Friday 12th May 2017
I’ve completed my online education well enough to know that weeks of pregnancy are counted from the first day of the last period. Cycles, ovulation days, diary in hand; I now know for certain that it was that night, that bottle of Pinot Grigio, that drunken lovemaking in my bedroom.
My brother calls from Italy:
“I could sense that something was up. It’s going to be ok. Whatever you decide is the right decision. Have you told mum? Who’s the father? I know that I’ve just become a father, and that our sister is about to become a mother, but don’t you put any pressure on yourself with any of that. Everything will work out fine! I am here for you”
Running thoughts. Fantasies of family reunions, of cousins running around and playing together, my brother, my sisters and I, accomplished parents.
Anxiety attack. How can I possibly be ready for motherhood? Ever?
This is hell.
I hate today.
