That frantic celebration of my positive pregnancy test was actually the last time we made love for a while. When I was pregnant with Ben, I'd had it easy. I'd gotten a little nauseous here and there, and had decided that the whole throwing-up-every-morning thing was made up for TV. But I'd been in my mid-twenties then, and almost two decades later the first trimester hit me hard.
Not long after my first doctor's appointment, where I had my pregnancy confirmed and was given a December 15 due date, I started feeling sick and woozy all the time, not just in the mornings. I threw up maybe twice a day for a couple weeks, but the exhaustion was worse than the nausea.
I called in sick to work when I could, and when I couldn't I felt like a zombie. It was like having the flu, which is what I told my coworkers I was struggling with. My stomach was always in knots, my body hurt all over, and I always wanted to crawl back into bed.
Ben hovered over me, making me chicken broth and plain toast that I could barely keep down. I actually lost weight, I ate so little. I assured my son that I was fine, wanting him to focus on his final exams. But as spring passed he was on alert 24/7, doing everything he could to take care of me and the baby that was starting to grow in my womb.
I was still sick as a dog during Ben's finals, but by his graduation I started to feel better. I sat in the stands and cheered him on as he crossed the stage and collected his diploma, thrilled and emotional that my baby was all grown up, and guardedly excited about my new baby. I hugged him and cried, telling him how proud I was, that I was lucky to have him as my son, and between us, under my dress, my belly was starting to bulge.
My pregnancy was still a secret, but I was just about out of the first trimester and soon it'd be time to share my news. My bump was still easy to hide, especially as I'd been chunky to begin with, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. I came up with a cover story about a sperm bank, one that matched me with a donor that looked like my late husband. I worried about my news stealing the thunder of Ben's graduation, so I kept quiet. But with every day that passed, I grew more confident that I'd actually have this baby.
Ben went to a party after his graduation and I went home, remembering the night of his birthday. There would be no wine for me tonight, but I still spent some time reminiscing, thinking of how far my baby had come since he was little. It was less bittersweet this time with the knowledge that by Christmas I'd be a mom again. I imagined how I'd feel eighteen years from now, when my new baby was graduating high school, and it made my head spin.
When Ben got home I was on the couch watching TV, eating sour candy, wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants. Not dressed to seduce. "You're still up!" he smiled as he came into the living room. It wasn't that late, but it'd been weeks since he'd seen me conscious past eight PM or so.
"How was the party?" I asked, patting the spot on the couch beside me. He sat down.
"Pretty fun," he said. "You seem good!"
"Yeah, I'm feeling alright for once," I told him. "Knock on wood, but the worst might be behind me."
"Good," he breathed. "I was worried about you."
I nodded, popping more candy in my mouth. "My appetite's back too."
Ben grabbed some of the candy. "What is this?" He made a face as he chewed.
I laughed. "Normally I can't stand this stuff, but I had to stop and get some on my way home."
"Cravings, huh?" he said. "I didn't know if that was a real thing."
"When I was pregnant with you all I wanted was salt. Chips and pretzels and stuff," I smiled. "I guess this baby wants sour." My hand went to my stomach, and Ben watched.
