I felt ready to be a mother.

I felt ready to be a mother.


Diana

I still had my prenatal appointment papers in my hand when we left the clinic. Ethan was driving with that exaggerated silence, as if he were calculating his entire life in spreadsheets inside his head. I know that silence of his well. It's the "crazy CEO mode" activated.

"— Diana…" he began, without taking his eyes off the road. "— We need to talk about some things. Like… space. Structure. Routine. Security. Everything."

I turned to him slowly, because I already knew drama was coming.

"— What space, Ethan?" I asked. "— We live in a mansion. A mansion. If that's not enough space for a baby that fits in the palm of your hand, nothing in the world will be."

He took a deep breath, too serious.

"— Honey… what if we need more?" I don't know… an extra room, a more secluded space, a house with a bigger garden, maybe a place with more security, more walls, more bulletproofing…

— Ethan — I interrupted — we have a security guard even in the garage. We don't need extra bulletproofing. And we definitely don't need another mansion.

He turned his face to me, as if I had said something absurd.

— I can buy a bigger one, okay? Like… really bigger. The size of a shopping mall, if you want.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. He was serious, but his face looked like a child trying to convince me to buy a dog.

— Ethan, for God's sake — I said, holding back a laugh — you're not going to buy a shopping mall for us to live in.

— That's not what I said — he defended himself. — But if you want… I'll look into it.

— No! — I said, laughing loudly. — Enough, enough… we're fine where we are. We don't need more space. We just need peace. And love. And… a fridge full of things I can eat without throwing up.

He gave a small smile, half relieved, half in love.

— Okay, whatever you say.

— I always say it — I replied, winking.

He shook his head as if he had no choice. And he really doesn't.

After a few minutes of pleasant silence, he took another deep breath, in that way that means “I'm going to say something stupid, but I need to.”

— Honey… when are we going to tell the family?

I took a deep breath.

— Well… I already told my mom.

He almost crashed the car.

— YOU WHAT?!

I held out my hand to calm him down.

— Ethan, focus on the road!

— You told your mom and didn't tell me first?!

— Ethan — I said, crossing my arms — remember how you reacted when I told you? "Do you really think I was going to tell you BEFORE I was sure about the test?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Like a fish. An angry fish.

"I…" he tried, "I reacted… I reacted badly, but…"

"But nothing," I cut him off. "You almost had a heart attack on the floor, Ethan. If I told you before, you would have put me in a bubble and called the army to escort me to the bathroom."

"I wouldn't," he said.

"Yes, you would," I replied. "You've done that before, when I had the flu. You sent two security guards to watch the bathroom door."

He looked away, pretending not to remember. I laughed.

"See? So don't try to play the offended one now."

He sighed, defeated.

"Okay… okay. You're right."

I patted his arm.

"I'm always right."

When we got home, I had such a random craving that it even scared me.

A smell appeared out of nowhere in my head and, out of nowhere, I said:

"Ethan, I want to eat fish."

"Fish? We have frozen salmon…"

"No," I cut him off immediately. "I want river fish. Freshwater. Like fried tilapia. Really fried. You know that fish that looks like it died frying three times? That's the one."

He made a horrible face.

"Honey… that looks… dangerous."

"Dangerous is your fear of frying," I replied. "I want fish and I'm going to eat fish."

He raised his hands, surrendering.

"Okay. Triple fried tilapia. Any way you want it."

We ordered from a restaurant nearby. Just imagining the smell made my mouth water.

When it arrived, I attacked it like someone who hadn't seen food in three days.

One forkful.

Two.

Three.

The fourth piece was left behind.

My stomach decided it had a life of its own.

"Ethan…" I said, pale. "I think I'm going to…"

His eyes widened.

"Throw up? You're going to throw up? Diana, breathe! I'll get a bag—"

"I'M NOT WAITING FOR A BAG, ETHAN!"

I dropped the plate, ran through the kitchen, tripped on the rug, cursed the rug, pushed the door open, and flew to the bathroom like I had fire in my tail.

I made it in time.

But it was a close call.

Very close.

I lay there hugging the toilet, crying, laughing, and cursing all at once.

"Oh no…" I said, spitting out the last drops of my dignity—"of all things, the fish… why does everything that tastes good have to come back up?!"

Ethan appeared at the door, looking worried, holding a small bottle of water and some cloths he'd grabbed from who-knows-where.

"Honey… do you want me to call the doctor?"

I turned to him, disheveled, eyes brimming with tears, my face pressed against the toilet.

"Ethan… I'm pregnant. I'm not dying."

"But you're vomiting a lot. And is…"

"So it's not normal—"

"Ethan…" I interrupted. "The fish came back whole. I think it tried to swim back to the river. That's all."

He took a deep breath, trying not to laugh. I saw it out of the corner of his mouth.

"Don't laugh," I warned. "If you laugh, I'll throw the rest of the fish at you."

He raised both hands as if surrendering.

"Okay. I won't laugh."

But he laughed. Quietly. Cheeky.

I sat there for about five minutes on the cold floor, breathing deeply and cursing all the fish on the planet.

When I finally got up, limp as overcooked pasta, he helped me wash my face.

"I don't want any more fish," I announced dramatically. "Never again."

"Okay," he said, stroking my hair. "We'll cross fish off the list. Never again fish."

"At least until tomorrow," I murmured. — Because pregnant women change their minds quickly.

He laughed this time. Loudly.

— My God, Diana…

— What?

— I love you like this.

— Like what?

— Like this… unpredictable.

Like this… decisive.

Like this… crazy about fish and fighting with the rug.

I couldn't hold back my laughter. He pulled me close and hugged me in the hallway as if I were made of crystal.

— Honey… I promise — he whispered in my neck — that I'll do everything right this time. Everything. With you and our baby.

I closed my eyes.

My chest felt warm.

There was no more fear there.

Only affection.

Later, already in bed, I stared at the ceiling while he fiddled with his phone, probably searching "what fish can pregnant women eat without exploding".

— Ethan…

— Hmm?

— I think we should tell the rest of the family. At least soon.

He looked at me with that silly, lovestruck smile.

— Preferably before your mother starts spreading the news on the street, right?

I laughed.

— Exactly.

He hung up the phone and came closer to me.

— I want to experience all of this with you, Diana. Every bout of nausea. Every weird craving. Every ultrasound. Every kick. Every sleepless night.

My eyes welled up.

— I know — I replied softly. — And I want that with you too.

— Promise you won't hide anything from me this time?

I took a deep breath.

Not out of guilt… but because I understood his fear.

— I promise.

He smiled, pulled me close, and hugged me so tightly that I even felt my nausea disappear.

—And promise— he finished—that you'll never eat fried river fish again without telling me first?

—Ethan…

—WHAT?

—I still want some.

He was shocked.

—WHAT?!

I raised a finger.

—But I'm not going to eat it. I'm traumatized. I'm just saying the craving is still there.

He fell onto the bed with his hand on his face.

—Lord… give me patience.

I laughed.

—Welcome to fatherhood.

And so, at the end of the day, I was lying on Ethan's chest, my head clear, my anxiety calmer, and my heart full.

Did it hurt to think about the past? Yes.

But now I had too much hope to let the pain control me.

And for the first time since that horrible day… I felt ready to be a mother.

Even if she were a mother who argues with the rug and chases after fried fish.