So attending my first prenatal classes ever, after having 3 kids, has made me think a lot about my pregnancies.  Especially the first one.  Not many people knew me during that time, but it was a little crazy and wonderful and well, just like the rest of our lives, hey? All Part of the Plan (More or Less) When DH and I got married, he was 19 and I had just turned 20.  We moved into a 550 sq. foot PMQ with nicotine stains on the walls and asbestos in the ceiling.  After our rent was deducted, DH brought home $580 twice a month.   I had just graduated with a 2 year diploma in Social Work.  Finding a job that didn’t pay minimum wage proved difficult, so after a few months unemployed, that’s what I worked, making $7.50 an hour working as a Care Worker at a homeless shelter for women.  Working different shifts every few days, usually overnight.  Then 9/11 happened.  DH was put on 24 hour notice to move.  For a couple months we waited for the word of when, not if, he would be deployed on this new War on Terror. Needless to say, we felt the responsible thing to do was wait to have kids. We had a 5 year plan. We figured in 5 years, we would be more financially stable.  We would own a house.  I would have a great job.  5 years.  Made perfect sense. Deer in the Headlights 7 months after the wedding and 2 1/2 months after 9/11, we learn the plan is not to be.  DH doesn’t blink for days.  I am too sick…