I thought, well, now that’s impossible. I’ve only been with Monsieur in the last 10 months and he’s been fixed. So it can’t be.
A month later: nausea (again) and other weird flu-like symptoms. What’s more, I’m late by a week. So, I do what any good, sensible girl does: I panic and freak out. Quietly. Then, I go to the drug store and pick up a home rabbit test.
The rabbit lived. Whew!
I so don’t want to be pregnant. Ever. I think I’m afraid of what it would do to me, my body, my peace of mind and my life. I used to tell people (boyfriends, my mom) that I didn’t think I was capable of taking care of children. Well, now that I’ve dived face-first into this life, I now know that I could, if I had to, take care of children, Because, well, I do, and I have to. I probably couldn’t take care of them all by myself, but with a husband working, I could do it. After all, that’s what I’m doing now.
So why am I afraid of birthing children? Apart from my slim tiny boyish hips, and all? I’m scared of pain. That’s all it is – I’m a wimp.
Now I know that all of you are chuckling to yourselves thinking, “Well, now someday Ms. Yearning Heart is gonna find herself knocked up and she’ll know for herself whether or not she could go through with it.” And I suppose that is a possibility. It’s also equally possible that I am a lesbian
[1]. Or perhaps I am Larry King
[2]. This is all possible.
I told Monsieur that I was worried about the pregnancy thing and he comforted me. It felt good, but what I wanted to hear was what would happen if I were to get pregnant. So, like a communicative person, who I hope that I am, I just asked him.
“If I were to get pregnant, what would we do?”
“You would make whatever decision you need to make, and I would support those decisions,” Monsieur replied.
“Suppose I decide to have the baby?” I asked.
“Then you would have the baby and I would support both of you.”
“Suppose I would want the baby to have a daddy?” I asked.
“The baby would have a daddy, if you would be so gracious as to consent for me to acknowledge the paternity,” he replied.
“Suppose … I would want to be married to the daddy?” I asked in a whisper.
“I can only hope for that,” he replied.
“You mean, you’d marry me if I got pregnant?” I didn’t expect that – I don’t know why not.
“You are a very eligible young woman, and I don’t think I would find anyone better for me or for my children,
[3]” he answered.
I looked up at him, trying to be calm, but I started to tremble and he held me tighter.
[4] It would have been perfect had he nailed me right then and there, but he didn’t – even when I tried to get him to, he asked me to wait a bit.
OK, blogmates … what does
that mean exactly? Am I somehow leading up to Connubia with this guy? Is that what I want?
[5]