Dear, I'm Pregnant #1

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Dear I'm Pregnant #2 blog post

Dear, I’m pregnant...

Gosh.
Well, I have dated myself with my first word. Gosh. Where do I begin?
Being afraid, and the big scurry to deal with, oh shit, I’m pregnant.
I don’t think “times” have changed too much even tho the word Gosh is dated.


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​I do remember the innate feeling of wanting to hide what one has been doing, hiding getting caught being sexually permissive. Or sexually stupid, would have been my case. I was ignorant. I look at that as a self-choice. 
When fear shook me into a state, to clean this mess up quickly so I won't get caught by my parents. Nothing, I mean nothing else seemed to matter. Scurry/hide/the evidence.
​Not even who I was, a loving, kind, extremely-capable, motivated young woman. 
Dear, I‘m pregnant, I don’t suppose my personal high and sight, is part of your “nothing else seems to matter” right now. 
Couple of things you're already thinking about:
Parents!
At that juncture, I never gave my parents the credit for their love for me by telling them. Well, that is, this time.
And when I did have an abortion, I was married, or at the end of a marriage, so society wouldn’t hang me up for being pregnant. I did share with my folks I was pregnant. And to their credit, they held my hand marvelously down the isle of choice and decision. 
It took many years later for me to mature enough to challenge my choice and decision and measure it against that “loving, kind, very capable motivated young woman. She never left, but was hidden under a pile of? 
Not knowing herself.

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That’s enough for today.
​Dear, I’m pregnant: I love you and wanted you to know I spent a few moments hearing your heart today. ​

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