I was pregnant. I was having a baby.
It almost seemed too much for me to take in, my head felt like it was swimming most of the time. I was having a baby! Me! A baby!
I hadn’t said anything to Malcolm. I knew I should, but I was too afraid that I would ruin something if I did. To be on the safe side, I stopped calling him and stopped answering his calls. I didn’t listen to his voice mails and deleted his texts as soon as I got them. He came over a few times but I always pretended not to be home. Eventually, to stop him from worrying and jumping to conclusions (the last thing I wanted was for him to figure out that I was pregnant by himself) I gave him a quick call, explaining that work was just really busy and that my agent had set some tight deadlines for my next book, so I didn’t have much time to breath. He told me he understood, and would give me all the time I needed to stay on top of everything.
After that, his calls and unannounced visits stopped.
I felt that it was time for a new look, and went shopping (online, in case I’d run into Malcolm) for some new, more mature looking clothes. I was going to be a mommy soon and I wanted to look the part! Besides, since my birthday I just hadn’t felt like myself any more in my old clothes, so buying some new things helped me feel rejuvenated.
Once I had started showing (and they start showing quickly! they look about ready to pop once they’ve entered the first trimester!) I called Milan over to give him the good news. I had been dying to tell him before but now that my belly made it obvious it seemed like the perfect moment to break the news to him.
Milan was ecstatic, and I felt a huge grin on my face as well. I still couldn’t quite believe it yet, but I was excited for this little one and had secretly started reading naming books. There was one in my head already, but I wanted to see what else there was first, before making a definite decision.
Just like me, Milan was over the moon. The way he fussed over me and my swollen belly you could have thought that he was the father! He was so proud of the little one already, and I considered involving him in naming the baby. Maybe I could even involve him a little in raising the child? Not all the time, of course, but I had a feeling that he’d adore this little munchkin a lot, and wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.
Alisha was just as happy for me, and a little fascinated by all the changes to my body. Even though I was only three months into my pregnancy she was feeling my stomach every chance she got. She really wanted to feel those tiny feet kick!
It was around then that I realised that, even though my baby would have to grow up without a father, he or she would still have a little family gathered around either way. Milan and Alisha were going to be here a lot, and were already volunteering for babysitting duty. I wanted to make sure that my child wouldn’t have to miss a thing – within reason of course – , and seeing their support led me to believe that it was possible.
Since my house was too small for me and a child I contacted some contractors and the local building company to have the house extended. We drew up a floor plan quickly, and before I knew it work on the house had started. We weren’t doing anything to the ground floor, but we added a second floor with a small corridor and a nursery, which Alisha and I loved to decorate.
We both went out together several times (in a neighbouring village) to buy everything I would need for a successful home birth. We found the perfect bassinet, and decided on yellow as the primary colour. I wanted the gender of my baby to be a surprise, so we wanted to go with something neutral which wasn’t gender specific. Milan surprised me with four adorable pictures which we hung up immediately, and Alisha added the sweetest toy llama to the room.
Before I knew it, everything was ready and set up.
The renovations had taken a considerable amount out of my savings, but thanks to my financial safety net which I had been building over the years I was left with enough money to pay the bills. My boss insisted I take time off as I entered the last trimester, but I assured her I was fine to sit at a desk writing articles and working on my novel. She wasn’t convinced, but when I reminded her that I’d be doing the same thing at home anyway she gave in, promising me that she’d drag me home herself together with the security guards at the first sign of complications.
The only complication I had, however, was immense pain. My back wasn’t happy, and try as I might it was very uncomfortable to sit still for longer periods of time. Even short amounts were becoming more and more painful, and despite my promises to my boss I ended up moving around a lot, stretching a little as much as possible.
Over all, everything was going well. I went to the hospital for regular check ups and they assured me that my baby was doing fine, and that I had nothing to worry about. Besides the every-growing aches in my body I was coping well, and was looking forward to the day when I could finally hold my baby in my arms.
