I thought it would take me about a year to fall pregnant the first time around.
Someone close to me had struggled to fall pregnant, and then she had trouble staying pregnant.
I was all too aware that it wasn’t always simple. So my partner and I decided to start trying, figuring that we’d be in a position to get married well before we fell pregnant or at least before I gave birth.
We settled in for 12 months of ‘trying’, dreaming of our future as parents (when I finally fell pregnant, waaaaay down the track).
I fell pregnant during the first month.
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There were so many reasons why it shouldn’t have happened this quickly.
I was young but working all hours in a stressful job, my husband was older and already had two kids and, well, we just weren’t quite ready.
The first inkling I had that I may be pregnant happened while driving home from work. We lived in the eastern suburbs in Sydney and work was in North Ryde, so I had to cross the Sydney Harbour Bridge to make it home.
The nausea first hit me as I rounded the corner and glimpsed the steel of the bridge. As I was driving onto the decks of the bridge I accepted the fact that I was soon going to vomit on it.
I made it over the main decks and even through the tolls by taking very deep breaths and by some miracle, I managed to make it all the way home.
I ran up the stairs of our unit block, crashed through the front door (startling my partner who was working from home) threw myself into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. He stood on the other side of the bathroom door and said a single word. “Shit.”