I’m eighteen weeks pregnant today.
Until last year, a part of me had been bracing myself for the strong possibility that marriage and children were not in my future. I still can’t believe it’s happening. I’m almost afraid to acknowledge my pregnancy.
I struggled so long, and so hard, to meet someone. I tried the arranged marriage system. I tried Western-style dating. Nothing worked.
Meanwhile my career was going well; I had a tenure-track position which I resigned: I was in my 30s, the area was too rural and the handwriting was on the wall that I wasn’t going to find a partner, and I wasn’t going to be happy living so far away from my family, either. In a last-ditch effort I torched my academic career and moved back near my family, to a city. And that Hail Mary worked; at 33 I finally met the right person.
Then out of nowhere, my mom was diagnosed with cancer, and we canceled my wedding.
But she began treatment, and we had a small wedding later.
The rollercoaster is getting exhausting.
The time between ultrasounds is scary. It’s been six weeks, but it sure feels like an eternity. My stomach isn’t showing yet, and I don’t think I feel any baby motion at all yet–though I’m not sure I would recognize it if I did. I’ve felt little shooting pains from time to time, but I’ve read that those are ligaments stretching. Or maybe it was that Chinese buffet we went to this weekend. 🙂 I hadn’t realized how weird this whole pregnancy thing is; there’s another person growing inside you, but you can’t see or touch him/her and you don’t even know if it’s a him or her, and if not for the ultrasound there wouldn’t even be a way of knowing for sure that there was a baby inside!
I assume I must still be pregnant, though. I sure feel sick, and I don’t think it’s because of the Chinese buffet since I’ve been feeling sick for 18 weeks. 🙂
Thank you, universe, and Flying Spaghetti Monster.