I wanted the closet.
I wanted the small room in our house.
A closet for me where my inner child could be healed. Where my makeup gets done and the trying on of clothes takes place infront of the big mirror. A place where girlhood at its finest shows. Skincare fills the walls, dresses hung and organized, shoes on the ikea shelves.
I wanted that one room. The room that’s now my closet.
3 pregnancy tests.
2 negative tests.
1 positive on that third day.
I wanted the closet.
Is it selfish? Maybe? Yes? No.
First home
First puppy
First pregnancy?
No. I WANTED THE CLOSET.
I hated the mornings of sickness. The tiredness, the body changes that still aren’t back to normal, and knowing that room would no longer be mine.
I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. I wish I was ready.
I cried in the closet that day.
The day I knew I wanted to keep it that way and not make it into a room for another.
The day that positive test turned into a negative I cried again. Not because I was ashamed. But because that room I call a closet will remain the same.
Untouched.