12/7/2021 - how’d I find out?

Here we go into the unknown of how I ended up here. Here meaning with a fluttering fetus in my belly.

I’ll start by saying: this was not my intention. 

I had been working at a restaurant. A french one that paid good money. But, working in the restaurant industry is a dirty job, physically and emotionally. There are long hours with little to no breaks on your feet dealing with needy customers but also sexually excited men with no limits on their approach to women in the kitchen. 

Because of the before mentioned toxicity, I was looking to make my exit from this draining industry. I didn’t quite know what changed my mind, since I had put up with it for almost 4 years because it payed me so well, but, I knew something in my body was changing. I found myself over the drama and gossip and was isolating myself from those who also hustled in this space. 

I also found myself waiting for my period to come, since I usually could tell when it was coming, or knew the average date that blood would run down my leg. I felt a gush while taking an order, luckily wearing a mask so my expression was only halfway interpreted. I quickly got to an open toilet, where I hovered, praying that there was a gorgeous red in my draws, to no avail.
Though, I did find a slight hue on the tissue I used to wipe... implantation bleeding is what that’s called according to the interwebs.

“If I’m not still bleeding tomorrow...” I thought.

And I wasn’t. 

So, like any other who suspects a fertilized egg, I ran to Target at 8am for confirmation. Most of the times I’ve taken pregnancy tests (which was atleast 3 times before this one, sparatically throughout my sex life), I did it right in the stores’ restroom. No, this is not something I’m proud of, but it’s true. This time, I chose to wait until I got home.

I took two. Both were negative. Yet, if that was the case, I still needed to go to the doctor to see what was going on with my lady parts that my period was not showing up. I made an appointment for the next rising, in which I told my partner and mother about. 

My partner and I walked into the office with white knuckles and rapid heartbeats. Extremely anxious. So much, I could’ve definitely soiled my draws. Instead, I peed in a cup. 

We sat in a quiet room. “Well, either way, this is a wake up call to get our shit together.” That was the most comforting thing we could think to say out loud. Yet, not comforting enough. 

So, you know those shows or movies when a couple finds out their pregnant and the doctor comes in the room with a big smile and a huge congratulations? Yeah. Our experience wasn’t too far off until she started asking us questions like, “was this planned? Do you have work? Are you excited?” To which all were a monotone “no.”

The answers to the latter two have transformed.

As I reflect on this time of change, I remember conversations I had with myself at 19 years old. I told myself that I wanted to have a baby by 24. I just turned 24 in October.

So, here I am, getting more and more excited, and equally as anxious. Grateful nonetheless for the opportunity for growth.

THANK YOU.
THANK YOU.
THANK YOU.

  (Because it’s natural. It’s human.)