It's all over.

Callie had an abortion today. And she is fine, she really is. She seems like she feel alright, both emotionally and physically. I am glad that she made it through. The lack of ambiguity is good - for me, as well as for her.

I am so relieved for her, that it is over, that she is okay, that she made the decision on her own and was actually not swayed by my emotional baggage.

I feel pretty much okay, which is of course not what is relevant to HER, and I don't expect it to be. I do realize though, belatedly, that I have some crap to work through.

Which makes perfect sense and all. Maybe here is the right place for me to tell my story. Maybe that can help me work through some of the residual emotions that clearly came to surface when I learned of Callie's unexpected pregnancy.

I became sexually active at age 14. That's pretty young, but at the time it didn't seem young at all to me. I was horny, and in fact had been since about age 12, believe it or not. I felt tingy and hot and all that fun kind of thing, my hormones surging and puberty smacking me hard in the head and making me dumb.

I was therefore thrilled and delighted to enter the realm of the sexually active. It was a happy and exciting time for me. I dated a guy for a while, maybe 10 months or something, and he was my first (omg, I loved him! We should get married! When, like, we're 18 and finish high school!) He and I were very careful, and responsible about having safe sex. We ALWAYS used a condom, and we didn't have a problem. I eventually broke up with him, more because I felt like I didn't love him anymore, than any other reason.

After him, well, I wanted to explore the world of love, and life was all stooopid high school and friends and what not. I didn't sleep around much, either, I just knew I was interested in boys and wanted to be free to meet them, date them, whatever.

My parents at this time, I should mention, went from bad to worse. Much worse.
They fought constantly, and I really didn't appreciate them much. They were always at one another, and separated at this time, simultaneously electing me as the go-between. I was the messenger girl, back and forth between them. I was unhappy with this arrangement and I rebelled and started drinking and taking drugs (pot, acid, and once in a while, shrooms).

Right around the same time, my grandparents (who were my other adults who loved me and took care of me) died. I was very sad about that. My grandmother was my after school companion most days, and when she was gone I really missed her a lot.

My parents both worked a lot, and my older brother was off to college. This left me with just my friends and that was where I was in life. A sad teenager with a broken family and just my friends to help me along. In spite of all this, I was a straight A student.

I loved my friends-- especially one or two girls who were my best friends. I had dumped this boyfriend of mine, so that I could be free. I dated a guy here and there, nobody super special. I got involved with a guy from school, he was about a year older than me. His name was Paul. Paul had a pretty serious drinking problem, and he and I were kind of drinking buddies. He also was a good source for me to get stoned, as he knew people he could get pot from (and eventually he would get other stuff as well).

My reputation in high school at this point was as a fucking brilliant student who was oddly enough also a total druggy. I suppose that reputation was well deserved. Paul and I went all the way eventually. I didn't really want to, with him, but he was jealous of my past boyfriend. It was as though he thought that if I would have sex with Brian, why not have sex with him? Truthfully the reason was that I really did not feel as strongly about Paul as I had about Brian. He was just a guy I liked getting stoned and drunk with.

That sounds really lame, and it probably was. He and I did also like the same music, though, and we both liked writing poetry. He also had something special that I did not have: "normal" parents. His parents were married to each other, and seemed to like one another. I liked his family. His mom was in fact very nice to me, and she was happy that I was her son's girlfriend because she knew me as a good artist and brilliant student. My grades were, of course, proof that I was smart. She knew Paul was a screwy kid, and she thought I would be a good influence on him.

Anyway, between the being drunk together a lot and smoking a lot of pot, and dropping acid in homeroom.... well, I got less vigilant about my initial feelings that I would only have sex with guys that I felt very strongly about. Paul was so horny, and well, I guess I was too. We started having sex regularly. It was okay. I can't say he was very good but I wasn't really picky.

Somewhere along the way, I had a sex education class which said that women are only fertile for a period of about three days, and that this occurs a certain number of days after the menstrual period. This is an example of sex ed really not making the right kind of point. Or maybe I just took away what I wanted to hear. What I concluded was that IF I was REALLY careful and ONLY had sex when it wasn't during this magical three days window of fertility, then I could dispense with using condoms.

Hello, rhythm method. I had a calendar, and I'd keep track of my period, and count out the days carefully and make it a five day window just to be safe. Then we'd only have sex when it was "safe".

