Part One
Part Two

*****

Ring, Ring.

“Hello?”

Sniffing. “Mom?”

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Silence. More sniffing.

“Angela?”

More sniffing.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Fifteen minutes later, my mom was knocking on my door. This is where my story differs from so many others. My mom swept me up and took me home to her house. I was instantly surrounded by love, acceptance, and A Plan. Everything would be okay.

You might be thinking my mom is psychic, but first let me tell you what happened two days before.

****
It’s my cousin’s son’s first birthday. Boyfriend offered to drive my whole family three hours to the party in his family van, in spite of the fact that they’re barely speaking to him since they found out that we… you know. Pretty gutsy on his part, and I can’t help but admire him for it.

About an hour into the trip, we are all laughing and talking like old times. Boyfriend might be getting the stink eye from my stepdad and brother, but he still puts his arm protectively around me. This is the side of Boyfriend I think I can love. Strong, fearless, and a flashing temper that’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. He’s the first guy I’ve met that isn’t afraid of pissing my parents off and that in itself was more than a little exciting.

It’s less exciting when that temper is directed towards me, but I can hold my own. I didn’t grow up with three brothers without learning a few things.

“Are you okay?” Different faces, same question, all day. I’m getting over the flu, and the long trip leaves me feeling nauseous.

“Yeah, just a little tired.” And lightheaded. And sick. Watching the kids take their turn being spun around before hitting the piñata, I start to lose my balance. I sit on the curb and worry. I pray I’m not getting sick again. I already missed three days of work last week because I can’t keep any food down.

My aunt starts to serve lunch and the smell is too much for me to take. I lose what little food I had in my stomach and worry some more. Why have I been sick so much lately? Am I going to die?

I curl up in a recliner and close my eyes. What seems like seconds later, I hear a noise and wake up to find my mom, my aunt, and my grandma standing over me with their arms folded. “You okay?” My mom asks.

“Yeah, I’ve just been sick.”

They’re all narrowing their eyes at me. “I-I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have come, I thought I was better. I hope I don’t get anyone else sick.” I close my mouth and breathe out my nose. My grandma gives my mom a knowing look and pats her arm. My aunt rolls her eyes. What’s their problem?

Later that night, on the way home, my brother’s girlfriend leans over and whispers in my ear. “Do you need me to take you to get a test?”

“Huh?”

“I can get you one for free.”

“For what?” Did she know I was dying? My stomach leaps again, and this time my palms start to sweat.

She bites her lip. “Ang, are you late?”

And then I know. The curious glances from my cousin. The narrowed eyes of my sweet grandma. The steady glare coming from my brother aimed at Boyfriend. The look my dad gave me the other night when I ran out of the room and vomited in his bathroom. Twice.

I look at Boyfriend, so he can tell me they’re all crazy and he shakes his head. “I’m taking you,” he whispers.

I gasp in horror and my hand goes instantly to my stomach. And I know. I hope against hope, but deep inside, just like that—in one second, I know.

Read I wasn’t always…part one here

I took one look at the little pink line and knew. All those decisions I’d been putting off were going to have to be dealt with. Soon.

I looked in the mirror and just stared at my face, trying to feel something. I knew I should be scared or happy, or even upset. But nothing came. I was completely numb.

I closed my eyes and tried to no avail to work up some tears. I didn’t even know what to think, but I felt with certainty that I should be crying. The funny thing is, the whole time I was thinking, “Someday I’m going to have to tell my child about this moment– when I found out I was pregnant with him or her– and I’m not going to be able to say that I cried.”

Seriously. From the second I took that box off the drugstore shelf, every step I took was laced with guilt. Not guilt for breaking the commandments I grew up hiding in my heart, or for putting my parents to shame (though that would come later).

Guilt because this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. How would my kids ever be happy now? I was already a bad mom.

I looked at the bathroom door and sighed. Boyfriend was outside, waiting hopefully. Not hoping in the way you’d think your average eighteen year old guy would be hoping. Nope, while I was fighting off nausea, he had been crossing his fingers. He wanted a family, and he wanted it now. We’d been dating only a few months, but he was ready. He wanted to settle. He wanted this baby. He wanted me. He wanted forever.

Me? I wasn’t so sure.

Finally, I opened the door and looked at Boyfriend. He took one look at my face and pumped his fist. “I knew it!” He shouted. He grabbed me and began to cry, kissing my face. “My baby, my baby.” Finally, a coherent thought made its way through my brain.

Now I’m stuck.

And finally, the tears came.

Part 3

I wasn’t always a homegrown mom. Not that I didn’t think about it.

I’d dreamt of being a wife and mom since I was very young, in my own delusional way. In the beginning, I thought I’d be a terrific housewife akin to June Cleaver, or Lucy Ricardo. Let me tell you, it was all about their dresses. One of my parent’s favorite shows was Roseanne. Man, I hated that show, and not just because they wore sweats. Their life was so messy. When I had a family, life would be anything but messy.

My house would be tidy, my kids respectful, my husband adoring. And me? Gorgeous, dahling. I also wanted to be a writer, teacher, fashion designer, and Punky Brewster’s best friend. But I fantasized about being a wife and mom more than anything else.

I made family newsletters, family mailboxes, and held family parties in my bedroom. I started babysitting when I was twelve years old and practiced all my best stuff on other people’s kids. We did crafts, cookies and bedtime stories. For the few hours their parents were gone, I got to live out my fantasy of being a mom.

Sure enough, I grew up and married fairly young. I had a reality bite or two along the way, but deep down, I still placed those fifties sitcom expectations on myself. It would take years for me to understand that the perfect wife I’d created in my mind was nothing like the picture God had painted of the perfect wife.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. My story actually starts in 1996 when I was holding down three jobs and keeping up pretty good with the night life. I was eighteen and putting off college, putting off church, and putting off making any decisions at all about my life.

Yeah, I was just living in the moment, free for the first time in my life. Well, almost free. I had a boyfriend I wasn’t too sure about, but I was putting off dealing with that, too. Until one night when I found myself on my knees in my bathroom, pregnancy test in hand and an anxious boyfriend pacing outside.

I took one look at the little pink line and knew. All those decisions I’d been putting off were going to have to be dealt with. Soon.

Part 2