I was hungry all the time. I wasn’t sure if I was really only eating for two or if there were more in there, but I was constantly standing in front of my oven cooking something. I wanted eggs a lot, and didn’t think I’d ever go off BLT sandwiches. I’d write on my novel until the pain got too much, then move into the kitchen and cook something. Even if it was only a small snack, the movement helped settle the pain a little – as long as I wasn’t standing up for too long. My feet were swollen messes, and it seemed my back was unhappy either way.
When I could, I ate sitting down, but sometimes I had to take it with me while I wandered around the house, eating as I went.
Two months before my due date and I barely got any writing done at all. It just hurt too much to sit at the computer for long enough for it to be worthwhile, and I soon had to accept that my novel wasn’t going to make much progress until after this baby was born.
Besides food I craved milk a lot. I couldn’t explain it, like any pregnancy craving, but my doctor assured me that milk was good and healthy and therefore I was allowed to indulge in my cravings as often as I wanted.
One month before my due date and I cleaned the house like there was no tomorrow. I was sure that things hadn’t been this clean when I had first bought them, but the stretching involved in bending down and scrubbing the toilet was pure bliss for my aching body. Cleaning everything became my favourite way to pass the time – until stretching became too painful and I had to sit down for as long as my back allowed it. Milan and Alisha came over often, offering me all the support they could think off, but there was only so much they could do. I didn’t want to take painkillers in case it might hurt my baby somehow, and their massages didn’t help as much as they wanted to think.
I was definitely ready to have this baby. I didn’t sleep well most nights because the pain kept me awake, and I was very eager for this baby to be born a little early. As long as it was healthy I was fine with it.
But my baby wasn’t coming early. My baby was coming nearly half a month late.
When the contractions kicked in I was sitting at my desk, trying to write at least a few words. The pain put everything I had felt up to this point to shame. I called Alisha, but she was at work and couldn’t answer her phone so I left her a voicemail. I called Milan, but his phone was switched off.
I was going to be alone in this home birth. As quickly as a pregnant woman with heavy contractions could I went upstairs, into the nursery. My midwife had prepared me beautifully for this, and had told me everything that I needed to know. I considered calling her so that I wouldn’t have to be alone after all, but I could tell by how close together my contractions were that she wouldn’t have made it in time. This baby wanted out now.
I positioned myself as we had practiced, more than ready for the sparkles and the tingling feeling that came with sim birth to kick in. As I waited doubt filled me again. What if I wasn’t ready after all? What if I wasn’t going to be a good mum? What if my baby wasn’t going to grow up well because he or she had no father? A pain-contorted smile spread on my face as I tried to breath properly. Screw the dad, that bastard was the reason I was going through this now! It was his fault I was in this much pain, his fault I was-
I screamed from the top of my lungs, and then, finally, the sparkles began to engulf me.
Trying to catch my breath, I looked down into my daughter’s eyes. In that moment I really hoped that Malcolm wasn’t going to come over uninvited any time soon, because I was never going to lie my way out of this one! The resemblance was striking! She had his skin colour, and it looked like she had his brown eyes, too. I knew that it was possible that things like that could still change, but it didn’t really matter.
She was perfect. And she was all mine.
“Welcome home, Lilliana.” I whispered, rocking her gently in my arms until her crying had reduced to a soft whimpering.
The renovated house from the back!
And little Lilliana :3
Note: I decided to let the game roll a name for each child at random. Whatever it suggests at first, I’ll go with it! (unless I get a name twice) I’m hoping it’ll add some variety to my game since I have my firm favourites and tend to use the same names a lot. I just hope the names are better than they were in the sims 3. I was very surprised when the first name the game rolled was Lilliana, since Morrigan’s sister was called Leliana. Coincidence? I think – yeah, probably, but I thought it was a nice sentiment to think that Morrigan named her daughter after her sister while also giving her some individuality by changing the name slightly ^^