Chapter Text
Jen Lenivy is a lot of things: UIC graduate of Mathematics, self proclaimed Trekkie, annoying little sister, self-made woman in a competitive field.
But this? This is a first.
She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant.
After years of working towards what she wanted, Jennifer Paige Lenivy is finally pregnant.
In shaking hands, a positive pregnancy test sits, and there’s no words for the emotional wave that hits her.
She’s spent years establishing herself in her career, and years dating to no avail. Lifelong friends, sure. But nobody stuck. (She didn’t particularly want any of them to stick, being in a relationship is just what’s expected of you).
It came to her, suddenly, that she didn’t need a partner to make her feel complete. She was happy as she was with Fibonacci—a particularly clever tabby—twining between her legs as she went to feed him in the morning.
Sitting with Fib at her cozy coffee nook, her life was perfect.
With all the content in the world, she carried on. She went to work, stopped at her favorite coffee shop every Friday for a pick-me-up, and went out with friends on the weekend.
It wasn’t until she got a call from her brother that he and his wife were expecting their first baby that a bubble of doubt began to rise in her.
Actually meeting her niece sealed the deal. Jen wanted a baby. She wanted one of these tiny little protohumans with their tiny fingers and peach fuzz hair. Holding her niece, Jen saw infinite potential in a tiny package.
The baby cooed with a blurry eyed stare before her teeny tiny face scrunched up in a near smile. It was definitely gas, but even that was somehow endearing.
Jen spent the first two days with them, trying her best to stay out from underfoot while still being useful. Countless hours were spent in the night holding the freshly minted human being named Anna Louise Lenivy.
Her tiny balled up fists, rosebud lips, and fussy demeanor captivated Jen heart and soul.
If my niece is that perfect…what would a child of my own be like?
Going home to Chicago was hard.
Growing up, she and her brother had been close. Where one went, the other surely followed. They’d given their mother headache after headache with the things their curious, undeveloped brains would think to try. Now, as adults, they’re in different cities leading different lives. Phone calls just didn’t cut it anymore.
Even with Fib’s best attempts at being a little shit, the house felt hollow: empty without the sound of a little human.
It took months of hyping herself up and calling around, but finally—in an unassuming IUI vial—she'd had in her hands a potential baby.
The donor was some generically handsome guy; he had a nice smile, objectively, with a single dimple, brown hair, blue eyes. Honestly, he was just some guy. His family medical history was squeaky clean, and that’s all that really mattered to her.
It hadn’t worked the first two times, and the disappointment was crushing. She’d spent the ensuing days curled up with Fib, psyching herself up to get out of bed.
But now, in her hands, is a simple piece of plastic that contains multitudes.
Jen contains multitudes, because in her body is a tiny clump of cells that aren’t quite yet a person, but the potential of those cells is dizzying.
Slowly, she sinks to the floor of her bathroom. The chill of the tile is grounding, and she has to breathe. She’s pregnant.
From outside the bathroom door, Fib begins to wail. A tiny paw darts under the door, and it’s a weird thought…but he doesn’t know.
Fib doesn’t know about any of this. He doesn't know that his human is pregnant and there might be a baby soon. He's just carrying on as usual.
She takes a piece of toilet paper—she was fully expecting to wrap the negative test up and throw it out—and begins to use it as a makeshift toy for him.
It does the trick, as his paw darts after the unseen ghost of a new toy.
The simple repetition of playing with her dorky cat is soothing, and finally she feels calm enough to stand. Still wobbly, she opts to scoop Fib up as the door is opened. He’s a tripping hazard on a good day.
One absentminded footstep after another, and they’re finally in the living room. She practically sinks into the cushions of her overpriced loveseat, and eventually she has the mind to tuck herself under the throw she keeps on the back of it.
From under her chin, there’s a rumbling purr as Fib headbutts up.
That’s all it takes; she cries. The tears of joy mix with the looming anxiety that being pregnant must automatically afford.
She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant and she’s going to be a mom.
Jen doesn’t even know this potential person yet, but she loves them with a ferocity unlike any love she’s ever known.
Will they be funny? Smart? Will their laugh be soft? Loud? There's an infinite number of possibilities waiting to unfold in the smattering of cells within her.
Her hands tremble as she reaches down and presses it to the spot on her abdomen she can only assume is right. Heat radiates off of her, and her tears begin to flow again.
They're going to be so small; their little body with warm, velvety skin cared for by this same hand.
Hopefully they’re a good person, she plans on doing her best to guide them there. But oh god, she’s in charge of making them a decent, empathetic human being.
She's definitely going to mess some stuff up, but that's okay.
The possibilities are staggering, and no matter what path her little person may choose—Jen is going to love them unconditionally.
They could be whatever they wanted (even a Star Wars fan), and she knows instinctively that she's going to love them until the day she dies. It’s a truth that she can feel in her bones.
Millions of years of evolution thrum with the instinct to protect and nurture this tiny new life.
Whoever they may be, whatever they may do, wherever they might go—her life is in service to them.
She’s not one to speculate on unknown variables, generally, but infinite has never been so beautiful. An open interval, the mathematician in the back of her mind supplies. It’s such a ridiculous thought that she begins to giggle.
Fib makes a little peep from his spot on her lap, so she leans down to plant a gentle kiss to the top of his head—right on the little M-shaped marking on his forehead. He resettles, and his little warm body sinks into the fuzzy donut shape that cats somehow pull off.
The hand resting on her abdomen remains undisturbed.
Pregnant, her mind supplies giddily.
This instantaneous change was brought on by a simple vial and a will to give a human all the opportunities she reasonably could.
Her little person will, in time, let her know who they are. For now? She’s going to do her best to guide them and love them through it all.
Jen Lenivy is a lot of things: she's too smart for her own good, a known party instigator, a trivia whiz, and an absolutely terrible dancer.
Her favorite thing about herself, she decides, is that she’s going to be a mom.