One thing I am really really missing about being pregnant: I am fucking freezing!! Last winter was the first winter my hands didn’t feel like they were going to fall off. My blood runs cold – when everyone else is hot, I am comfortable. Which probably explains why I was comfortably wearing turtlenecks all through my pregnancy, when most 8-months-pregnant people are parked in front of an open window in the dead of winter. Typically I am a block of ice. Like now.

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I drove home from work today feeling almost content. I like working full-time. It feels good to be productive, to be busy, to be an adult.

The thing is, I am 26 years old and had never before worked full-time or at any point supported myself. I lived with my parents, supported by them, while I attended college. Summers, instead of working full-time as many students do, I visited the United States to be with Den, and was not allowed to work. After I graduated I immigrated to the United States, and was fully dependent on my husband for everything, as per the immigration rules (again, unable to work for quite some time). Den has supported us almost 100% since then, with me working part-time for a mere fraction of what he earns.

But now I have a real job, the kind of job people actually support themselves on. I have signed myself up for my own health and dental insurance. I have paid vacation and sick leave. I am still not making anywhere close to what Den does, but for the first time I’m making a living.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no worries that Den won’t be able to support us, or that he would ever leave me to fend for myself. But a part of me has always wondered, am I even capable of supporting myself? Am I the type of person who can’t handle a normal adult life, who would require someone to take care of me? I never thought I was, but there was always that question in my head. Maybe I was just… not capable. I don’t think I need to point out that I’m rather independent. Being entirely dependent on someone else is not exactly easy for me.

I feel relief at the answer. I drove home singing along with the radio, trying to flexing my toes in my fancy high-heeled shoes, thinking about the nice blackberry I’ll be getting next week.

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1 week until lupron, 2 weeks until stims.