stress, longing, anticipation and denial. All rolled into one. Am I REALLY going to try to get pregnant this weekend?
THIS weekend?
And sign on for a life-long comittment?
I might be pregnant next week!
No more champagne, no evening of dinner and drinks as planned with my friend. A possible tornado of nausea, morning-sickness, fatigue and weird physical reactions known only to those who's been down the pregnancy path before me. Will I be showing by the time it's time to negotiate a new salary at work and will I, like millions of other women, be discarded as second-class workforce in that case?
Wifey is working out of town this week. Most of my friends are on vacation or busy.
I took myself to the park with a picnic-dinner for one and a lesbo magazine.
Time alone. Another thing to put on the list of bye-bye's.
Browsing the magazine's articles of how to survive pride, get laid, be a non-bio lesbo mom, deal with period's as a butch etc was a welcome antidote to everyday life in heteroville.
I remember the magazines I used to read as a teenager and in my early 20s. Magazines on how to brush up, push up, do make up and what-ever-else-up to catch a man and keep him. Thank God I found myself inspite of all the brainwash. Thank Godess for wifey and our life together.
And I feel so blessed. And so ready. And suddenly that night out with drinks is not on the top of the list. While trying to get our little egg inside my body meet with a little sperm from a donor of our choice seem like the miracle of all miracles. The miracle I've been preparing for and longing for all of my life.
And anyways, one could always get a babysitter for the little miracle and head out for a night of drinks with friends. Though something tells me that might not be a priority any longer.
God, I miss wifey. I'm gonna call her later, put the phone on my stomach and ask her to bless my eggs. Or perhaps the other way around. Or she might think I hung up on her.
THIS weekend?
And sign on for a life-long comittment?
I might be pregnant next week!
No more champagne, no evening of dinner and drinks as planned with my friend. A possible tornado of nausea, morning-sickness, fatigue and weird physical reactions known only to those who's been down the pregnancy path before me. Will I be showing by the time it's time to negotiate a new salary at work and will I, like millions of other women, be discarded as second-class workforce in that case?
Wifey is working out of town this week. Most of my friends are on vacation or busy.
I took myself to the park with a picnic-dinner for one and a lesbo magazine.
Time alone. Another thing to put on the list of bye-bye's.
Browsing the magazine's articles of how to survive pride, get laid, be a non-bio lesbo mom, deal with period's as a butch etc was a welcome antidote to everyday life in heteroville.
I remember the magazines I used to read as a teenager and in my early 20s. Magazines on how to brush up, push up, do make up and what-ever-else-up to catch a man and keep him. Thank God I found myself inspite of all the brainwash. Thank Godess for wifey and our life together.
And I feel so blessed. And so ready. And suddenly that night out with drinks is not on the top of the list. While trying to get our little egg inside my body meet with a little sperm from a donor of our choice seem like the miracle of all miracles. The miracle I've been preparing for and longing for all of my life.
And anyways, one could always get a babysitter for the little miracle and head out for a night of drinks with friends. Though something tells me that might not be a priority any longer.
God, I miss wifey. I'm gonna call her later, put the phone on my stomach and ask her to bless my eggs. Or perhaps the other way around. Or she might think I hung up on her.
Inga kommentarer:
Skicka en kommentar