Tag Archives: abortion

Cleft Lips

Last night, instead of sleeping at 9:30, like I wanted to do, like I thought I was going to do, I decided to turn on the ol’ iTunes and listen to The Best of Elton John while I searched the internet for things that would make me worry.  This is a totally healthy thing to do. Nothing like a little fretting about birth defects to make you drift right off to restful sleep. Right? Elton John was also probably not the best idea either, have you really listened to “Candle in The Wind” or even worse they version he wrote for the late Princess Di? I swear I just teared up thinking about it.   Since I have become preggers and even long before I found out, I’ve been so emotional.  I cry at the drop of a hat.  I’ve found this totally useful when trying to get government services and when trying to see the doctor closer to my appointment time than the hour and half or so they will force you to wait at the County Hospital, other than that though, it’s pretty annoying.  It makes me feel like a basket case.  Let’s not pretend that I’m not a basket case because I totally am, but it’s really the only thing that makes me feel like I am.

I think I hold it together pretty well most of the time.  As a rule, I don’t spend much of my time worrying about things or thinking in worse case scenarios.  It’s not that I stick my head in the sand, but I don’t think much can be gained by focusing on what can go wrong almost to the exclusion of what can and probably will go right.  For some strange reason, I guess probably because I’m at the point of not return with the pregnancy, I have thrown that philosophy  right out the window.  By the way, totally off topic, I just tried to spell philosophy, phyllosophy, yeah like phyllo. As in thin, buttery, flakey phyllo. Mmmm. Baklava. Mmmmm. Okay, enough of that little side bar, back to the matter at hand.  There really is nothing I can do about this pregnancy. I have ruled out abortion, obviously, but it was always still a possibility. I wasn’t illegal for me to do it before.  I could still get it done if there was something wrong with the little monster or if there was something wrong with me, but now, it’s out.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t want this kiddo.  I do.  I just think about how hard this world can be for people who are not bright or attractive or “normal” and it really scares the hell out of me. I wasn’t normal looking as a teenager, but that was my own doing.  No one made me shave my head or die my hair purple (actually it was dusty rose and it was a really awesome color) or wear black lipstick. I could change that at any point.  I still dealt with staring and being called names and it sucked, but at least it if I got tired of it, I could normal it up my suffering would be over.  If I have a little retard kid, there is no amount of self-reflection and J. Crew that is going to make it fit it and stop the taunting. God, just listen to this. What an asshole I am. Who the fuck do I think I am saying things like “how hard this world can be.” See? Fucking emotional.

Anyhoo, I’ve seen that the kid has all it’s little arms and legs, it should have four of each, right?  It’s head is average size and it’s misshapen little body is what is to be expected and is the proper size in relation to the head and limbs. I still don’t know what kind of monster I’m having.  Whale has been ruled out, because of the size and because the nasal cavities appear to be in the middle of the face now that the eyes have begun to migrate from the sides of it’s little squishy head. With whales, the nasal cavity starts to move to the tops of their noggins. Their eyes don’t move. They stay on the sides, but they lose their gills too, just like us.  Oh and yes, I did spend four hours a week or so ago watching NatGeo programs with titles like “Inside the Womb: Puppies” and “Inside the Womb: Dolphins.”

The only I can’t see right now, is if there are probably with the skin itself so naturally, that is the sort of birth defect I focused on last night.  Now, a cleft palate, involves the bone in the top of the mouth that separates the mouth from the nasal cavities.  When this is malformed, which it can be without skin involvement or with it, all sorts of fun things can happen. Things like the babeeh not being able to feed properly or snot dripping from the nasal cavities directly into the mouth and making the kid gag on it’s own snot. Yeah, I know, of course I would be able to sleep after reading and thinking about that. Well, luckily for me and my little monster, bone defects are fairly easily seen at the normal ultrasound and so far so good.  The palate appears to be formed normally.  Cleft lip is when there is no bone involvement but just the skin of the upper lip is involved.  Again, there can be problems with breast feeding, but not nearly as bad as with the cleft palate. Relatively speaking, it’s a simple fix, but speaking like a normal person, I would prefer not to have to fix anything on my kid when I pop it out.  I would prefer for it to come out perfect.  In time, it can decide to do with itself, but I want the little monster to be perfectly normal on arrival.

I really should try not to tip my arm towards the camera. It makes it look huge. I swear my arms haven't gotten even a little bigger.


The Double Lines

It’s been 10 days since I saw the double pink lines in the 99 C store pregnancy test I had reluctantly purchased.

