En route

(Memoirs for the first trimester)

Katherine Develos-Bagarinao

Getting pregnant was the farthest thing from my mind. After all, we've only been married for barely a year, and we're still trying to work things out regarding our places of work. Whenever friends and family members ask us the all-too-common question: "So when's the li'l bundle of joy coming?" we're both apt to shake our heads and just laugh it off. "We still want to enjoy ourselves, so we'll just wait awhile." Famous last words.

Imagine my horror when the home pregnancy test turned out positive. I didn't believe it at first. Skeptic as I am, I waited for a few days and then repeated the test. Still positive. I started to panic. I sat down and cried my heart out. The first thought that came to my mind was, "Damn, I'm not ready to be a mother!" This was closely followed by, "What will happen to my work now?" I cried on the phone as I told my family the "happy news." While they were evidently surprised by this latest development, they were equally puzzled as to why their daughter/sister at the other end of the line was crying her heart out like it was the end of the world. And it seemed that way to me, in fact. My life is already complicated as it is that an intrusion at this stage would even bring about more complications. Complications that are entirely beyond my control. And I hate that the most, the feeling of not being in control.

While I'm grappling with the myriad of emotions gushing through my mind, as if on a cue, my body began responding to the chain of events triggered by this alien intrusion. I started worshipping the porcelain goddess every morning, noon and night, throwing up whatever food I'd recently eaten as some form of eerie sacrifice. "Morning sickness," I found out, could actually mean "All-waking-hours sickness," finding my only respite when I'm tucked in bed and sleeping my cares away. Food started tasting funny. My sense of smell suddenly became acute, and certain peculiar smells would drive me back to the porcelain goddess as some form of retribution for my wayward nose. The sudden spurt of hormones in my body made me feel tired all the time. I'd barely gotten up in the morning, but I'd feel tired as if it were the end of a long, exhausting day.

AN ALIEN THING. Ultrasound image shows the embryo (head and hips indicated by "+" signs) at 7 weeks, barely half an inch long.

My latest trip to the doctor showed me who was masterminding this mutiny against me. The culprit was a tiny embryo with a CRL (crown-to-rump length) of approximately 1.2 cm, snugly confined inside my uterine cocoon like it had a right to belong there in the first place. The program automatically estimated the gestational age to be around 7 weeks. I had a sudden flashback then, about when and where the "crime" was committed, followed by an embarrassed "Oh!" But as soon I saw the miniature heart beating, fluttering fast like a hummingbird - I almost cried. I was transfixed. So this is it, the proof of life inside me. Instead of revulsion, or thinking of how my life would change in the coming months or years or decades, I felt in awe of that little wonder. My husband (read: partner in crime) was right outside waiting for me when I got out. I happily showed him the printout of the ultrasound image - here's the li'l rascal we've created! Barely human-looking, but oh boy, very much alive.

I suddenly remembered something written by one of my close friends in college, when he was musing about parenthood - "Where did we find the arrogance to assume that we can nurture another human life?" At this stage I am inclined to believe that life nurtures itself. This miracle of life inside me found its way to the womb without so much as any voluntary action on my part. There is nothing more natural in the world than nurturing a life apart from our own. After all these years, all these biological processes which seemed inexistent to me began functioning on their own - and for the first time in years, I suddenly felt more alive than ever, I feel like I'm being fulfilled in more ways than I could imagine.

My next call home found me in a very different mood. My mom scolded me for crying the other time - "Hija, matanda ka na! It's about time!" Tears of joy, Mom, nothing else, I reassured her. Then I asked her, "Mom, when you were pregnant with me, did you also have morning sickness?" Without missing a beat, she replied, "Why, of course, yes! I was throwing up all the time. I couldn't eat properly." The realization that my own mother went through the same pains as I am going through now gave me a different perspective on things. It amuses me to think about it. Some 29-odd years ago a woman suffered so she can have...me.

Finally, I have carved my own place within a grand, magnificent design: the circle of life.*

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