Mommy loves you so much,” I whispered to my non-existent baby bump. “But you have to go back home.”
He was no larger than the size of grape, the first—and only—time I saw my son. The doctor could not tell if it would have been a boy or a girl, but they say a mother knows.
Then again, they also say that a mother would die for her child. I guess that makes me a horrible mother.
My child died for me.
When people meet me they are surprised that I hate kids.
“They’re annoying,” I say.
Some laugh and say, “Wait until you have your own, then things will change.”
But to be honest, I do not think I deserve a baby. I had my chance and I threw it away. I’m a monster who deserves to be alone. I’m not really religious anymore but I still pray that if God forgives me, then one day I’ll be able to hold my little one.
He would have been a December baby, the perfect gift for an unwed, 23-year-old supposed Christian.
In my mind, I didn’t have a choice—no understanding mother to turn to and tell that her virgin daughter, was not a virgin, but was also pregnant.
A life of shame as an outcast surely awaited me.
While it is true that now I will never know what would have happened, I also never intend to find out.
My mother and I are not close, so I do not forsee a day we sit down and talk about her grandson that she will never meet.
My then-boyfriend was supportive of my choice to abort our baby, but in his eyes I knew that he wanted a family, our family. We didn’t last two weeks after our visit to the clinic.
I like to tell myself that it was for the best. That I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t take care of myself back then, let alone another person. It makes me feel better for a little while, but I know that there’s no excuse.
I used to call girls who got pregnant stupid, blaming them for being irresponsible. Oh karma, always on time.
I sat alone and waited for the doctor in a white room filled with pamphlets about abuse and birth control waiting for the doctor. I don’t remember her name, but she told me I had to be strong. After asking me one last time if I made this choice to abort the fetus of my own free will and with a sound mind, she handed me a pill. I started crying ,took the pill and walked out.
That was it, I thought. I would never hold him, worry about his grades, chase after him or kiss him goodnight.
“I love you Jacob,” I whispered, hoping he would hear me one last time before the pill took effect.