Reverse Uno

TW: Ab*rtion, swearing, religious deconstruction

Today

The prenatal vitamins sat on the bottom shelf in the corner of the cabinet, mocking me.

“Do you or don’t you?’” they seemed to sing.

I hate taking them everyday. I got the gummy snack ones like a child would eat— because even though I’m on the doorstep of twenty-nine, I still feel like a child.

When I plucked them off of the shelf at the store, it was with thoughts of concern for myself. “This kid is going to steal my nutrients, so until I get rid of it, I need to make sure that it’s taking from what I’m eating and not from me.”

When my period just didn’t come, I figured that it had to have been all of the stress and crying from the past few months from my marriage and my reality slowly falling apart. Cortisol can fuck with your hormone levels, right? It can cause amenorrhea, can’t it? I convinced myself that it couldn’t be me. Not now.

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2019-2022

C and I tried to get pregnant for three years and were unsuccessful, other than a chemical pregnancy that disappeared as quickly as it had come, and during that time, I was so angry. Instagram popped with baby announcements, and captions that read: “whoopsies, we forgot to social distance.”

Why can everyone else have a baby but I can’t? Why can all of these people have accidental children and I can’t even make one on purpose? Who am I if I can’t even fulfill my purpose in this life? The whole thing G*d put me here for? F*ck you, G*d, you twisted son of a b*tch.

That was what I felt then.

Before I realized that the church I’d gone to my whole life had groomed me to believe as a woman, my only real earthly purpose was to be a wife and a mother. And I was a shell of a person without that template to go off of.

My church community had assigned us a calling to work with the toddlers in the nursery on Sundays, and although they claim these callings are inspired, it felt like a bold call out to me. A call out that people my age should be having children. Children C and I couldn't have. We were in that calling for over a year, and then moved states for school.

Once we reached our new church community several states over, we received the same calling- to work with children in the nursery. And I rolled my eyes, because asking an infertile couple to work with young children is definitely inspiration and not a form of torture. Over time, I started to become grateful that we didn't have kids and determined that I probably wouldn't be a good mother, because I didn't have the patience working with young children. I didn't enjoy playing with them, and it was always such a relief when the hour was over.

The more mothers I saw speaking out on platforms like TikTok and r/regretfulparents page on Reddit, the more I felt I'd dodged a bullet. Children are expensive, they are life-consuming, they are relentless, and as a mother, a disproportionate amount of their care falls on you.

Eventually, my religious shelf broke completely, and my spouse and I left the church.

And for me, it was absolutely a rebirth. What is wrong? What is right? What do I want? If Christ was even real, would he put qualifiers on his love for people? If I have to follow a checklist to be loved and to get into Heaven, I don't want it.

I admitted to myself that I was bisexual. Girls are smoking hot. I made plans for after my spouse finished school about how we could travel and do all of the crazy things I'd always dreamed of. I healed, and I accepted a life without children with open arms.

I've accepted that I couldn't have a baby for two years. And I've been out of the church of just over a year.

Now, I just need to tell my parents that I've left the church.

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Two Weeks Ago

I pulled out an HcG strip and dipped it into a plastic cup of my urine. One of those cheap looking ones that you can buy in packs of twenty-five online. The f*cker thought about it for a second, then proudly showed me two dark pink lines.

I'm pregnant.

I went to Walmart and bought myself a digital pregnancy test as a confirmation. Same result. Pregnant.

Is the universe trying to reverse uno me some shit right now? I do NOT want a baby. Not now.

As I looked at the positive test results, I felt anger. Why now?! I had truly accepted and moved on with the idea that a child was not in my future, and made life plans because of that, and now, this was happening.

And it was happening at the worst possible time. My marriage had skated onto thin ice in November last year due to some personal discoveries that had pulverized the foundation of trust our relationship was built on, and our finances were incredibly unstable.

My partner was due to finish school and take his licensing exam two months before my approximate due date, and he'd start working three months afterwards once the licensing process was complete, and we'd likely be moving to another state. But I didn't want to move cross country with a newborn, a dog, two cars and our belongings two or three weeks postpartum.

