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Once again... Once again a surprise, once again while on birth control. Once again there's no doubt as to who the father is, thank god, gods, goddesses. Once again, I'm dizzy and weak and nauseous and have no appetite. Time to cycle through terror and exhilaration. Time to sleep more than I thought a human could. I don't mind. I just hope it's not all for nothing this time.
The EMTC at Methodist Hospital, 7 AM. I'm tired from not sleeping all night, woozy from the morphine they gave me, anxious and terrified because of all the strange pains that have been shooting through my lower belly since midnight. I'm getting an ultrasound session, both through the stomach and transvaginal, because they're afraid I have an ectopic pregnancy. The ultrasound technician and the father-to-be, O., can see the screen. I can't. He keeps asking, "What's that? What do those lines mean? Is that the baby?" and she answers in short, clipped sentences. I keep asking if I can see, and she keeps telling me she'll show me when she's finished. A doped-up eternity passes. Finally she flips the screen around. A tiny jellybean is on the screen, with an attached yolk, floating in a puddle of ink. That's the baby. That's Bump. In the right spot, snug in my uterus, no stranded in a fallopian tube. The hours leading up to this moment had intensely made me wish I was religious, so I had more hope, so I had faith to blind me from statistics and the cold nature of the universe. Because it could have just as easily been an ectopic pregnancy, it could have just as easily been the time I learned that they would have to abort the baby, to take me out of danger. Whoo, it's been a week and already so much.
I am. Probably just because the universe realized there was something that hadn't happened to me. I mean, I'm keeping it. I'm not smoking, which sucks. No booze. No nothing. It's my ex's. I'm now tied to him for 18+ years. We're getting along now, but... I like the idea of a baby. Hopefully I can keep from being a welfare mom, nothing wrong with it, I just have little enough pride as it is. I'm thankful the father isn't the guy I just stopped living with. At least there's that. But I've never felt so alone, even though I technically won't be for eight or so more months.
I dreamt I was pregnant last night... lovely dream, I was at home making dinner and being all wifey to my dream-husband(who is damn hot by the way). Stirring the saucepan, feeling a little kick in my belly, my tits big and heavy with milk... It was... dreamy, haha. A blissful little fantasy I suppose. The best part besides the general air of happiness was my tits though, the way they felt.
Pity I could care less about babies and fat bellies, but lately I've been feeling like I'd love to be pregnant. Maybe I'm putting too much stock in the 'motherly glow' thing, or maybe I just like the idea of growing a cup size and lactating too much... I really am a perv...