First Love

Posted by Anonymous.

In a few hours midnight will come and I will slip down the hall to his room and lean over his sleeping form -so big!- and speak my love in whispers, in my mind, in my heart which needs no language. He will not wake, but I will imagine that his heart will hear.

He is my first love, love that wrenched my soul. How often have I read the blogs of other women who struggle to keep their identities underneath this crushing, precious wave of love? How often have I struggled with that myself, wondered if all I was, all I would ever be, was defined by those I love? Isn't that who he turned me into, seven years (almost!) ago? What identity did I have to keep, anyway? I wasn't a teenager when he was born, but not long from it. I was just beginning to emerge from that shell of daughter, sister into a fragile, barely-formed Me when he came, shattering all that, forever branding me mother.

It almost wasn't so. I tried to dial the number to the clinic, phone in my hand, frozen by the burden of choice. It's for the best, my friend told me. We can't do this, we're not ready. This from the father, though my mind shied away from words like father and baby. Did I know then? Did I understand on some level how a child changes you, dominates mind and heart and soul, turns you into someone you don't recognize? I could stop it. Dial the number, make the appointment, go and stay myself. Become myself on my own terms.

I can't. Tears pouring down my face, voice barely a whisper. Be rational. they said. Be practical, think about this. This will ruin your life, our lives. I couldn't be rational or practical, I couldn't think. All I had was that bone-deep certainty. I can't. Where did that come from? From him, that tiny clump of cells I couldn't wrap my mind around? From myself? Had I already changed?

I became someone. Loving him, I learned to choose wisely whom else to love. In protecting him, I learned to be brave. In failing him, I learned how to forgive, myself and my parents and others. Wondering how to teach him, I learned what I believed in. In imagining the kind of man I hoped he would be, I found a man who would cherish both him and me.

I've had more children. Even as I write this, I feel the fierce kicks of another who will both fill my heart and break it. But it started with him, my first love.

He made me a mother. But he also made me Me.

Sadness

Posted by Anonymous.

I’m so sad.

I’m scared. I’m scared that in this instance hindsight has totally burned me.

In the summer of 2007 I found out I was pregnant. My husband and I made the decision to terminate that pregnancy. That decision was the hardest decision that I have had to make in my life so far. This was not a decision that was made lightly. We talked and talked and when we thought we couldn’t talk anymore about it we talked some more. In those talks he told me that of course he wanted to have another child with me but that at that time in our lives it was not a good time for us to have another baby. I agreed with him. I still agree with him. At that point in our life it was really not a good time to have another baby.

Here I am today a little over two years after the termination that I was and still am ok with it. My husband has made up his mind that he doesn’t want anymore children. We have one child that I love with so much completeness it makes me ache. But I never pictured myself as someone that would have only one child. In a perfect world I would have a lot of children but the reality is that I definitely wanted two. I feel like we talked about this all through our marriage and before we had kids but maybe we didn’t agree then either. I don’t know.

The point is, here I am wanting, like the kind of wanting that oozes through every cell of your body type of wanting, another child. My husband does not want another child. He’s done. What hurts is not just this impass. We will work through this; we’ve worked through much larger things than this. What is breaking my heart is that at the time when we were faced with one of the most difficult decisions ever, I was under the impression that he did want to have more children. At the time that was a very comforting thought. Because to me it meant that it was ok to think that it wasn’t the right time, that we would in fact have another child at some point and that the decision (we) I was making was really going to be ok.

Now it just feels like he lied to me to get his way.

I don’t know how much of that I truly believe. He was very much torn up over all of this. As was I, obviously. I just feel betrayed.

Yes we’ve talked about this since the termination and his response is that he was not lying to me then but that he’s just happy with the way things are now and doesn’t want to change that. I can respect that. I really can. It doesn’t make the hurt go away or make it feel any less painful.

So here I am now wondering if I knew then what I know now would I have made the same decision. I just don’t know.

What I do know is that I’m hurt. I’m sad. I feel betrayed. I feel like a part of me is missing and unfulfilled. I also know that in order to stay as the family unit of three that we currently are I will feel these things for a lifetime.

I refuse to guilt him into having another child with me. That notion is just too far away from who I am for me to be ok with.

