I woke up one morning with a slightly prominent belly. It didn't happen overnight of course. In fact, at five months, it still didn't prompt awkward questions from my male-dominated IT workforce (only at 25 months did someone actually dared ask!) and my friend Andreea mentioned that I "only looked bloated".
Becoming a mother wasn't going to be the 'be all and end all' of my existence. I am not a fan of my culture's belief that the essence of being a woman is defined by her ability to bear children, turn a blind eye to her husband's philandering and stretch the monthly income to meet the family's needs and wants. I was brought up by liberated parents who instilled in my mind that my place in a family home is alongside my husband, not beneath or above him. So this means that my life shall not end at childbirth and although I wouldn't be one to put career over the people I love I am also determined not to make motherhood the biggest achievement of my life.
The decision when to have a child had been carefully planned. Ours was not the typical route of settling down: marriage, home and kids. My husband and I love to travel, not to escape but to discover new things and having a child would mean not just a lifestyle change but a travel plan change. It would have been more convenient to have a baby later in life when we have quenched our thirst for adventures, saved up some money and bought a bigger house like most of our friends have done. And yet we also dream of living in the warm comforts of Andalusia and having a child now would help us push forward that dream.
So here I am with only 15 weeks to go and looking only slightly bloated, giggling over our baby's constant kicks and dreaming of the day I would finally hold God's most wonderful creation in my arms.
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