I’d been pregnant once before and had a beautiful little girl. But that was a different time, under different circumstances, with a different man, and this one didn’t feel the same. I didn’t have that immediate connection to the pregnancy and even though I knew immediately that I was, I ignored the situation for far too long. I didn’t take a pregnancy test until my period was nearly two months late. He kept asking me to and I kept saying, I don’t want to know, I don’t want to think about it.
I was so relieved. The test was negative.
But my boobs were sore, I still hadn’t had my period, I was getting a distinct little bump between my hip bones, I slept every spare minute of the day. I took another one, and I’d say the results were…maybe. A very faint little blue line that I only noticed the second time looking at it.
I still wish I’d never told the father because I know this would’ve been a lot easier on me if I hadn’t. But of course, I had too, I couldn’t not. He really wants children and he’d heard me say a thousand times that I didn’t want any more. He loves children, he loves my daughter, he gets along with everyone that he meets, he has his own company that gets stable business, and he says he loves me. He would’ve been a good dad, but that’s not enough. I’m just not ready for another one.
He’s Catholic and he can’t see things from my perspective, there’s one way, and it’s the right way, and any other way leads straight to hell. He’s too nice to actually say the hell bit to me, but I know that’s where he thinks I’m heading. He really wanted this baby, he would tell me stories and paint these beautiful pictures of our life together, and he almost changed my mind a few times. But the pictures always turned muddy when I remembered how little we actually knew about each other, how he never told me he loved me until he found out I was pregnant and how I definitely did not love him, not yet anyway. How miserable it was being a young, single mother with an infant, how my daughter was a very good baby, but even then, it was so much work, how I still have one year of college left, and on and on and on. There were so many reasons to do the procedure, and the only reason I would have had a baby was to make him happy, and in turn, have made myself miserable.
The actual procedure was horrible, I had an appointment for nine and ended up just sitting around in the waiting room until 11, reading magazines, and wondering why none of the women there, who I’d also seen at the consent class, would meet my eye, or anyone else. They all seemed really interested in the birth control posters that lined the walls. By the time the nurse called my name, I thought, thank god, let’s get this over with already. Then walking through the doors, and being led to an examine table, seeing the ultrasound monitor sitting there, a machine with a straw and a glass canister…I felt so rushed, everything just happened, strip, lay down, pinching, prodding, oxygen, bright lights, nurses examining screens, shots, metal clanking, sucking, cramping, patting, telling me to relax my knees, a countdown, one more minutes, ten more seconds, and then it was done. I was dizzy and lightheaded and nauseous and shocked. I almost laughed when they gave me the birth control. Sex? Seriously? That is the furthest thought from my mind, I’m never even kissing a boy again.
I felt like, all that stress, all the long talks with the father, all the long talks with my mother, all the discussing and arguing and tears and anger, and that’s it? It’s done?
There was a moment when I was lying on my couch, trying to numb the cramps with a stupid movie when I had this sudden feeling of emptiness. It was just me. For the first time in ten weeks, I was all alone. I started sobbing and I hunched over on myself trying to feel whole. Ten minutes later, I was fine. Now I’ve had sometime and I’ve cried some more, but I’ve also laughed a little. It may be the hormones. I think that a little remorse and sadness has to be expected. The first thing I saw after the procedure was a text from the father, “I wish I never knew you.” I felt hurt, but more that I was responsible for making him feel so horrible. I talked to him in a person a few hours later, and he’d been drinking, but he seemed to be handling it better. He’s leaving, going to visit some friends and clear his head, maybe he won’t come back. He said that he thought he wouldn’t be able to look at me the same way after, but he still felt the same way. He just needs to think about things without me around. I think he will come back. I think he’ll forgive me and realize that later, if things work out with us, we can try again. Either way, I know I’ll be okay, I know I made the right decision. I love my daughter, and I’ve never regretted having her. I won’t regret this either.
