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Dear Diary,
I just turned 32, and found out I'm pregnant.
Though I feel remarkably at peace (rather than panicky) about the whole situation, it is an unexpected and unwanted pregnancy, and I am in no situation to welcome a baby into my world.
Yes, it's Noah's baby. Since our encounters are limited, I know exactly when this happened--November 8th, on his birthday, when I shrugged and agreed to a booty call text after midnight. He was so intoxicated he couldn't stand up, and didn't recall the extent of the evening that involved eagerly undressing me and finishing passionately before I could convince him to suit up with a condom. That makes me three weeks along, and at least I have some options.
First, I have to tell him in person. I hope he doesn't pull that, "Is it mine?" line that men are notorious for...I've let nobody else touch me in a year. I also hope he is as understanding about this and as willing to help as he has been about everything between us so far; certainly this is more of a burden on my shoulders to cope with, but I know it isn't what he wanted either.
Second, I've got to contact some health care providers--because I'm choosing not to have this baby, I'm going to pursue the most responsible option (read: least shitty of all the shitty options) available to me, which will likely be medication abortion. From what I've read about what to expect, this is not inexpensive, will include some serious cramping and bleeding from the induced miscarriage, and involves a lot of doctors visits. Making time for that is going to be a pain in the ass, but absolutely necessary. My job and all my accrued sick time are just going to have to work in m favor for a change.
The Universe is absolutely not fucking around with this one. On an uncanny note, Lisa called at the very second that I peed on the pregnancy test, and as I answered I was watching the double lines develop--she is the perfect support and she was right there when I needed her. Almost spooky.
The bright sides are that Noah is honestly the only man I've ever respected and loved enough to truly want a child with, so I'm not disgusted with myself that he's the one who knocked me up, and it's nice to know that I'm actually capable of conceiving a child, if and when I'm ready to carry to full term. Also, Noah will very likely be a man and step up financially to help get me out of this mess, I have a two-week break at the end of December so I can probably avoid taking any time off work, and I have the support of three very close friends who will absolutely be there for me throughout this process. I've got a responsibility to demonstrate success for them so that it doesn't freak them out, so they have a front-row seat to someone handling the whole thing maturely, and so they might be equipped to support others (or be supported themselves) in the future.
Besides, Lisa is aiming for med school with a focus in OB/GYN, so this first-hand story would most benefit her. Also, I'm relying on her level-headedness to keep me steady, because Jesus Christ, hormones. And my boobs are like massive, perky, swollen bruises.
Considering how miserably hopeless and depressed I felt up until this afternoon (moments before peeing on that felt stick), I find myself remarkably calm and seeing things in their appropriate perspectives. I'm VERY GRATEFUL to be in an era where I have a Choice to pursue my own goals and independence.
So maybe 32 is going to be the year that I don't fuck up that opportunity with fear and doubt. If I'm going to abort a baby in the name of my future, I should probably MAKE A FUCKING FUTURE for myself, right?
