January 31st, 2010, I had a positive pregnancy, and unlike my first pregnancy, I wasn’t in denial. I knew I was having baby number 2 and I KNEW it would be a baby girl. I was about 3.5 weeks pregnant. There was no question of who the father was, so I called him. He said he didn’t want to be a dad. EVER. I said ok. I made my doctor’s appointment and got my due date. I called him one more time to let him know when she would come, and he threw down the gauntlet. If I kept the baby, he wouldn’t be there. I said okay. I was a little hurt, not because of anything to do with he and I, but because I didn’t want that for my daughter. I was already in the midst of going back and forth to court to get a child support order for my son, I felt like they both deserved better than to have a void where their father should be. But that wasn’t my situation. That wasn’t the bed I made. I won’t talk about a deck of cards and not getting dealt the best hand because, I chose both of these men for reasons I might explain later, but for now, accept that I wasn’t played, I wasn’t misled, and I wasn’t heartbroken that they didn’t “stay” with me. I was never “with” either one of them. I was never in a relationship, and I never wanted one, nor did I ask or expect one. Yes, they played the role of the man who was interested and not ready, or that really liked me and wanted to take it slow, but I played the naive, looking for love, doe-eyed girl who wanted to be loved by one man. And every time they left my house, or I left theirs, I’d roll my eyes and call them out (to myself) on the bullshit.
I wasn’t some woman scorned and left to raise a child alone in either situation, I was a woman who enjoyed sex, just as much, if not more, than the men in her life. Getting pregnant was the result of a broken condom, unprotected sex and the idea that my medical diagnosis had left me infertile. Either way, I was having a baby girl and I would be doing it on my own. When I say alone, I mean alone. Almost every family member, and half of my friends thought I should have an abortion. So having her meant I had to be ready to be all she had. I wasn’t.
I believe that was the first time in my life I acknowledged that I couldn’t do something in my own power. It was quite honestly the first time I looked around and didn’t see any one standing in my corner. There were a few people standing with me, but I didn’t see them in the moment I had to make a decisions. Those people supported my decision, but I knew in my gut that these wouldn’t be the people helping me on sleepless nights, buying diapers and my money was short, or caring for her in the event my depression took its toll again and I was unable to care for her. I knew what it was like being suicidal when you have an infant or a toddler.
You love them so much, you obsess over everything like regular moms, but those intrusive thoughts that you are this babies biggest problem, that you are going to ruin this precious and innocent being, makes you more obsessive. You fight each day to enjoy those moments your baby first sticks his tongue out on command, or when he starts saying Mama with intention and purpose. What’s hard is tuning out the voice in your head saying you don’t deserve to be this child’s mother. The idea that you are your child’s biggest downfall.
I wasn’t ready, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough to be all she had. But that, no matter what, was my reality. I didn’t have the strength. I found myself keeping quiet to most of the world about it because I honestly thought that I would follow my father’s advice and get the abortion. Not because of her dad, but because the real man in my life, the one that has always swooped in to keep me from falling, wasn’t sure he wanted to, or could be there. He had stepped in, in big ways for my son, and I had to respect his opinion, and seriously consider it. I made the appointment. I knew it was something I couldn’t go through with when I missed the appointment. I was terrified, but I knew my baby girl deserved to be here. I knew that she was supposed to be here. But I wasn’t strong enough.
For the first time in my life, I ACKNOWLEDGED that I couldn’t do it in my own strength. The gift of my baby girl. I loved her so much, already, that I couldn’t let me pride hurt her. So I prayed, and I prayed again.
I asked God to do what He does best. I prayed that my daughter come here with everything she need. I didn’t want any part of her destiny or the purpose she was meant to fulfill tied up in anything I or her father were supposed to give her. I told God that I needed Him to be ALL that she needed. I wanted her spirit to be so strong no one on this earth could break it.
God answered my prayer. She is here and she is EVERYTHING! And the amazing thing that God did in her, just keeps getting better and better. I look around and I see so many people in her corner, on her side, supporting her. She has third grade teachers that are patient with her and encourage her when that strong spirit gets to be too much. She has an Auntie that will move hell, high water, and mountains to make her smile. She has a Grandfather that protects her heart and emotions like the fiercest of warriors, but will check her and her attitude in the most loving ways he knows how. The Gift of my baby girl. Because of her I know that it is okay to not be okay. Because of her I know what to do when I don’t know what to do. I trust God because of her and I know He will answer prayers because of her. My baby girl gave me the gift of KNOWING how GREAT God is.
