Post-college graduation, I was lucky enough to snag a full-time job only two months after crossing the stage. Which, given the job market, was a miracle. And while I was happy to avoid the panic prompted by unemployment and too much debt, I was, to be frank, fucking terrified.
I cannot see my toes—my child is hiding them. She’s nestled sweetly in my womb, tucked away from the outside, patiently awaiting her exit. I know it’s a girl—I can feel her. My fingers are stretched across the bulge of my belly; it’s soft, warm, and incredibly large.
One swipe of the thumb and Facebook wildly scrolls through what looks like a digital bridal publication. Alas, this is not a trendy wedding mag—it’s my news feed. Settling into my mid-twenties, I’m coming to terms with the inevitable life shift affecting my peers. We’ve arrived at the age of engagement—engagement in marriage, in home buying, in babies.