I WASN'T READY TO BE A MOM...

Come with me on the journey - going back in time - to late 2009. I was 28, traveling every chance I had - in between teaching full time and my part-time airline job, getting drunk on the daily - and making out with a handsome guy who had a key to my house, even though we weren't consistently dating. Coming back from my annual St Thomas Caribbean vacation, W mentioned he had never seen me sleep so much - and maybe I should take a test. I laughed it off at the time (we were taking precautions), but a week or two later -when he continued to insist - I bought two tests without telling anyone. Getting ready to go to the bar that evening, I figured I would take a test quickly (knowing first morning urine had more probability of early detection) and that I could see a negative result and move on with my planned night of intoxication. Before I even set it down level and washed my hands, I saw a bright line moving across it - and reassured myself that the control stripe was working - so I had nothing to fear. I had taken pregnancy tests before, and tried not to think about it - busying myself with other things as I waited for the required 3 minutes to pass. When I picked it up to check, I immediately felt icy - as there were two bold and unmistakeable lines. I scanned the product label repeatedly, hoping I was reading it wrong. I felt numb, with a hum in my ears, and I had trouble walking to the door of my bedroom. I called A (my roommate - a single mom of a 3 year old daughter - who worked multiple jobs to make ends meet), and she came into the bathroom. She confirmed what the test said, and said something like, "holy shit, what are you going to do?" I said, "I just need a minute." - my typical response for anything momentarily overwhelming - whether pain or bad news or obstacle. She left me sitting on the tub - panicking quietly. I don't remember everything I was thinking at the time, but I remember thinking that a baby would change everything - and that I wasn't going to be a good parent. I remember being terrified I would end up resenting my child - like my mother did (and I wanted to be nothing like her). I even know that I thought about how W was way too young to be a good dad - and worried that he would think I trapped him with this. I worried that my drinking during the last few weeks/months (I didn't know how far along I was) would have caused birth defects. Having been raised Catholic - I had been exposed to the message that humans are created in God's image and that ALL life is precious. But, that did not mean that I felt ANY sense of blessing or joy about this development. Instead, I sat on the tub and tried to get my mind aligned with this new reality. I was pregnant - unintentionally and outside of wedlock. They say the first step is acceptance. Having grown up on a farm, I had mastered that skill. There is no changing what has already happened. That acceptance is always immediately followed by "what are we going to do about it?" - which was a question I couldn't answer alone at that time. But, after a few deep breaths on the edge of the bathtub, I knew that the reality of a baby growing inside me meant that a lot had to change really quickly. My best friend, C, was waiting for us in the living room. Before he started the car, I showed him a picture of the positive test - and his response was, "I'm here for you - whatever you decide - I will even punch you in the stomach or throw you down the stairs if you need; we could make it look like an accident." I tried to laugh it off, but I felt so strange - knowing that someone was growing inside me and probably able to hear everything being said - even if not yet able to comprehend it. I struggled through a few hours at the bar - unable to drink the pint they had automatically set in front of me - and barely picking at my two for one appetizers. I told everyone my stomach felt off - maybe some bad food I had eaten? and eventually made it home to my bed. Looking back now, I know I talked to the baby - but I don't remember what I said. I'm sure there were some reassurances that I would try my best to help baby grow healthy - and SO many apologies. A few nights later, I told W. He was beyond excited - literally so ecstatic - like a kid with a puppy. As tears flowed, I told him I was ashamed - and told him we could put the baby up for adoption - that no one besides C and A knew, that My family was 750 miles away, and that in a year - it would be like this never happened. He was adamant - that this was his kid and that he would take such good care of us. He was all smiles - saying we needed to hurry up and get married, and that he was ready to be a dad and husband. He couldn't stop touching my belly - and his reaction lifted a little bit of this weight that had been stifling me. If W was excited - and willing to change and make sacrifices, maybe it would be okay. I started prenatal vitamins, called around to find places that took my insurance, and tried to perform the logical and required steps necessary to become a parent. We were married at the courthouse in record time. W told his whole family immediately (and lied about that to me) and pressured me to tell my family too. Each phone call I made was taxing - everyone said all the congratulatory things, but I still felt a pit in my stomach. Whenever I dared to share my 'less than excited' stance, people dismissed it - saying "Oh, that will all change when you.... (fill in the blank)" - Yet these milestones kept happening - (1st ultrasound, hearing the heartbeat, picking out names, starting to show, baby shower, creating the registry, decorating the nursery, going into labor, holding him for the first time, breastfeeding, seeing him smile, talking to him) - nearly 3 years worth of milestones... and it still wasn't a natural "mother's heart." W had long since gone (domestic violence added to the drug /alcohol addition and untreated mental illness finally opened my eyes to say 'enough is enough'). I had been juggling multiple jobs and barely making enough to pay the sitter (let alone cover diapers or food)... and the days just kept coming. I remember crying in the shower - telling God it was okay if I didn't wake up the next morning. And then... my son was nearly 3 years old.... and we had a whole afternoon of sunshine - with no stress over punching into work on time or finding a ride for the sitter or anything... and we were spinning ourselves dizzy in a field - and he was laughing as he tried to stand up and walk. And - my heart changed. Right in that moment - I was suddenly beyond grateful that God gave me this tiny human being - this peculiar little man - and that He trusted me to raise him. And - that's how I became a mom.