I found out I was pregnant in my boyfriend’s bathroom, his roommates on the other side of the wall playing halo, blissfully unaware that a new life had begun in the room next to them.
I was barely 21, in college, and not ready for a baby. I was considering all options, one more heavily than the rest.
The A word. I’m fiercely pro-choice. I believe that all women in all circumstances should have the right to an abortion, it seemed like the right choice for me. After all, the being inside of me was just a collection of cells.
I spoke with my boyfriend, he agreed, and in the next few days, we went to the clinic.
I don’t know what snapped inside of me, but I couldn’t do it. In that waiting room, I knew I was pro-choice, and I knew what my choice was. I had to carry the baby to term. In tears, I lead my boyfriend out of the waiting room back to our car. I explained to him that my choice was to keep the baby. He was shocked and scared, but supportive.
Over the next couple of weeks, we got excited. We had lists of names, bought baby books galore, and had told the family closest to us. We found a midwife and went to our first appointment.
What at first was fear and doubt, turned into excitement and happiness. We were thrilled to welcome our baby into the world.
Then, one night, I started bleeding.
We went to the ER, they told us that my levels were normal and everything was fine. But I knew it wasn’t. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.
My boyfriend was more optimistic, and I tried to be. I continued looking at names and baby clothes and those funny little wives tales telling us if our baby would be a boy or a girl.
To us, that clump of cells was our child.
Later that night, I had horrendous cramps. I went into our shower and out came my worst nightmare: the sack and the cells.
I was devastated. My whole world fell apart. Over a clump of cells. My clump of cells. My baby.
I lived through the due date, but ‘living’ is a generous word. I slept. I cried. I mourned. I didn’t live – I still find it hard to live. There was nothing in this world that I wanted more than that baby on that day.
I didn’t care about the stigma, about how hard it would be to raise a baby and finish my degree, I cared about having him or her in my arms.
I will never get to hold him or her in my arms.
The baby only lasted two months in my body, but its presence will haunt my thoughts and dreams for the rest of my life.
Rest in peace, little one. Rest in peace.