I got tired of Paul after a while and his drug problems became more and more serious. We got arrested at one point, or at least taken in but not charged with anything. A smack on the wrist, so to speak. I visited Paul one day in the hospital, where he'd landed after he was out with some rough types, and he'd been smoking crack with them. He'd wanted to try it, is all, he'd said.

This seemed too low for me, and I decided that I had enough of Paul. I broke it off with him and was ready to chill with the drugs. I did NOT want to try crack, or coke, or any of what I considered bad and hard drugs. Pot was fine (frankly, I still enjoy it now and again and I still think it's fine) and LSD was pretty weird and I'd had enough of it to know what it was like. I realized that there was a limit to how much I wanted to be a druggie. I didn't want to be like Paul. He was out of control. I was done with him.

I figured out that I was pregnant about a week after I dumped Paul. I was extremely upset and didn't want anyone in my family to know about it. I think I deliberated about whether to have an abortion for about five minutes. I wanted one. PERIOD. There was no fucking way I was going to have a baby at age 16. I didn't want to get together with Paul again, and I didn't want to have a baby and go through the humiliation of that at school. I wanted to keep doing well in school, and be successful in life. I had just started to clean up my act, and I didn't want to go the pregnant teenager route.

I had some money saved up, and I made some phone calls. The state I lived in did not (at that time) have any restrictions on first trimester abortions. I found a place that could do the procedure, and I had enough money ($230). My friend's friend had a car, and I arranged for getting a ride to and from the doctor.

My best friend, Maria, and her friend with the car, went with me on a Saturday morning. We told my mom we were going shopping.

The doctor was a big man, from somewhere like India or Pakistan. I have no idea, actually. I don't remember his name. I just remember he was reassuring but foreign. The procedure was over quite quickly.

I laid down, it's such an embarrasing position, of course, feet in stirrups. I was awake the whole time, and he told me to stay still. I breathed in through my nose, trying to get some laughing gas. Maria held my hand. I was so glad that it was over quickly.

We went home, and I told my mom I was feeling a little sick and I went to bed. Slept a long while and felt pretty okay. I had told Paul about the pregnancy and about the fact that I was not going to be pregnant for very long. I told him and he wasn't too happy about it.

When I called him up that Saturday to tell him that it was over, he was an asshole. He spoke rudely to me and I called him out on it. "Well how am I supposed to talk to you when you just murdered my baby?!" he asked me. I hung up on him. I cried and cried and cried. Silently. Into my pillow. Nobody knew.

A few days later I developed a fever. I was really worried, and called the doctor. I got antibiotics, which was tricky getting them filled and all without anyone knowing about it, but I managed. I got better.

I didn't have sex again for about six months.

Getting pregnant and having an abortion changed my life -- for the better. I stopped drinking so much, and I didn't do drugs as often. I decided I had really better not sleep around with people and I would absolutely NOT have unsafe sex with anyone ever. Unless, of course, I wanted to have children, which I thought I might one day want to do.

Life went on. I was chastened. I was sad and felt sorry for myself. I would sometimes brood about the pregnancy and imagine (with a shudder, with horror) what my life might be like had I not had an abortion. All in all, I was glad that I had been able to have an abortion. I was proud of myself that I was able to get it done and without my parents even knowing about it. I was proud that I came through it, and got my shit together.

I graduated from high school, went to college, got good grades, graduated, went to grad school, had a career, got married, had two kids. Life is good. I am glad I am where I am.

Once in a while, I think about that pregnancy. I think that if I hadn't had an abortion, I'd have an eighteen year old child now. An adult would be my child. I don't think I would have a college degree, or the life I have now.

I keep reminding myself that pregnancies do fail, pretty damned often. Infertile women know this fact well, as they struggle to get and stay pregnant. The loss of a five week old embryo is really not that significant.

There are many, many humans in the world. I don't think we need one more eighteen year old than there already are.

So that's my story. I'm okay. I think Callie will be okay too.

Relief? Regret?

Well, it's not over - she's still pregnant, but now she's saying that she's decided not to continue this pregnancy.

I was so relieved to hear her say this -- so very, very relieved. I'd spent the whole week obsessively worrying about her, feeling alternately like a heel and like a martyr. I kept feeling angry, thinking she was really foolish to consider keeping this baby. Then I would feel angry at myself, for not supporting her 'decision' to keep the baby. Then I would feel angry at her again, and then I'd feel left out of the conversation and worried that I had alienated her. That I was not being the pillar of support she needed right now. Then I would feel angry for being needed as a support!

