My birthday is in 3 days. Like most women my age, if you had asked me at 24 if I was gonna have kids I probably would have said, “have you seen kids? I like my independence too much to sacrifice it for one of those,” and then under my breath added, “tiny little sociopaths.”
I met the right guy and knew that the only responsible adult thing to do was have our genes meld together for the good of the world. Either that or I watched my brother produce an amazing little girl and the mothering instinct overwhelmed me like a backstreet boys song and I could no longer ignore what I think deep down was inevitable. Life only has so many things that can be experienced while I’m here, and it seemed to me that if I was able to still do the whole “child” thing, that that would be an adventure worth experiencing. That’s the moment I started begging Jordan to impregnate me/have more sex with me. He obliged.
10 months of trying finally paid off. I found out I was pregnant before leaving town for the weekend to specifically go party with friends: In Wisconsin: For the weekend. I could tell already I was gonna have to start giving stuff up for this kid. Missing out on a frozen white russian and all the gin and tonic I could stomach would be the first of many sacrifices.
I’m 30 years old, fiercely independent, and pregnant. My husband, in so many loving words reminds me almost daily, “you wanted this.” That I did Jordan, that I did.