"...Go ahead. Gasp, vomit, shriek. I did..."
I'm What?, March 28 2006
I'm pregnant.
Go ahead. Gasp, vomit, shriek. I did. No fertility clinics, no drugs, no thermometers. Just one night of not getting out of bed to find a condom because I'm fucking forty years old, for God's sake, and nobody my age gets pregnant without spending eight thousand dollars.
One night.
I thought the baby would have the decency to miscarry by now, but no. It's still in there, in me, growing fingers and doing all that gross stuff that
should happen in a nest.
Why can't babies grow in nests? Why, oh why, inside me?
I'm doing my part. I take vitamins and no wine. But I still run everyday, and I have not given up caffeine. If this baby can't handle coffee and a workout, then I think it knows where the front door is. You gotta really want it, baby.
We're at nine and a half weeks, and if all goes not according to plan, my life will end the day the baby's begins, on Oct 23, 2006.
I'm not getting attached yet. The odds for miscarriage are too high. I'm treating this baby like a one night stand. I don't expect it to ever call again, but I will keep shaving my legs.
