Okay, I should have written this yesterday, but I didn’t.
Yesterday was a crabby, crabby day — one of those in which I was irritable at my husband (hence no F&A part 3, oops) and throwing a pity party with a guest list of one. Well, two, really — a good friend of mine got to bear the brunt of my grumpitude. As Mike has told me before, “man, she must be a REALLY good friend.” Um yeah. Thanks, Joy.
On to the post:
Blogging for Choice Day: Why am I pro-choice?
If you’ve read me for a while, you might know that my daughter was most assuredly *not* a planned child. On January 21, 2004, I peed on a stick and immediately started spewing a litany of expletives. The first person I told was a friend in California, one who only knows me online. My first words after she answered the phone? I’m FUCKING PREGNANT. This was followed by a lot of sobbing and wailing, which I proceeded to, well…flip out.
After that fateful pee (hee hee…that was fun to type), I spent some time contemplating something I would have never dreamed I’d consider: having an abortion. You see, I’ve always considered myself pro-choice. Even if I were against the idea of abortion, per se, I simply don’t think it’s the government’s place to force a woman to carry an unwanted child to term. Now, for myself, I’d *never* have one. But I wouldn’t tell anyone else they couldn’t do it.
Yet there I was, thinking of having an abortion. My cousin (she’s more like my sister, really) had already said that she’d hold my hand every step of the way, no matter what I decided. It was certainly an option.
On January 22, 2004, I remember heading out for lunch, and stopping at Barnes & Noble on my way to On the Border for a little fajita salad (mmmm. salad.). I bought a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting (no link, because frankly, the book sucks), and wandered over to OTB. You see, it wasn’t that I’d decided yet; I simply wanted to ensure that *if* I decided to keep the pregnancy, that I didn’t screw things up in the meantime. While I sat and ate, a man walked by and commented on my reading. “Oh, we loved those books. Congratulations — it’s an amazing thing to become a parent.” Never mind that I didn’t look pregnant, and that he was making some (admittedly correct) assumptions. Instead of getting my hackles up, I found that I glowed. And I realized that I’d already made a decision, whether I’d admitted it to myself or not.
On that day three years ago yesterday, I made my choice.
When the pro-life side talks about pro-choice folks, then tend to paint them as pro-abortion. I know that in my case, nothing could have been further from the truth. I dreaded the idea. If I’d gone through with termination, I wouldn’t have told a soul, ever. It would have been my own secret. I was definitely *not* pro-abortion.
That said, every day I am thankful that I got to make a choice. There has never been a reason for me to look at parenthood as something that was forced upon me. I made a decision to become Maya’s mother, and as a part of that, I relinquished the right to resent her. It helps my own emotional health to always be able to see her as something I decided to do, not as a burden I was handed. Instead of feeling childishly put-upon, I can step up and become an adult — and the parent that I know I can become.
It’s with great pleasure that I can look at my daughter and tell her that she is the best choice I’ve ever made. I would never dream of taking the ability to make that decision away from anyone.
