There are many bad times for a woman to be pregnant. If she is under-aged, it is bad. If she is single, it is bad. If she has no idea who the father might be, it is bad. If she is homeless, it is bad. If she is unemployed, it is bad. If she is in college, it is bad. If she is a drunkie or a junkie, it is bad. If she is on a good career path, it is bad. If she is in a good yet new relationship, it is bad.
There are very few good times for a woman to be pregnant. If she is married, of age, in a good relationship, with a lot of money and a job that will allow her to take many days off to spend with her child – yeah, get all those moments together and make them last 18 years… that is the ONLY good time for a woman to be pregnant.
If you look at the odds, it is NEVER a good moment for a woman to be pregnant.
I went to the doctor last week about a cough. We have a mould situation in our apartment, and I knew that is why my cough is bothering me. But We have already begun the de-moulding process, so I will get better eventually. But I still wanted some help with the coughing and the mucus and the crappy feeling. So I go there and she says that yes, in fact my cough is related to the mould, to take these pills and these drops and open the windows and other healthy-living crap. I thanked her, and as I was walking out the threshold of her office, she asks,
Excuse me, is it possible that you are pregnant?
The world stopped spinning. I could hear cars braking aggressively and people turning and looking at my pregnant self in awe. In bad awe. In very bad awe. Because this is one of those even fewer times when it is BAAAAAD to be pregnant.
It is BAAAAAAD to be pregnant right now.
I am in the middle of my masters, I am far away from home, I don’t speak the language entirely well, I am still in the “legal alien but still alien” status… and I am getting married soon. That means that my fucking dress won’t fit if I am pregnant now.
I stood there in the middle of the way – not anymore inside her office, but still not outside. I was there. In a limbo. Exactly like I felt in my life at the moment.
Fuck, I thought. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
This is not the time. This is seriously not the time.
I am in a serious relationship, yes. I am old enough that having a baby is no longer a tragedy but a wished-for miracle, yes. I have money, yes. Even better: WE have money, yes. I live in a country where they welcome babies and pay people to reproduce more and more and more. I am insured, very well insured. And what’s better: when I told my fiancé that I might be pregnant, his face lit up and a huge smiled filled his face, and he hugged me and congratulated us. He was giddy during the whole three minutes that it took me to pee on the stick and wait for the negative results.
Fuck, I thought. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
But this time my “fucks” were thankful fucks. Negative. YAY!
Or, did I really feel “yay”?
It would be a very very very baaaaad time to be pregnant.
But then again, would it?
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