Winter had slipped by almost unnoticed as I worked as a kindergarten teacher and he continued his construction job. We lived together, quietly building our days, until one evening his mother invited us over for dinner. I had been so busy lately that I hadn't had a chance to see her.
When we arrived, the table was already filled with dishes she had lovingly prepared. The moment I stepped inside, a strong smell rushed into my senses—strange, overwhelming. My stomach churned. I hurried to the bathroom and retched, though nothing came out. Confused, I stayed there for a moment before returning to the table.
"My dear, are you alright?" she asked with concern.
"I'm fine," I replied, forcing a small smile as I sat down to eat. I managed a few bites, but the smell of the meat felt unbearable. Still, I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I quietly continued.
"Let's have some hot soup," he said cheerfully. His mother reheated it, but the moment the aroma reached me again, the nausea surged back. I ran to the bathroom and this time I vomited.
Alarmed, she followed me. "Oh my, what's wrong, Gerlee?"
"The smell of food… it just makes me sick," I said weakly.
Her face suddenly lit up with joy. "My dear girl… you're pregnant!"
Her words struck me like a sudden darkness. I stared at her, unable to believe it. For a moment, everything stood still.
Then he exclaimed, "Really? Thank you, my love! I'm going to be a father!" He embraced his mother, both of them overjoyed.
I sat there, smiling faintly, still unsure, still trying to grasp what I had just heard.
She came closer and gently reassured me. "It's alright, my dear. Can't believe it yet? That's normal. You'll get used to the thought of becoming a mother. When was your last period?"
"I… I don't remember exactly. I've been so busy. Maybe early February," I answered.
"That's fine. Once you see a doctor, they'll calculate it properly," she said.
That night, they were filled with happiness, but I returned home wrapped in doubt. As we drove, my thoughts spiraled endlessly.
Am I really going to have a child? That can't be true… I'm not ready to be a mother. What will I do? How will I give birth?
Fear slowly crept into my heart.
Meanwhile, he sat beside me, already dreaming aloud. "We're going to be three… Our place will be too small. I'll get us a bigger home. I'll work harder, earn more…" His excitement was warm and genuine.
Noticing my silence, he asked softly, "Aren't you happy?"
"Of course I am," I replied. "But it just doesn't feel real. I've barely started working… Do you think I can really do this?"
He smiled reassuringly. "Of course you can. Don't worry. Thank you for this wonderful news."
But the truth was—I hadn't even known myself.
From that day on, we began preparing to become parents. Filled with anticipation, we wondered what kind of child we would have. When we finally went for a check-up, the doctor said we couldn't know the baby's gender until three months had passed.
We waited, counting every day. At last, when the time came, the doctor smiled and said, "It's a girl."
I was overjoyed. He, however, seemed just a little disappointed.
Months passed—four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—until my due date approached. Carrying a heavy belly through the heat of summer was exhausting, but I endured it. Aside from occasional discomfort, I was fortunate—no severe complications, so I planned for a natural birth.
Then, just as the time came, he had to leave for urgent work in the countryside. I was upset, stubbornly telling myself I wouldn't give birth until he returned.
Being a first-time mother, I didn't even realize my water had broken. I kept going to the bathroom repeatedly until my own mother noticed and rushed me to the hospital. After examination, the doctor said I was already three centimeters dilated but sent me home, telling me to return the next morning.
The next day, fully prepared, I was admitted.
In my room was a 15-year-old girl already in labor, crying out in pain. I, at 25, felt strangely calm—no pain yet, though I was already six centimeters dilated. The doctors decided to induce labor.
Once the drip began, everything changed.
The contractions started—fifteen minutes apart, lasting about a minute. Then ten. Then five. The pain intensified rapidly. I could barely endure it. Hearing other mothers screaming made it worse, so I wandered into the narrow hallway, peeking into rooms.
In one room, two women were giving birth—it was a terrifying sight. In another, a new mother gently nursed her baby. In yet another, doctors and nurses were chatting. Seeing me, they scolded, "Why are you walking around with your IV? Go back to your room!"
I had just returned when I suddenly felt the urge to go to the bathroom. But nothing happened. Moments later, the doctor and nurse rushed in.
"Hey! You're not about to deliver your baby in the bathroom, are you? Come on!"
They guided me to the delivery room. As I lay down, panic spread—my baby's head was already visible.
"Push!" they instructed.
I pushed, clumsily, as if I were trying to relieve myself.
"Breathe out through your nose!" they said.
But my nose was completely blocked. "I need to blow my nose!" I shouted.
Chaos erupted—everyone rushed around in confusion. Meanwhile, I pointed calmly, "There's tissue on the windowsill…"
It was almost absurdly funny.
After blowing my nose, I gathered my strength and pushed once more—and just like that, my baby was born.
My tiny daughter didn't cry at first, then suddenly let out a sharp, beautiful wail. The doctors quickly cleaned and measured her before taking her away briefly. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Soon, they placed her gently on my chest. Instinctively, she began to nurse.
And in that quiet, overwhelming moment, I realized—
I had become a mother.
Yet even then, it still felt like a dream.