I awoke one morning, October 12, 2007, to the phone ringing. It was the doctor’s office. They had the results of my blood work, which was being tested for a myriad of things (or so I thought). The nurse said, “your test came back a weak positive.”
“For what?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Oh! You’re pregnant! Congratulations.”
Congratulations? Congratulations? Not only was I single, but I had just lost my job. There was no way that this was possible. My period wasn’t even due to start yet, and I was on the pill!
After I told the nurse that she couldn’t possibly be looking at the right chart I went to Rite Aid. I bought a 3 pack of pregnancy tests. I went home. I used them. To this day, I have never seen a plus sign appear so fast. Throughout the day (and the tears) I took the other 2 tests. This couldn’t be right.
I was terrified to tell my ex, who was the father. We had been, um, seeing each other again. Only not so much seeing each other as just sleeping together. I called him that evening around 7. There was a ton of noise in the background and I asked where he was. He was at a bar.I asked him to come over. He said no, they had just gotten there. I said, “well, I need you to come over here!”
Then, out of nowhere, he said, “are you p…”
I cut him off. I told him I wouldn’t do this on the phone and he needed to come over. The bar he was at was over half an hour from my apartment. He was at my door in ten minutes. He walked in. I sat on the couch. I wouldn’t make eye contact. I was still crying. It was going on 8 hours of crying. I cowered on my corner of the couch, waiting for the yelling. He walked toward me and I cringed. He laughed and said, “come here.”
He hugged me. He told me it was ok. That it wasn’t my fault. He told me not to cry…
…he asked why I thought he was going to hit me. I laughed. I kept laughing. All of the stress of the day melted as I laughed at how silly it was that I thought he would be reaching out to smack me. He was so calm and collected. He looked shocked, of course, but he was not mad. He almost seemed excited. More than I was, anyway…
He asked to call his sister. I guess they had been talking just that morning about what would happen if he were going to be a father. I still have no idea how he knew. He just, knew. Before I told him.
We called Molly. Molly was excited. Confused, but excited.
After hours of talking and trying to decide what to do, hours of his phone ringing, his friends from the bar trying to figure out what happened (he didn’t say goodbye, just got up and left), hours of trying to rearrange the future of the rest of our lives he left. I went to bed. He went back to his friends. He got incredibly drunk. He left me a voicemail. I will never forget a word of what that voicemail said.
“Hey, it’s me. I am here with my friends and we are celebrating. I just…I wanted to tell you that no matter what, no matter what happens, I will never leave YOUUUUU or our child alone. I am in this with you. I can’t believe we’re having a baby.”
Those words often pop back into my head. We have been to hell and back together. We have screamed at each other. We have loved each other. We have agreed and disagreed on how to raise our son. We have cried, together and separately. We have worked to make things last, and we have given up and walked away.
There are nights that I sit here alone. I sit here and I try to figure out how to make ends meet. I try to figure out how to buy diapers. How to buy clothes for my son. How to live. How to be able to get out and have fun so my son’s life doesn’t consist of sitting in our living room. I have done it alone. I have done it alone for 2 years, and I shouldn’t have had to.
Sometimes I want to scream at him. I want to be able to play that voicemail back to him, but it’s long gone. I want to tell him to please take our son for a few extra hours because I don’t know how to teach him to play baseball. I don’t know how to teach him to pee standing up. I don’t know how to be a boy. I’m a damn good mom, but I am not a good dad. I am not enough, and damn it, I wasn’t supposed to have to be enough on my own. I want to scream, “BUT YOU PROMISED!!”
Life if full of broken promises, though. Life is full of broken hearts, broken dreams, and broken promises. He sees Spencer. He pays child support. That’s all that’s required….
…but he promised.
**I have debated putting this up because I know I sound selfish and whiny. I know I am an adult and I am not entitled to help from anyone. He HAS helped buy diapers here and there, a few haircuts, and some Pjs… but…he promised…