Abortion story #757
I know I want a baby. I’ve known I wanted to be a mom for as long as I’ve known that I need to write. As every young girl fantasizes about the different paths her future will take, my dreams have been extravagant and varied. But I’ve always kept one picture that remained clear among the blurry transitions from one milestone to the next. That picture involved a cozy room with the faded colors of a coastal town filling the walls, myself in an overstuffed chair with my laptop and a cup of coffee, and a polished wood crib where my baby finally, and fitfully, succumbed to her afternoon nap. I would catch whatever hours I could to work on my novel, and in a few hours the man who I’d fallen in love with enough to share this child who would keep us awake more often than let us sleep, would be home from work and we’d fill each other in on all our personal dramas of a day. I’ve spent seven years as a full time nanny, caring for little ones who I held as newborns, then sent off to preschool. I’ve had pumped and bottled breast milk vomited down the front of my shirt, little hands with nails sharper than a shark’s tooth grab my neck and claw away during a tantrum, the relentless screaming of a child who doesn’t want to be buckled in the carseat ringing in my ear for what feels like a decade. I’ve gotten to experience all the exhaustion-filled moments of children. But never has that made me question my purpose of wanting without a doubt to be a mother one day. Even if I struggled to conceive, I understood I would be completely accepting of adopting. I could just as easily love a child I didn’t create, and wanted to watch my family grow into a chaotic and fun mess as the years went by. Sixteen hours ago, I had an abortion... Click here to read the rest.
- Age: 27
- Location: United States
- Date Submitted: October 20, 2019
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