Oh, so much stress and conflicting emotions! I know this issue is close to my own heart. I have been pregnant four times. I only have two children. Do the math. I've lost babies before, one way and another.

Either way, I don't think it was a huge loss to me personally. I know that the potential for human life was there those two other pregnancies, but it never got that to that point. Does it matter if it was intentional or not? I thought I was over these feelings, but I think all my own defenses and complications came bubbling to the front.

A part of me keeps saying (only to myself, and not to her!), Well... okay, yes, those are all good reason why not have a baby.... but really, well... why not? Have one here. This is a good home. This is a nice family. How could this be bad?

Bat shit crazy is how I feel, honestly. But mainly I'm relieved to know that her rational mind took over and weighed all the options, and she has decided to do what is best for her. She took a week, thought it over, and made up her mind.

I just hope she a) follows up on taking care of this and b) doesn't change her mind either now or after it's too late.

The options-- they all suck. An unnecessarily harsh summary.

Option 1. Stay Pregnant, Have a Baby

You could move back to Florida and live with your older sister and her family, if they have room for you.

Or.

You could go live with the guy who knocked you up, if he'll accept you & a baby (he's not that interested now that you're knocked up, is he?) Of course, he's the guy who KICKS the DOGS if he gets mad, so I don't think you should move in with him.

Or.

You could convince your other boyfriend (the one you don't think is the father, but is the one you're "in a relationship" with (according to facebook), that he should move to a place with you and your baby (since right now, he lives with the Super F**k-Up who you think is the father of this pregnancy.) But then again, you just mentioned not that long ago -- well, that you don't love him and don't think you would for a long, long time. So I do not think you should stay with him, either.

Or.

Whereever your parents go (your Dad and his abusive ways! your mom, the invalid!) when they lose their house, you could try to move into the shelter where they go. Or live in their modified bus with them, when they find some place to park it. That sounds pretty grim, really. I don't think you should do that.

Or.

You could have the baby, and give it up for adoption. I hear that private adoption can sometimes compensate you handsomely, which might help you get over giving up the baby.

Or.

You could give the baby to your older sister to raise. Hmmm. Think that would have any emotional baggage attached to it? This sounds like a really bad idea too.

Or.

If you were to stay here (not that I think this is a good idea either, and it's certainly not a comfortable one for my family)... where would the baby go?? How would you care for it and also work? Daycare costs a ton! What'll you do with it? I'm imagining the piles and piles of dirty diapers. The dirty baby things all over the place. The only reason I'm even counting it as an option AT ALL is the thought that you might feel "forced" to do one of the above options instead. And those all sound, well, worse for you and your baby. But what about what my family needs? How would having you and a baby affect my family? Would it be like my kids have a little baby sister or brother? Would I like that? I might. I mean, I do love babies.

However, there are so many problems from babies. They are so much work. I think it would be so sad for you to lose your young adult freedom so soon, so young. Plus, I don't think you are ready for that kind of responsibility. I can't see you doing right by a baby -- you show very little maturity in caring for anything other than yourself, and even in that department, well, obviously you weren't caring for yourself when you slept with Mr. Super F**ked-up without a condom, even though you know he's sleeping with at least 3 other people. Sure, you were on the pill, that's fine. But um... hello venereal diseases?? That is such a possibility, since he fucks anything he can.

Better hurry up and get to a doctor, and have yourself tested. Especially if you really do want to keep this baby. It could be in danger from something sexually transmitted.

Option 2.

Terminate your pregnancy. Feel a little sad, but know that it was the right choice. Keep working, save your money. Go back to school. Get an education. Start a career. Maybe meet someone you really do care about, who really cares for you. Someone who isn't fucking everything that moves, that he can get his hands on. Someone who isn't trying to manipulate you emotionally for his own twisted needs. Someone stable, smart, funny, kind, loving, that you feel strongly about. That person would be a good co parent, co partner, supportive and loving. THEN have a baby. Not now, not like this. Be a little more financially stable, have some further experiences in life. Travel. Read. Learn. Grow. Mature. Master something. THEN have a baby. NOT NOW. IT IS NOT THE RIGHT TIME.

What would it mean to end this pregnancy? Look, 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage naturally, during the first 9 weeks of pregnancy. This is because at this stage in the game, the conceived embryo is tiny, fragile, and susceptible to many kinds of failure. It is not a human, not anywhere near a human. It may have the potential to become human, but it simply is not yet.

