Archive for May, 2012

My Beginning

I think about the stories I’ve heard, from my mother, my aunts, my sister and friends, about the moment they found out they were pregnant. Most were in shock, or bubbling with excitement even if their situations weren’t the ideal American Dream. But none ever told me that they were sad, like I was. I considered my options just like everybody else when I found out I was pregnant. I just knew that when I found out I get to create a mini-me in a male or female version, I’d get excited, happy, probably do a few embarrassing dances. I’d even say from time to time I’d feel my uterus give a little jiggle jaggle of joy at the thought of it.

No matter what whacked out mood I’m in, if a child enters a room I want to revert back and just play with them. Children are amazing, their disappointment lasts all of two minutes and their happiness seems to stretch into even the most stressful of situations. But when I found out I was five weeks along, I felt a stab of despair along with a knife twist of fear. I was living with my mother, and the baby’s father was well, you know the guy that you hate to love and love to hate? He was that. I loved it when he touched me and hated when he slept with my roommate. It was that kind of hate/love, if you know what I mean.

There were a lot of valid reasons why I should have gotten an abortion. Actually, there were only reasons. I honestly could not think of one reason to keep my child. My mother was two months behind on the rent, I was drinking a fifth of alcohol within two days (before my pregnancy), my brother was in jail, my sister was in an abusive relationship right next door, and my baby’s father was sending me links to abortion clinics/facts/and procedures. I was unemployed, two years shy of a Bachelor’s degree, and definitely not in my right mind. It wasn’t exactly a no-brainer to the sane that I should abort and move on. But I couldn’t, hell I wouldn’t do it.

The nurse described to me the beginnings of the procedure as I sat in the cold seat of Planned Parenthood and I begin to tear up and asked her to “please just stop!” The days droned on as I tried to figure out what I should do. I began to lie in the middle of the floor, rubbing my stomach, breathing in worry and breathing out contempt, wondering what my little boy or girl would look like. Would she have my light eyes or my dimples? Would he have my mother’s nose and his father’s lips? This thing squirming inside of me would be all mine. It took me the full three months before the procedure wouldn’t be an option to decide. I was going to keep it. I was going to be a single mother. And thats where it all began for me.