For the record; I have been editing this and re-writing parts of this for the better part of a month, but in the last 48 hours I have become so annoyed, this post almost was another rambling rant about humanity sucking, but no. I am staying on topic, and sharing with you a tale.
When I was a freshman in high school, I had a crush on a Czechoslovakian boy named Ned. He had a crooked nose, an adorable smile, and was one of the nicest, most nervous people I had ever met. I gave him my number in his oh so cool digital roledex, but only had him on the other end of my phone when he three-way-called me to tell me that he was going to be dating my friend Amber, and make sure I was going to be ok.
To this day I don't know if that was his niceness and consideration, or my friend being a bit of a hag, but nonetheless I answered chirpily "Oh, that's ok! I like Justin anyways!" Justin was the boy who sat next to me in English, and we had a similar sense of sarcastic humor. He was in a metal band, and I don't know if he was a Juggalo, or just a wanna-be, but we dated off and on until the summer before senior year. Although we dating for a combined 3 years, we were constantly breaking up with each other to date other people we were attracted to (a couple of times Justin forgot to break up with me first, but I'm pretty sure it was in retaliation to me breaking up with him every summer for the week I was at summer camp so I wouldn't be cheating on him with my camp boyfriend).
I mention Justin, because even though we dated for a long time, especially by high school standards, we were never serious. My first serious relationship happened after a quick detour into vegan boyfriend land, and I started dating "B" on my 17th birthday. I fell in love with him in a ridiculously short amount of time, and was willing to give up all my plans and dreams to make new dreams with him.
Before New Years I ended up pregnant. B was 4 years older than me, and we both were attending the same self paced school to get our diplomas, me because my illness had weakened my body which caused my GPA to drop my junior year of high school due to missing so much school, and I was trying to graduate on time; him because he had some serious depression issues that led to behavior issues.
I remember crying when I saw the test, knowing that I was about to beat my mom's single and pregnant at 21 by a good 3 years. I remember sitting in the car in front of his house, with him asking me what I planned on doing about the pregnancy, and nodding his head in approval while I explained my plans to try to move back home to California. I didn't think my dad or step-mom would take me in, but maybe my aunt or grandpa would.
And then, I remember going to Wal Mart with him, when he stopped me. "I'm sorry Megan, I'm just not ready to have my own Savannah" (the name of the little girl who's parents were staying in my mom's guest house at the time) And then he punched me in the lower part of my stomach. Hard. In the middle of a busy Wal Mart parking lot. He gave me a moment, then started walking again and asked if I was coming. Some days later, I went to the bathroom and flushed down some excess blood and a glob of tissue cells. A week after that I was in the ER with massive stomach pains and the doctor had to ask me why my body had pregnancy hormones and no baby.
Shortly after, B dumped me for a junior who's life made my shit show life seem calm, and a part of my heart cracked.
Many years later, I was getting married, and we were discussing children. When I was a little girl, I so badly wanted to be a mom, I decided I wanted 12 kids, 6 sets of twins. Obviously, this was before I knew anything about biology, or economics, but the bottom line is that I have ALWAYS wanted to be a mom. It's in my blood.
Wasband and I agreed that after we got married, we would officially start not stopping myself from getting pregnant, wait 2 years after baby 1 was born, has baby 2, wait 5 years and then decide if we were done or if we wanted to do another cycle. That was the plan, and I was 110% on board.
Then I got pregnant. And it took everything I could to stay pregnant. I was terrified of moving the wrong way in the first trimester, then from the second one on, my body kept trying to expel the fetus. I was put on pelvic rest, and then regular rest towards the end, and I spent almost every week in OB triage. My son was born by emergency c-section after 12 hours of active labor.
I warned the wasband that my time table might have shifted after such a horrific experience. 7 years later, I'm divorced, and still not willing to get pregnant again.
The problems I have are these; I love children. I want to be the mom to as many kids as possible, nothing gives me the same type of joy as being surrounded by little ones. But my track record for pregnancy is utter shit. I have one miscarriage under my belt, and another trauma filled pregnancy, even though it ended in a live birth.
My son is the singularly most important thing in my life, and I cannot in good conscience do anything that might end up with me not being around in his life. So no more pregnancies. I am lucky enough to have my one, perfect son, and as much as a huge part of my heart will always ache for more, I know without a shadow of a doubt, that I cannot.
And all of this, is what goes through my head, every time someone asks me why I "only have one child" or I'm told that "when I meet the real right guy, I'll want to give him a baby."
Fuck you and your glib, hurtful assumptions. If my body was healthy enough, I would have all the babies, and love them each with all of my heart.