But you --- you, are a fully formed human. And a human who deserves a chance to reach a stable and successful life. You don't deserve to live in a bus with your dysfunctional parents, or pass off this unexpected baby to your sister. You don't deserve to try to raise a baby in the presence of a guy who kicks his dogs. And NO BABY should have to grow up living in a shoe box on a stack of dirty laundry in the back of a closet. Or in any of these bad options.

And Section 8 housing? That's for crackheads and hookers. Which one were you aspiring to be, anyway?

She wants to keep it.

I want her to think about it, a little more, think practical stuff.

She's just thinking "oh! babies are great! babies are sweet! I'll love the baby and the baby will love me."

It is so easy for someone to fall in love with the idea of a baby. They are so precious and sweet. They are a gift, but like many gifts one might receive -- well, not everyone wants a puppy, a blender, a fabulous life-sized stuffed tiger that purrs and wags its tail. But more than that, a baby is a person.

A person who needs to be cared for, to explore, to play, to grow up, to be loved. A person who is forever tied to his or her mom and dad. Let's explore this, shall we?

In this case, the "mom" in question is 21 years old. She lives with me and my family. She's a sweet, young person, the first cousin of my husband. I love her very much. I see her as a creative, bright, beautiful young woman, full of potential, a wonderful life is waiting for her. Earlier this year, I invited her to come live with my family, because she felt that it was time for a change in her life, to get away from her old situation (lackluster relationship with go-nowhere boyfriend, trouble getting it together to go to college, etc.). I also needed a nanny, badly and urgently. I had been offered a job, but needed someone to help with my pre-schooler. She came, she helped, I paid her AND I gave her food and a room of her own in my house. It seemed like she was going to start school in the fall. It seemed like she'd continue to help by being our nanny and we'd continue to help with getting her to get her education.

But that's not what happened. In the fall she applied for what (she said) was a part time job-- but it was actually a full time job. She's been working as a file clerk at a law firm since September. We don't have her as a nanny anymore, because she's not around. She does babysit for us sometimes, but we aren't getting the kind of help that we thought we would have.

On the other hand, my need for a nanny has decreased quite a bit, because my pre-schooler is now in school. My work is completely compatible with my children's schedules. So I'm not having any kind of logistical problem - I am not stuck looking for child care because she can't nanny for us. However, my life is super hectic, and having her be a nanny for us again, well it would be awesome. My kids could spend more time at home, and maybe Callie could help out more if she were around.

Right now -- Callie doesn't contribute anything to the household, other than the occassional babysitting. She barely takes care of her own stuff, doing her own laundry only when it's really desperate, and leaving huge piles all over her room.

We have always had a "it's your room, you do what you will in there" attitude. When she moved to our house, we had one spare bedroom, a small extra room at the end of the hall. I took a lot of care to paint the room, put in a comfy foam mattress (custom-sized - it is a little smaller than a twin), I bought an oriental rug for the floor, installed a pretty lamp for the wall, etc. I put some effort into making it a livable space, because it is so small. She leaves empty yogurt cups, trash from chips or candy, dirty dishes, etc., around the house, in addition to in the piles in her room.

Forgive me, world, I am able to suspend being judgmental when it's just one person, a young adult, who is living like that. But um. A baby, folks. Is this the kind of place you can raise a baby?

And I wanted a nanny at my house, not a live in single mom who does nothing to contribute, but who instead just lives there.

Of course, I CANNOT turn her out, I would never do that. But I am not happy about this, I wasn't even that happy before she got pregnant. I would be even more unhappy if she moved in with the father of the baby, as he's really creepy. It's hard to fully describe, and hardly worth it. Let's just say the fact is that Callie isn't his only pregnant girlfriend, and his wife (who just left him a couple weeks ago) says she didn't want to ever have kids with him, because he's so volatile that he kicks the dog if he gets mad. So... other than that... Can you just take my word that he's a real f**k-up?



(I know, some people feel very strongly that any pregnancy, all pregnancies, should be continued, no matter what. Some people feel very strongly that once conception occurs, that a baby, a person, exists. Period. If that is your only comment, please don't bother leaving a comment. I see your point, I know what you are saying. I don't happen to agree, but I can understand where you are coming from. I didn't start this blog to upsell abortions, or to convince a pro-lifer of something else. I don't want to argue about when human life begins. I mean, obviously, life does begin at conception. You're right about that, so why argue? I just think it's more complex, and morally, and ethically complicated, and therefore I think that there are many situations where terminating a pregnancy is a good idea, and the right choice. Well anyway, oops, didn't want to argue this. So anyway... thanks.)