WARNING: If you were looking for something humorous, I’d suggest you go somewhere else now. Perhaps visit The Bloggess. She always makes me laugh. But right after that come back and read my other posts. Don’t make me get all jealous and stabby.
A few weeks ago I was stuffing food into my mouth and joking with my friends that I was late (not for work, or for the bus – I’m talking about my period) and that soon I might be eating for two. I guess I wasn’t worried because there was such a slim chance of me getting pregnant.
“Knowing MY luck, I will be” I said rolling my eyes – It is common knowledge that I have some seriously bad luck when it comes to uninvited random life changing events.
Then after another week, I bought the pregnancy test. Still joking about it, but wanting to be sure to be sure. You know, like when you don’t think you’ve turned the iron off so you go back to check, but of COURSE you switched it off, and really deep down you knew that and… See my point?
And so I peed on a stick and about 5 minutes later I went back to make sure it was negative. It wasn’t. Shock ensued.
I knew whose it was immediately. After all, I can do basic math (seriously). He and I didn’t speak anymore, after we’d seen each other over just one long weekend and it hadn’t worked out due to *cough* irreconcilable differences of opinion. Polite, aren’t I?
Over the course of the next couple of weeks I deliberated. I let my thoughts wrestle between those of having a baby vs. how I would feel if I had the pregnancy terminated. I still don’t know why I avoid using the word “abortion” when it’s legal and I’m pro-choice. Oh wait, I just used it didn’t I? Moving on.
I spoke to the father, his preference being that if I was going to keep it that we “tried again”, or that I went ahead with the termination. He really didn’t want to have a child to someone he isn’t in a caring relationship with. Who does, I thought? He did he would do the right thing whatever I decided.
Intellectually I knew the right choice for me was to NOT have the baby. Emotionally, my thoughts danced to the steady ticking of my biological clock, being 28 and actually wanting to have children.
I know now isn’t the right time. I know when I do have children I want a supportive partner to share it with. I am overjoyed by the fact that this means I CAN have children when I thought I couldn’t, even if I don’t have one now.
I knew I needed to make the right choice for ME – and my head tells me that not having the baby is the most sensible decision. I try to hold onto that thought, even though right in this moment I sit here writing this with tears in my eyes, thinking it will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I have already booked a procedure to terminate the pregnancy. Have an abortion. Get un-pregnant.
I had to have an ultrasound today. Sitting in the waiting room, the black plastic toilet sign figures mocked me and my bursting bladder. Good thing they called me in on time, or I’d have made a mess all over their already terminally distasteful multi-coloured carpet.
I wish she had asked me if I wanted to watch while she did the scan. That I had the forethought and strength to say “turn off the screen”.
I wish she had not told me I’d be due on the first of January. A New Year baby.
I wish she’d asked before pointing to the flicker on the black and white screen that was my baby’s heart beating.
I wish she hadn’t let me hear the soft *lub-dub lub-dub* of the baby’s heart beat, clear and echoing in that small, sterile room.
I wish I couldn’t still hear it ringing in my ears now.