Anonymous

The first time I took a pregnancy test, I was shitting myself. I was a twenty-year-old student and had been in a relationship for less than a year. As my parents were strong Christians, they believed that sex outside of marriage was a sin. In other words, if that pregnancy test had popped up with a little plus sign or a goddamn smiley face, I would have been in a really difficult position. Thankfully, it was negative.

The second time I took a pregnancy test was earlier this year. I had just come back from a glorious honeymoon in Egypt, my period was late and my tummy playing up. I waited and waited for my period to come, but no show, so I took a pregnancy test. This time was so different to that first time I peed on a stick. This time, although I was on contraception and hadn’t planned to get pregnant, I was half-hoping that those two positive lines would show up. It wouldn’t be ideal—we were newly married, not financially stable yet and barely able to look after ourselves and our little flat, never mind another human being. Yet…

Truth is I wanted to be pregnant. I wanted to feel my breasts swell and feel the stirring of new life deep within me. I wanted the ultrasounds and late night cravings. Okay, so I don’t really want the nausea, the haemorrhoids or the earth-shattering (pelvis-shattering?) pain of childbirth. But I wanted the child, the baby at the end of it all.

But then again, I also wanted to be able to drop everything and go away for a surprise weekend with my husband. I wanted to be able to go out and get crazy tipsy with my friends, to sleep through the night and lie in on weekends until noon if I wanted to. I wanted to have the odd naughty cigarette when I was stressed or on a night out, for my body to remain within my control and my lady bits to stay the way they were. I wanted my marriage to remain about us as a couple, and not just us as parents.

So, now I’m torn. Half of me is obsessed with having a baby, and as each birthday ticks by, the more appealing it becomes, which I’m sure can partially be blamed on hormones and my biological clock ticking. The other half of me, however, doesn’t want to become a mama—not just yet. This half is worried about the practical and financial implications, never mind what being pregnant would do to my body, my social life and my relationship.

For now, I am still relying on the marvels of modern contraceptives and enjoying living a selfish, child-less life.

But, if that second pregnancy test had turned out to be positive, it wouldn’t have been such a disaster after all…

The writer likes good books, chocolate and fruity white wine, preferably at the same time.