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I will remember this day for the rest of my life. My incredible fatigue is explained. My life is complete. Heck, the planets are aligned, or wherever they're supposed to be. I am pregnant.
Words cannot express what I am feeling, but I'll try. I want to record every moment of this next nine, actually now only about eight, months. I don't care if I get morning sickness, I don't care if I get fat, I don't care about all of those little discomforts that come with pregnancy. I'll do it all and joyfully.
I literally feel as though I'm walking on air as I move through the corridors of the hospital. I actually relish the afternoon exhaustion, now that I know what is causing it; I will lay my head on my desk everyday after lunch. My co-workers are ecstatic for me, and supportive.
My husband and I are throwing caution to the wind as we tell practically every soul we meet. I've never understood the "waiting" thing, and I've always been a terrible liar, anyway. There is no possible way that I could explain away this goofy grin from my face. I would feel dishonest and deceitful if I kept this pinnacle of my life a secret.
The relief that I feel is indescribable. I now feel like I am fully qualified to join my older sister and her friends, stay-at-home moms all, at my next beauty consulting party. I will make certain to keep my heartrate below the recommended 140 beats during my workouts, as I envision myself hugely pregnant, arms pumping while speed-walking victoriously through my neighborhood. I am thrilled to think of all of our potentially helpful neighbors, mostly retired women, who are home during the day and can help me with the baby, if needed. I will feel connected to my community in a way that I have been longing for, not as a professional, but as a mother.
Life is perfect, the entire universe is smiling widely on us, and we deserve this.
© Tracy Morris
