A 9-MONTH HOMERUN (part I)

I used to be reeeeeeeaally sexy. Believe me. I may sound as conceited as Johnny Bravo but heck yeah, I was. Those flirty times when I’d sashay my perfect-10 butt around drooling faces, it’s gangbuster! But oh well, that was like 2 years ago…

It took one determined sperm cell to turn my life around.

3rd week of September, 2002: I was 17 and 2 weeks delayed. But PANIC was not my middle name. I wouldn’t be campus “cool” figure for nothing. A delayed menstruation was not something to gripe about, was it?

Two weeks later, still, I was not agitated. What do I care if I’m pregnant, I reckoned. Big deal. Those long nights of blue-lit “yoga” (eherm) sessions with Ahmad finally paid off. At least pin-pointing the culprit who introduced his sperms to my precious egg cell (harhar) was no task at all. And I knew the culprit would stay (I’d kill him if he left the lurch anyway). So I told him everything and smelled a slight scent of panic in the air right away. But I guess that was okay, pretty normal for a 1-year boyfriend - slash-confidant’s reaction, right?

Knowing that we had a rocky road ahead, Ahmad and I immediately laid out our plans after the semestral break, like:
1. how to know if I was really pregnant
2. what to do if ever we found out I was
3. how to tell my folks and his
4. stuff like that.

So for the meantime that we have not exactly conjured up our “tricks and tactics,” I waited for some red stains to show up on my T-backs and checked them minute by minute like a paranoid freak. Tough luck, my undies were as clean as bond papers. Ahmad was tensed but he deemed there was this underlying excitement behind his mounting strain. Had it not been for his financial cold spell and me being a minor he would be extremely eager about the whole thing. A week later then, we finally decided to put an end to the pent up apprehension that was killing us. We bought two pregnancy kits and alas! my instincts did not fail me, I was indeed having a baby…

Great…just great.

Conscience was the last thing I needed that time. Next thing you know, I would be selling cookies for the Girl Scout (sheeeesh!). OK, so I was a bit terrified. Not entirely due to the fact that I feared I betrayed my parents and I was too young to handle such great deal of a situation…but mainly because (this appears to be shallow alright…) I knew how sappy it’d sound to tell my parents that I have their 1st “apo” right inside my tiny waist. You see, I was envisioning a heavy drama, soap-opera like scenario with me on it weeping like a helpless little kitten. (Ugh, that’s definitely out of my vocabulary!) My face just could not afford such cheesiness of a tremendously sorry look. The extraverted, cold soul in me began to panic. But then I figured out over time, my pride was no weapon. The situation was desperate. It required me to submit passively considering the fact that it was nobody’s fault but mine. So after 4 months of wearing extra tight jeans to conceal my bulging tummy, not being my old perky self, excusing myself around people so as to hide my persistent nausea with them whispering behind our backs (see how much of a celebrity we are? Hehe…), we threw the bombshell at last. Errr…Ahmad did. The funny thing was, it was not the same crestfallen vista my imagination was utterly anticipating for. The picture was rather simple, much to my surprise. Anxiety finally loosened its grip on my stomach.

I was two-and-a-half ride away from home when “the culprit” told everyone everything (playing safe, eh?). My mom sobbed softly still with all the poise she could pull off as if she was not thrown by the confession, she said she knew something’s brewing (maternal instinct perhaps); my oldest sister howled with her face akin to a lady proposed of marriage by her long-time boyfriend (that’s according to Ahmad); and the sole posh among us, “tres marias,” instantly sent me cash which, according to her, ought to be used for preggy wardrobes (how…chic!). And my dad? The fact that he lives overseas, my mom still had to call him up just to enlighten him with the shocking news that their irresponsible, brattiest offspring was finally hooked for life. And his reply to that? “Don’t you dare scold her!” Not the foreseen scenario playing in my mind, huh? But after which, he bawled like a lost little boy in a grocery store. Now that was genuinely touching…On the other hand, it was beyond my intention to relate how Ahmad’s clan dealt with our “unveiling” of the secret because of the action-packed, somewhat harsh plot that’s way too complicated to start with. But to describe it all the same, it was…errr…like I have told you, complicated. Period.

Rapid dramatic (some, horrible) changes, emotionally and physically, came rushing in with every flip of the calendar. But my weight gain was the fastest of ‘em all (and that was the most terrifying part). I witnessed the uncontrollable puffing of my face along with the bloating of my tummy and boy, did I feel ugly! And obese. But I reminded myself over and over again that I would be back to my own sexy self once the baby got pulled out from my womb…(yeah right)

Let me jot down the number of major episodes that took place prior to my baby’s birth for shortcut purposes (and let me separate them with the abuse of periods…)

I doubled (tripled perhaps) my original weight……I grew more and more insecure (it’s all the mirror’s fault). I hardly ever went out with Ahmad, afraid to bump into one of those nuns who run the school where Ahmad works as a guidance counselor and some tattler creatures whose best talent was spreading the Ahmad’s-girl-is-pregnant-oh-my-gosh rumor…….You see, those nuns would kick Ahmad’s ass off their school once they found out he got somebody pregnant……And we wouldn’t have any source of income if ever that happens……UNFORTUNATELY, it reached them……We got married civilly……Still, the nuns were not pleased, they only require church weddings—I guess civil wedding for them is not official bonding of two souls in love……We promised we will walk in the altar as soon as the baby was out (I wouldn’t wish to be parading my obesity on the red carpet)……Ahmad’s ass remained safe in his office (whew!)……and I was still insecure……

But that, was only the beginning.

(to be continued)

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Djai is now a hustler. A hustler in changing diapers and taking Dylan to bath, that is. But still, she’s a nocturnal snoozer leaving Ahmad the entire chore of waking up to sluggishly make Dylan’s milk formula, check on her and hush her down to sleep. One poke of Djai’s sleepy finger and Ahmad scanters out of his comfy blanket like a fervent disciple. Bad wifey, bad!

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