Self-control was my mantra and I tried to focus on why I didn’t eat sweets or rice or any form of carbs or fat. Fat. Yes, remember that, I told myself as I shut the fridge door decisively.

I often found Ma and Aunty V giggling over something. To my horror, I realized that Aunty V was serious about doing that reunion.

One Saturday, when I was at home, I heard them talking about it as I was coming downstairs after putting the laundry out to dry on the terrace.

‘Any other time would have been all right. But now?’ Ma said, shaking her head. ‘I would be so embarrassed.’

‘Of what?’ Aunty V asked, looking genuinely confused.

‘This. The pregnancy,’ Ma said.

‘But why should you be embarrassed?’ Aunty V asked.

‘Pregnant? At my age?’ Ma asked, as though it was obvious.

‘At what age? Forty-three? Please. That’s hardly old,’ Aunty V scoffed.

Ma was shaking her head vehemently. ‘I have an almost adult daughter. To think that . . .’ she covered her face in embarrassment. ‘Everyone will laugh.’

‘Who will laugh?’ I rounded on her fiercely.

She looked up at me, surprised. ‘Well, weren’t you also embarrassed when we told you?’ she asked.

I opened my mouth to say something and then shut it. It was true and I was still quite ugh-ed out by it and I did not want to ever think about how Ma got pregnant. But I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else treating Ma like that. It made me really mad.

‘That’s different,’ I said finally.

‘Anyway, the doc doesn’t want me moving around too much until the first trimester is over,’ Ma said to no one in particular.

‘No problem. We’ll figure this out once you’re sorted and this baby is fine,’ Aunty V said.

The baby! I sometimes forgot that there would be an actual baby at the end of this. I didn’t want to start thinking of it as a sibling yet. It was quite mortifying to be honest. I was used to being the only child at home and now . . . I was no longer a child.

One morning, I walked into the kitchen before college to make myself breakfast and get an apple to carry for lunch and saw a pot full of cheesy looking pasta that made my mouth water. I glared at the offending pot and stalked away from it angrily, feeling awful for even enjoying its smell. I made a quick breakfast of an egg white omelette and some fruit but it didn’t satisfy me the slightest bit. Not when the cheesy aroma still hung in the air and I was dying to have a taste. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop at one bite.