped into the son of my half-sister standing in front of the ambulance station where he works. I told him we’d meet up the following day and that he’d hear our news then. I nearly gave it away early, though—while chatting about cars, I mentioned we were thinking of getting a bigger, more practical family vehicle. He looked puzzled and asked why… I had to improvise my way out of that one.
Later, I met up with my uncle, cousin, and her husband, and we ended up at Göngyvirág Coffee Bar. As usual, my uncle entertained us with his humorous stories from the past. Then, unexpectedly, my childhood friend appeared with his girlfriend. We often cross paths when I’m in my hometown, so it was a sweet coincidence. I shared the news with him too.
Our next stop was A Szoba, a cozy pub designed to look like someone’s living room. There, I ran into an old classmate who now works in Sopron. She shared that she had her child at 38. That gave me a sense of comfort—I’ve been worrying about being 41 by the time our child turns 20. But life doesn’t always follow the timeline we imagined. It simply unfolds.
Over drinks, my cousin and I talked about how much the world has changed since our childhood. We mused on the dominance of digital technology in kids’ lives today and wondered whether it’s truly a good thing. Our parents worried about different things back in our day—and yet, here we are, healthy adults. Now, as we step into the role of parents ourselves, we’ll have our own set of worries. We just hope today’s children will grow into healthy, kind adults. Still, we couldn’t help but agree: cycling, outdoor games, and unplugged adventures were much more common back then. The pull of screens is a real shift we can all observe.
That evening, surrounded by cousins and friends from my past, I felt wrapped in something warm—like an invisible hug made of familiarity and love. When the night finally grew late, I made my way home with a full heart and a quiet smile.
So, what did I learn from this day? Perhaps that you can’t control everything—but you can choose to be present, and that’s where real joy lives.