“I’m hoping this is a false alarm.” I texted the positive test results to my cousin.
“Holy sh*t!” was her immediate response.
But it wasn’t a false alarm.
I was pregnant.
I was pregnant, not married, in an uncertain relationship, and had just started a demanding new job that regularly took me out of my comfort zone.
Now, my whole life had catapulted out of my comfort zone.
It’s no coincidence that my weekly blog posts ended three weeks later.
Writing, once my salvation, became a formidable task. My life became too overwhelming to share and let’s face it, even “unconventional me” was embarrassed to share my predicament. This just wasn’t how my life was supposed to work out. I no longer felt like the wise writer, but a scared teenager. Where was the confident Heidi who traveled the world with a surfboard and hiking boots, blogging about adventures? Back then wayward paths smelled delicious, not stressful.
Now my wayward ways seemed out of style. I had been dating someone wonderful, although he was divorced and our relationship was tainted with a few false starts. We had just gotten back together after a “break” with those people you meet on “a break” still lingering in the shadows. Would we make it…or would I join the single mother’s club?
My prospective job, although exciting, was brand spanking new. When the pregnancy results came in, I hadn’t even signed the offer letter yet. I’d have to sign for two… if they’d still accept me in a, um, larger form.