Children, ask your parents to pre-read this entry.
I was taking classes and working at a community college during part of our sojourn in Illinois; some classes for a teacher’s degree are cheaper at the college level; we’d sort of decided that we could afford for one of us to go to grad school at a time if we were going to avoid debt, neither of us was too sure of what we wanted to do when we grew up. When B was conceived, I kept tutoring math and chemistry there, it wasn’t too stressful, no bene’s, but a fun place to be, nice big library, prairie restoration to walk in…a good place.
In summer, about the same time I started to show, my hands swelled up, so I was wearing my rings around my neck on an nice chain. It didn’t matter too much though: if college kids remembered to look at left hands, I wouldn’t have been asked out 3 times at my other campus job selling of capuchino.
One of my students rushed up to me in the hallway, “You’re pregnant? *deep breath* Is the father supportive?”
I was a bit surprised, “Why yes, my husband of 4 years is delighted that we’ve finally conceived.”
“How old are you? You’re married? ”
She was a very kind person, and much better at math than she thought she was, but what is up with our culture that pregnancy is automatically thought of as a disaster?
I’d love to sit down with you and find out what inspired these trips into the memory cave… but I’m enjoying them!
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Why thank you!