Warning: Very Long Post plus some negative talk about babies (also no main page please - not that this would qualify but you never know).
I posted back in December that I received news of my pregnancy and my intent to abort. At the time I had expressed my utter shame. Not at having an abortion, I should clarify, but at being knocked up. How utterly embarrassing that was. Is?
This bullshit began back in February of 2014 when I was having symptoms of early menopause. A normal occurrence in my family. I was having missed/irregular periods. Night sweats. Mood Swings. And an absolute absence of libido. Nadda. Which is nuts because up to that point I was as randy as a school boy – so to speak. Among some other minor setbacks seemingly related to early menopause. I delayed the visit to the doctor because I experience high anxiety when attending the doctor and, frankly, don't go unless I think I might be dying. However, my period had stopped somewhere around August and I began feeling nausea so I made the appointment. We went through the list. Doc asked if I could be pregnant but I was like "pshaw, I don't know the last time I had sex lady. Plus this started months ago. Not this month. Nope. Nope. Nope." So she decided I should get a blood/urine test for all the things including pregnancy.
Work got crazy. I was having a mini stress break down with even knowing it. And I needed to get a health card renewal. All of which is to say I didn't bother getting the test done until December. It wasn't a priority.
So December happens, I get the tests. Then the call. Yes, indeed, Ms. Urchin you are prego. MELTDOWN. I work full time. I am enrolled in a part time degree. I am embarking on a new career path. My SO just finished his midlife crisis and is now just having a career crisis. I have some other financial strains. I am old. I am in no place to have a goddamn baby. A baby that would have been welcome several years ago. But not now, not when I've settled into this childless life full of struggle and balancing and stress. So I go with my gut. Abortion. Simple. But I don't know the conception date because I literally cannot tell you when I last had sex. I have no clue. I know I did, like, maybe, 3 or 4 times last year. Maybe? I wasn't interested. I only did it because I wanted to be nice. To be loving. I suppose. Maybe it was pity? A sense of duty? Whatever it was. It wasn't often and not memorable.
I had to get a quickie ultrasound to find out how far a long I was. Guess! Go ahead, I'll give you a second. Just fucking guess! No? Give up? Twenty fucking three weeks!!! 23. Ha. Fuck you Zemar. Fuck. You. Now what's a woman to do? Cry? Sure thing. I did that. For a day or two. Trying hiding that from your SO.
I moved onto adoption. I had just the woman for the job. Someone I trust with my own life, someone I love dearly, and someone with a huge heart. I'd just have to get through the pregnancy and then hand the baby over. Only, I'd need to discuss this with the SO. He has to know. I mean, I can't hide it. And that means he has a say. He has some rights here. His first response?! "Let's keep it." Are you fucking kidding me pal?! This is the guy who jokingly threatened to push me down the stairs if I got knocked up (really, he would never hurt me in any way – not a violent guy)!! This is the guy who didn't want kids! This is the guy that cannot handle stress or bad news! What the ever loving fuck is this?! He was calmer than I was. Maybe it was the shock? I dunno but we went round the discussion for a couple of days. Bottom line: Keeping the baby.
By this time I am still in shock. Still confused. Still frightened. But, I know struggle and confusion. I am a doer. A dealer. I take life by the horns and get on with the job of living. So I'm working through this with the help of a very wonderful, wonderful, sister. I love my sister. She has been an absolute rock. Patient, supportive, and kind. She is truly there for me. Not pregnant soon to be mommy me. Me. The woman who needs care and kindness and understanding. It's been a rough few weeks filled with anxiety and uncertainty. I wanted to control who we announced to so that we do it slowly and give me time to cope and get excited. My God. Once you announce things get out of control quickly. People really have some ideas. Again, my sister, the rock, has been quite active in protecting me from the onslaught and making sure no one gets ahead of me. Although the delivery moment might be a bit of a mess. It's me, sister, and SO in the room. That's all I want present. But seems a few folks would like to come to the hospital. For fucking what?! I don't want visitors right after I give birth and I don't know if I want people gawking at my baby. Anyway. That's another kettle of fish I'll tackle when the time comes.
I began thinking of the baby as a girl and it comforted me. I would waffle between disconnected from this pregnant belly and thinking of what activities she might like to do. I thought of her curly hair. Her big brown eyes and fat little baby lips. Her wisps of baby hair. Her little giggle. I thought about changing her diaper. About her first pair of Adidas sneakers her Auntie would buy her. Her fist soccer game and break dancing class. I played Billie Holiday for her already. I was thinking "Velveteen Rabbit" would be an excellent first book. Or I could read some Jane Austen. I knew I wanted to raise a confident, independent, and unique young woman. It was a wonderful little dream.
We recently went to an ultra sound appointment. I am having a boy. I wanted to cry. My dreams dashed. My connection to this belly felt severed. I felt depressed. SO was thrilled. Just thrilled. I wanted to punch him. What the hell do I do with a boy?! Is he even going to be a piece of me? My little girl would be brown and have the look of her mama. This little boy. What will he be? His father? Will he have blue eyes or brown? Tawny skin or white? Will he be rambuncous and rude? Is he going learn to speak in a timely fashion? Learn the potty? Will he grow to be strong, intelligent, and independent? Will I even connect with him? Where is my little girl?! I still feel weepy. Still disappointed and uncertain. I am coming around. I fear a child growing without love and acceptance more than anything and so I am coming around. But I still mourn my little girl. There are still unshed tears for her. For the bond I will not have.
I also feel badly for the SO. I cannot share his joy, I can only hope not to dampen it. I know he is uncertain of me. He doesn't know what to say and tries to reduce his enthusiasm. I try very hard to share in it. It was easier when I dreamed of her. It is harder now that I try to dream of him. I only see a little white boy in my mind now. And I am filled with disappointment. But soccer and break dancing are fun for boys too. And he'll still get his pair of Adidas. And I know he'll have my brown eyes at the very least. I don't know what I have inside of me to teach him but maybe he'll teach me. One thing I do have though is my mother's love. And I can pass that onto him.
But for now, I'm going to cry for my lost girl.