My husband and I dated for many years before getting married, but after 9 months the entire shebang went to crap. I tried to move on and multiple times he tried to suck me back into his warped idea of love. Finally, I had to cut him out of my life. I went through months of abstinence, trying to get over him and last Christmas, I was ready to jump back in the dating pool.
I thought I’d get a bit of practice so I met up with an old FWB that happened to be in town and I trusted him to be gentle and respectful with me. Considering, that in years and years of off and on protected sex (and no birth control due to side effects) with my then husband, I had become convinced that I just wasn’t fertile so who needed a condom?
Boy, what a load of crap that was! Day 3 of a late period and a feeling of general malaise prompted me to take a pregnancy test. My period had been a day late, even two days late before, but never 3. I already half expected the positive results. I only told my sister and my two best friends because they were the only ones I trusted not to be judgmental.
I knew my conception date so I rushed to Planned Parenthood for some info. There were no crowds and the receptionists and nurses were nice enough. I was still early enough for the pill so I gave a sigh of relief and went home to figure out how to scrape enough money together for it.
I don’t owe an explanation but for those curious:
- I have no interest is raising a child right now. I still haven’t gotten my life in order and I remember growing up poor.
- I feel like it’s the opposite of love to have children in this world.
- Even if I gave it up for adoption, black children’s rates of adoption are abysmal.
- I was in month one. Nine months of that and you would have to bury me under the jail.
- Neither of us wants a kid and I refuse to raise a child without a partner.
- I have no interest in labor or pregnancy.
- I just can’t. I’ve got too much to do and no room/time/patience/money/empathy for a child.