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Perhaps it was because I never took the pill at the same time, maybe it was the fact that I mixed antibiotics and the birth control pill and maybe it out of sheer laziness. Regardless I hid this fact from everyone and now have to come clean for the guilt is eating me up.
Let me start off by saying that I love my children dearly and wouldn’t trade them for anything; except maybe a million bucks, a shiny new Corvette and a beach house (kidding….I think). But this was not supposed to be the way my life turned out.
Let’s start off with baby number one.
I was 21, in a serious relationship, living with my boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé and I was finishing up University. He was a great guy with a great job with a great car and we were happy. I didn’t want a baby.
Until that fateful day that I was working my horrific job that I absolutely hated and a co-worker came in post baby. She was glowing with happiness after just working out at the gym where she dropped her baby in the gym daycare while she worked out. She looked great, felt great and seemed genuinely happy that she was going to be a stay at home mom once her maternity leave ran out. I wanted her life and I wanted it now.
It’s not that I am a bad worker; in fact I am a hard worker with a desire to be better than everyone around me but at the time I HATED working. In my delusional 21-year-old brain I thought to myself; "Maybe I should just have a baby.”
Looking back at this moment I must not have noticed the bags under her eyes from not sleeping, I must have missed the part where she said motherhood is really freaking hard and I must have missed the part where being a stay-at-home mom is not the easy option.
I knew my boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiancé wanted kids. In fact it was something that had come up time and time again because before this exact moment I had been ADAMANT I did not want them. So I started being even lazier about taking my birth control on time. Sometimes I even skipped it more than once, until it became fewer days that I actually took it than didn’t. Let’s be clear; this was not something I shared with my boyfriend.
I sort of thought I was infertile; there is no telling how many times I had forgotten to take it or mixed it with an antibiotic and not used a condom before this point in my life.
And then it happened; the day after we brought our new puppy home I peed on a stick for the hell of it and BAM; instant motherhood. This was what I wanted; I could grow a nice cute belly, buy new clothes, raise a mini-me and spend all my time with my baby and my husband (I was sure he wanted to get married now).
But I wasn’t happy; I was downright devastated. I didn’t want a baby, I didn’t want to give up university and I sure as hell didn’t know the first thing about raising a person.
So I cried and cried and cried until my boyfriend got home. And I swore up and down to him that I took the pill and swore I never forget. I lied my crying pregnant face off.
And I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.
I continued to lie to everyone around me and took pride in that I was that .1% of women who got pregnant on the pill.
I actually started to believe it was true.
Heck, I even told my doctor that I had no idea how I ever would have gotten pregnant.
Fast forward 6 months and there I was lying in the hospital yelling at the doctor to get this f’cking baby out of me.
I can tell you I never once made it to the gym with my new baby. I went back to work at 8 months post partum and my fiancé and I split up. Clearly not the fairytale ending I was looking for.
Two years later, I was back on the pill after trying multiple different birth control methods. I was stuck in a job I hated even though I managed to finish my schooling, I was in a relationship with a guy who treated me like crap and the only thing that s keeping me going was my son.
Unfortunately I didn't realize the guy I was with was treating me like crap (see the definition of abusive relationship) and he joked to me that he wants a baby. Right, because babies fix every relationship. NO NO NO. I am here to tell you that they do not fix any relationship.
But my teeny tiny 23-year-old brain thinks that maybe this is my second chance for a fairytale ending. We can move into a bigger house, get another dog, have a playmate for my first son, get married and maybe this time I won’t have to go back to work.
I stopped taking the pill again. And I didn’t tell a soul. Not even him. It took exactly one month. I peed on the stick while my bags were packed ready to leave him and move out.
Why would anyone, anybody sane stop taking the pill if they wanted out of the relationship so badly?
I wish my 23-year-old self could tell me. And now I was the girl who had gotten pregnant on the pill not once but twice. Because I sure as hell couldn’t tell my friends and family that I had actually wanted my abusive fiancé to father a child. I couldn’t tell them that I thought it might fix him, thought it might make him a better parent. Instead I lied.
I told them I was the rarity; that the doctor told me it was so unlikely that I better pick a new birth control method. I got my tubes tied.
My second son was born screaming and didn’t stop for the first year. Couple that with a mischievous toddler, a huge dog and an abusive fiancé and you can probably guess that fairytale didn’t work out either.
You’ll be happy to know I came to my senses and left the crappy guy. But the guilt has been eating me up for almost nine years. This wasn’t a mutual decision; it was purely a selfish decision to bring these two kids into the world.
Do I regret it? I certainly regret how I went about it, but I don’t for one second regret where my life is at now. Do I feel bad about forcing these men into fatherhood? Surprisingly, I don’t. They both love their sons very much and would do anything for them (even the jerk who finally got help).
The guilt of lying to people I care about though; that’s a tough one to swallow and I am not sure I will ever get over that.