I will continue to cry silently at night when I know he’s asleep. I will continue to wonder at all the what ifs. I will continue to be scared of the questions that will come from our child when she gets older.

For now I will put on my brave face and go forward. For now that’s all I can think to do.

Expecting, Definitely

Posted by Anonymous (Anonymous of this post, which was submitted in August. What follows is her update on the decision she made, and where she is now.)

I'm not exactly single. I have a tiny Baby I'm carrying around wherever I go. I'm now two people. I have two hearts. Two brains. Two bouts of the hiccups at once. I'm never alone anymore.

I'm also not exactly single in that other sense, either. Baby's father (the one who got me into this blessed mess) and I are holding hands at the doctor's office and having dinner with his parents and mine. But I'm still living in my house (the one I bought nine months ago. In fact, I made the offer the day of our first date) while he lives 56 kilometers away. That's down a secondary highway, even further from the Capital than me.

I've always been independent to a fault, and I still find it hard to behave as if this isn't entirely my responsibility. I told him The News about six hours after I wrote that first post, and he smiled! Anyway, I'm not worried about him. While we're not living together or sharing bills, I'm sure this part of this new family will work itself out.

Baby, on the other hand, is a different story. Some anonymous writer commented on my last post, "Chances are better that you'll regret the baby you didn't have [more] than the one you did." This is precisely the thought I'm clinging to - rather, it's the truth I'm holding out for.

I've always wanted children. Babies! I figured that once I started, I would never want to stop having them. I love pregnant bellies and breastfeeding and carrying little squirmy toddlers and all of that. My biggest fear was, until now, that I might not be able to have children of my own. As prepared as I thought I was, nothing prepared me for actually being pregnant. Who knew stretch marks came on with such a vengeance? Who knew morning sickness felt like being carsick, ALL DAY. Who knew women often suffer from depression during pregnancy? Who knew the "glow" is nothing more than the facial manifestation of terror?

But I know if I just get though these next 5 and a half months, the reward will be worth it all. I'm trying my darnedest not to panic about money. Babies don't' cost much - it's the unnecessary paraphernalia that really adds up. Sure, I could afford it now, but maternity benefits are somewhat... lacking. But I'm trying not to panic - panic leads to tears and hyperventilating and sleepless nights. (As if the heavy breasts and multiple trips to the toilet aren't wrecking enough havoc.)

I haven't even thought about what people think. It's a small town, as I said. Not everyone knows everyone else, but a lot of people know me thanks to the nature of my job. It seems that babies transcend all that unwed-mother garbage. Everybody is just delighted at the prospect of a baby.

Obviously I decided to keep the baby. I didn't really have a choice - I wouldn't have made it through the two weeks I needed to get an abortion without falling in love with the tiny apple seed and planning the rest of our lives.

It's an adjustment, this getting used to life as a parent. Everything I wanted to do Some Day now comes with a pretty big string attached. Go back to school? Sure, but I'd have to move and pay the bills with a baby in tow. Hike the Long Range Mountains? Yes, but I'll have to wait til the baby is weaned and arrange for my parents to babysit for a week. Cycle across the country? As soon as Baby is old enough to ride with me. A second trip to China? As long as I go soon, before Baby turns 2 and I can't afford the airfare anymore. Speed skate at the 2014 Winter Olympics? That last one may be a tad ambitious. But it's a whole new world. I'm looking forward to it.

Expecting, Maybe.

Posted by Anonymous.

I just found out I’m pregnant. I’m 25. I’m employed by a company that offers maternity benefits. I’m a homeowner.

I’m also single and broke. And I live in a very, very small town.

My doctor’s appointment is tomorrow morning, but the three home pregnancy sticks in my desk drawer – each proudly sporting their own pictorial interpretation of hCG – two bars, a plus sign and a thoughtfully bilingual “Pregnant/Enceinte,” – tell me what I’ve known since my nipples began begging for a cool cloth and my legs couldn’t shake that itchy-from-the-inside out feeling.

Five weeks, by my count.

Two more until I can hit up the Morgentaler clinic.

Maybe.

Because when I watched that first stick form one line, then two, it was all I could do to keep the smile off my face.