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There’s an odd sense of detached perspective when you consider the fact your body is doing all this stuff to grow a human, and you’re otherwise completely unaware of it.
I can’t see what’s going on, and as much as I spent hours scrolling through the stages and trimesters last night, it still feels alien.
Loving children is a big part of why I became a nanny. That and wanting to help the whole family, so connecting to the people I work with has never been hard.
I don’t know how to connect with the fetus growing in my womb.
I don’t know who it is or will be, and I’m starting to think I might make a much better nanny than a mom.
I don’t love this thing yet. I mean, how could I? It’s still so inaccessible, even if it’s inside there somewhere.
My heart pounds, and a swirling wave of sadness washes over me. Am I a terrible person for not feeling something?
Pulling on a clean pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I crawl back into bed. I’m keeping up the somewhat true charade of being sick with my dad, and I’m just not ready to go downstairs and see him.
More crappy TV fills the background with noise as I struggle with what I’m supposed to do when Noah gets back.
I do care, and I should probably tell him, but I know this won’t look good if his nanny is all of a sudden pregnant.
What is my dad going to think of this? Will I have to choose between him and Noah? Will Noah lose his best friend?
“Ah! This is so fucked-up!”
I throw the remote down on the bed as I sit up, and the world spins. I realize I haven’t eaten much because, you know, nausea, but I should probably get something to eat.
I look at the clock and see it’s actually been much longer than I thought, and just as I get up, my phone buzzes.
Hey babe. If you’re feeling better, I can make dinner. Are you hungry?
I smile.
I’m heading down. Thanks, Dad.
When I get downstairs, my dad has the freezer open and is staring inside with his head hidden behind the door.
“Find anything good?”
He jumps, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Hi, Liv. You scared the shit out of me. And maybe.”
Reaching inside, he pulls out an old Tupperware of some stuffed shells I made a while back.
“Yeah?”
I consider the food, and when my stomach doesn’t immediately start doing flip-flops, I nod.
“Sure. I’d put it in a pan and bake it, though. It won’t be as soggy then.”
“Can do.”
Going to the couch to sit down, I see that Dad has Law & Order on. It’s one of his go-to shows, and I shake my head with a smile.
“What season are you on now?”
Dad yells from the kitchen, and I watch as he dumps the stuffed shells into a pan. It’s not a pretty pour, to say the least, but he manages not to make a total mess.
“I think nine. Or maybe ten.”