I hadn’t had my period for a couple months, but that was THAT odd, it did sometimes happen.  Not usually to me, but there were plenty of stories from women (on the internet) who skipped periods for nothing more than a slight hormonal problem so why not me? Maybe I would get lucky and have an ovarian cyst that was stopping up the works.  Huge tender breast can come from a cyst right? Right. I checked it on every medical website around.  They totally can.  Moodiness happens from being premenstrual so that was covered, I was very premenstrual. Cravings can come from that too.

The night sweats were harder to explain.  I immediately assumed that as a 32 year old it was perfectly reasonable to add pre- menopausal to my list of possible ailments. I looked it up, it can happen at 32. It can happen younger for Pete’s sake, so why not?  Well, at least if I was about to enter menopause, at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the ovarian cyst any longer.  I could get used to the hot flashes.

Sleep disturbances are totally normal for me, so I wasn’t even really trying to figure out why I wasn’t able to sleep till 8 am and why I was sleeping till 5 pm.  Those were pretty close to my normal hours anyways. The only thing was I found myself too exhausted to go out. This is truly a shocking development, as for the last few years of un or under-employment I had become almost a professional partier. But now,  I couldn’t even be bothered to take a shower. I would be on the guest list +2 every night and  all I wanted to do was layabout and read and nap.  I had become a house cat. It was this that led me to believe I had sunk deep into depression or maybe I had Chronic Fatigue.  The CF self-diagnosis was convenient because the diagnosis is so vague anyways.

I always have to pee so that also wasn’t such a concern.  I drink tons of water, but that is mainly to deal with the tons of bourbon I (used to) drink. The only nausea I experience was when I was my bartender friend poured me a shot of Wild Turkey because I was in the bar dressed as a turkey.  Yeah, that’s a long story.

Alas, I was beginning to not fit into much of my clothing.  I was eating like a manatee after all, so that would make sense. But, really it was more than that.  I may have been in denial, but I’m not stupid.  I knew what it all added up to.  I just didn’t want to know.  I was hoping my patented Immaculate Intervention method would work for me and if I didn’t really confirm it, I could miscarry and not be sad about being a poor vessel.  Once I knew, for sure, I would have to make a decision.

Abortion seemed to be the obvious answer. A single, 32 year old, party animal who lives in a ware house with three guys and four dogs and is living by the seat of her pants is not exactly what one thinks of when they think of a good time or person for motherhood.  I’m not at all pro-life. I mean, sure, live. But, I’m not even pro-choice. I would say I’m more, well, not pro-abortion, because that just seems wrong, but pro-planning and pro-doing the right thing for all parties involved. This was not how I had “planned” my journey into motherhood starting.  God, “journey into motherhood” sounds so ridiculous. But, what is this? My abrupt transition? My sudden realization that this is what is going to happen? My one thing in life I can’t procrastinate about? Fuck it. I don’t know. It is what it is.

Maybe adoption was the way to go. After searching around the internet for a bit, I knew couldn’t possibly let some bible-thumping weirdos from Temecula or Salt Lake City raise my child.  Oh no.  Not this kid.  I decided it would have to be a nice gay family.  I had a lot to choose from.  I read hundreds of stories. I read their websites and looked at their pictures.  I was the first time I cried about my pregnancy. Reading the stories of how they met and how much they wanted to raise a child together made tears stream down my face.  I felt for them. I really wanted to help them, but it made me feel so callous.  I was carrying this one thing that so many people would be willing to mortgage their houses for or fly around the world for and I was going to just give it away.  Actually, that’s a lie.  I was hoping to make some money on it.  Trade it for a new car.  Yeah, I know, it’s horrible. I’m not proud of myself for that, but like all of this, it is what it is.

It was that experience, the looking for adoptive parents experience that made me realize I was an ass. Here I was, at the perfect age for child rearing, carrying a child that would no doubt be beautiful (as I’m a looker and so is it’s dad) and smart (daddy’s super smart and I’m pretty bright) and it was here.  It was healthy because it was still there.  After 10 weeks of partying it was still there.  After the hot tubs, the smoking, the drinking, the coffee and being cinched into corsets it was still there.  I was even lucky enough to have relieved myself from my very high pressure, high stress job a while ago and had learned to cut my expenses and live cheaply.  I no longer needed to make tons of money, I could be even happier with less. I was at least in a good situation to have a child and actually get to raise it myself instead of plunking it in daycare or with a nanny.

I decided to do it. To keep it. I notified the father via text message. I quit drinking. I quit smoking and I switched to half caff. Those double pink lines had just changed everything.

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