In which the thought of being pregnant induces a panic attack.

I must confess.

I. Am. Terrified.

The thoughts that have been going on in my head move so quickly, go from such polar extremes in merely an instant, that I’m worried this pregnancy will spawn not just a child, but a bipolar disorder.

I’m pregnant. Really. Really? The past seven or so years of my life have been that crucial growing up period–that crucial time you decide what your goals are, where you wanna be, who you wanna be. And this–THIS– is not what I imagined.

After high school, I moved from Murfreesboro, Tennessee to New York City to go to the Fashion Institute of Technology. I felt destined for the big city. Totally original, I know.

I don’t even know where to begin about my experience there. It included a lot of bar-hopping, celebrity-sightings, shopping, 3 a.m. fights with my boyfriend 1,000 miles away and some occasional lectures about the history of fashion. To say the least, it was a five month party.

When I wasn’t blowing all of my money on shopping or pretending to care that the first man-made fabric is Rayon, I was going out. For some reason, they really don’t care if you’re twenty-one in bars in New York; I guess the cops have bigger things to worry about. The friends I made there were the students I partied with. We bonded over what clubs so-and-so could get us into and who was wearing what from whatever store.

I ended up back in Murfreesboro, and enrolled at MTSU.

For the rest of my college education, I ran into people daily from my high school who was shocked to see me. “I thought you moved to New York?” they ask; this is where my prefab responses came into action. “Oh, I didn’t feel academically challenged at a fashion school, so I just came back here to get my basics.” It just sounds so much better than, “Oh, I fell in love and left to move in with my boyfriend… Here I am!”

The irony of my entire situation is that I was happier at MTSU. I grew into a journalist. I became the editor in chief of the newspaper. I earned enough credentials to land me a competitive internship at The Village Voice in New York (which I completed this summer).

I was the girl in high school who made sure everyone knew I was getting out of this small town and doing “bigger” things with my life (like bar-hopping, celebrity-sightings, and 3 a.m. fights with my boyfriend 1,000 miles away), but now I have no shame in saying that all I felt was small in that big city. Maybe next time I run into someone I’ll just tell them the simple truth; New York just wasn’t for me.

And now, I’m engaged to that boyfriend. We live in a humble apartment in Nashville. I have a career in journalism.

And I’m pregnant. And I am terrified, terrified, terrified of becoming like the plethora of girls from my high school who fulfilled their diploma and baby making tasks early on. I want more.

But I still want this baby.

My daughter, my sister, my daughter, my sister...