Brooklyn, we go hard

I moved this weekend. After much debate and deliberation, my boyfriend and I rented a large one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. I didn’t contribute much to the actual move, just a little packing. And I moved some throw pillows. 😉 Right now most of the apartment is still in boxes. Working a full day takes a lot out of me, not to mention the longer commute. I get home, eat, and crash. My boyfriend’s been doing most of everything, but that’s the trade-off for him getting me to move to Brooklyn. I’m hoping to get it all done this weekend.

A few weeks ago I told my parents about the pregnancy. My parents live in the same house, and are legally married, but do not speak to each other and sleep in separate bedrooms. Much of this is due to my mother’s inability to move past the past. I thought it would be only fair for me to tell them together.

Ha. I underestimated my mother yet again. She got offended that I didn’t tell her first, and alone. She, of course, made it all about her. Just as I predicted, she didn’t even ask me how far along I was, or who the father was, or anything even remotely related to the baby, until the next day. She instead spent the next few hours talking about herself and about how she’s going to be viewed by her family, and about how much of a non-relationship we have. I listened to her until she got tired of talking.

I expected all this to go exactly the way it went. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t affect me. She called the next day, calmer at first, but that quickly changed into the same song and dance. This time I was less patient and lost my temper. That was the last time we spoke.

I will eventually speak to her again, but it won’t be for a few more weeks. I’m waiting until my second trimester. These next couple of weeks are critical, and I don’t want to be stressed out by my mother.

My father took the news like I knew he would. He’s happy at the prospect of being a granddad. I told him that we weren’t planning on getting married anytime soon, and he seemed fine with that.

Seemed being the operative word.

…to be continued.

My Baby Daddy

I’m dreading the “Why aren’t you getting married?” questions that will come from every angle. Family, co-workers, random people on the street. One part of me just wants to stick a silver band on my ring finger and avoid the questions all together. What’s the difference? I’m not trying to trap him. I know he’ll be there. We are building a life together, we just aren’t legally bound to each other. A piece of paper won’t make us but it might break us. It will create a pressure that somehow we HAVE to be together forever. I want us to be together because we want to, not for any other reason.

Things are great with us. We spend ALOT of time together. He’s planning on moving into my apartment at the end of this month. We will live there for a few months then move into a bigger space. My lease isn’t up until December but I live on the fifth floor of a walk-up so I’ll have Dr. Pepper write a note saying that it’s become medically impossible for me to walk up all those stairs. Right now the debate is over where to live. I naturally prefer Queens, because it’s what I know and where all my family lives. For this same reason, he prefers Brooklyn.

Physically, I feel good. The mood swings are becoming less frequent, and I don’t get nauseous anymore unless I go long periods without eating. I gained another pound, but that’s probably from the red meat/carb overload this weekend.