I didn't want to move with a baby to a state that I'd originally chosen for its outdoor nature and queer scene. I didn't want a baby that would trap me inside and prevent me from mingling with my newfound community. I didn't want to have a baby that I would resent for taking what I had just discovered away from me. I didn't want a child that I'd look at every day and remember that they were conceived out of a scarring period in my marriage. I didn't want a child that I'd force my dreams on because I had them before I was ready. Because some man in the sky and some pro-life protesters said it was 'the right thing.' I didn't want a child who I agreed to have to save a marriage that it would irrevocably change and make more difficult. I didn't want a child who would suffer at my hand because of crippling mental health issues that would only worsen with the lack of sleep and hormonal variations. I didn't want a baby to make my in-laws happy. I didn't want a child that I was not 110% enthusiastic about.

It felt eerie. Like being pulled back into the Matrix of who I used to be.

The initial discussion with C did not go well. I was selfish for wanting some time to myself to figure out this new version of me. Selfish for thinking about finances. Selfish for not being willing to consider other people's feelings.

Our second discussion was softer, one of admitted fears and ultimatums. What if this was our only chance to have a biological child? If we had a child now, in a moment when our marriage was weak- what kind of future could we really offer that kid? What about my relationship with my family? They didn't know yet that I'd left the church, and I wanted to share that truth before thrusting a child into what could potentially be a hostile environment. What if I just had the baby, then we got a divorce and I gave C sole custody? If I agree to have this baby and sacrifice for the next eighteen to twenty years, then you have to get your tubes tied. Or we can wait three years, financially catch up and stabilize ourselves, and I can travel more and grow into myself, then I'd be open to having two kids.

Our third discussion was about one of us resenting the other if the baby was aborted, or if we had the baby. Because it does feel like a sick game of 'Would you rather?'

The fourth was more of a tearful notification that I'd made the appointment, and that I'd have to wait four more weeks before I could have the ab*rtion.

The days since have oscillated between normal to ones of intense sadness and doubt, only to wind up back at the same decision.

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Today

The hormones from this baby are trying to get me to change my mind. Manipulating me just like the little shit would do to me fourteen years down the road upon becoming a teenager. But every time I weigh out the pros and cons, trying to hope against hope that some variable will change everything-- I still come back to the same decision. Maybe this is what insanity looks like.

I do keep wondering- what if I do choose this path? I do see lots of happy times with a child as they learn and grow. But I also see some of the dark underpinnings slowly ripping apart their parent's relationship. Lots of fighting about C never being home due to his work, and me having to stay home with the kids and never seeing him. Not being able to get out much due to rising childcare costs, and the lack of financial foundation because we couldn't wait. Altering our relationship from one of commitment and choosing to be together to staying together for the kids. A mom that takes antidepressants and in moments of extreme anger, admits that she never wanted her child anyway, and that it derailed her life.

The other path is equally uncertain. I face the protesters, and I go through with the ab*rtion- to exercise my rights to deciding what happens to my own body- a right that is quickly being diminished in the US. I think a lot about what could have been. C and I continue with our plan of moving to the coast afterwards, with a commitment for me to continue counseling and for him to set aside time for it after the demands of school are over. A commitment to rebuild our relationship and to fight for something neither of us want to let go of. We're able to focus on building a savings reserve and a retirement fund-- even though that feels like a fairytale in today's world-- doing a little of traveling and being taught by interactions with people from all walks of life. I get to build a community of people who love me for me, and not because I meet a checklist of being good enough for G*d. Maybe our relationship survives, and maybe it doesn't. Maybe we have two children in a few years, and maybe we don't.

Regrets come with both choices. The question is which one I'm willing to live with.

Some days, it feels obvious. Some days, it doesn't.

Why does choosing myself feel so hard and so wrong? People always make women feel bad about that, like we're not allowed to be our own person and that we should be happy to be sacrificing. Anything in order to bring life into the world and fulfill our purpose as wives and mothers.

I saw it with my mother, grandmothers, with all of my sisters and sister-in-laws. All of them married in their early twenties-- a period where you are just starting to discover yourself. My mother had ten children. All of my sisters and sister in laws have had four children-- and when I talk to them and ask them what they've been up to, they share what their kids have been up to, what their spouse has been up to. But when I push back and say, "what about YOU?", they share something they've been doing for a church calling or how they've supported their family recently. And I mourn for them, because they have been stripped of having personal interests and time outside of their families because they were so eager to multiply and replenish and do what G*d wanted before who they were could fully develop.

Scheduling the appointment for that ab*rtion felt like taking some of that power back. Saying, I am a woman and I deserve to take up space in this world. I am more than what my body can do for you.

I am terrified to be breaking a generational curse. There is no playbook after this, no example from my siblings that I can look to.

But that's a risk that I'm going to have to take.

Reverse Uno, bitch.