It’s weird when so many people are congratulating you on something that you would greatly prefer to not be happening. I felt the same way when I was first pregnant… everyone happy and congratulating me, feeling like I should be celebrating when I mostly felt awkward and upset.
You’re leaving in the next 15 minutes. And as enticing as I find your saucy promise that “that’s all the time you need,” I think I’ll hold out until you have time to do it right.
Spend an unhealthy amount of time wondering if it’s normal to be so afraid of everything (spiders, storms, slipping and falling and dying, terrorists, debt collectors, exes, etc.) that you don’t leave the house sometimes.
It’s like in sci-fi movies when someone ads a tiny component to the dead spaceship that’s been sitting in someone’s garage and suddenly everything springs to life and there all these lights and bleep bloops and mechanisms firing and everyone’s like “Jesus, look at what it can do! We’ve never seen it do any of this before!”
At the fresh, nubile stage of 17 weeks knocked up, here’s what I know about pregnancy and Facebook: people expect you to announce that your womb is occupado, get your 87 Likes and ‘OMG Congratz!!!!’ comments; then sit down, shut up, quietly grow a human being, and don’t mention it again until it pops out.
Realize that your ex-boyfriend is about to turn 40. Think about what it would be like to still be together, in a purely “Wow, I would be a 25-year-old dating someone who’s forty” kind of way.