Under extreme duress, I revisit the diaries I kept when I was pregnant with my son.
Publish date:
July 18, 2012
relationships, pregnant, single mother, diaries, Sex,

So, Rebecca has convinced me that making the diary I kept whilst pregnant (and alone) public would be cathartic. Or at least a salacious read.

My actual diary from those glory days

Either way, I have given my consent to it and am hoping you’re going to be kind. Or at least refrain from pitchforks.

I say this because my son is my greatest joy but he’s also a constant reminder of the one thing I am truly ashamed of doing in my life. No, it’s not making a "Basic Instinct"-style play for the boy my friend and I both liked during our GCSEs, or the time I drank a bottle of wine at lunch one day then threw up the salami sandwich I just ate in the work toilets then trying to blame the salami.

It’s the fact that Gabe’s father was married. And not to me.

Feel free to judge me, but you couldn’t possibly judge me as harshly as I do myself. Incidentally, karma has thoroughly kicked my arse back to karmic equality now, believe me.

And having the thing you most love in this world also be a constant reminder of your weakness is a great lesson in humility. One I learn every day.

And repeatedly I face people’s rightful prejudice. When I met the mothers at my son’s nursery and we became friends, telling them how Gabe came into this world was tough, as they’re all married. I don’t want to be thought of as a husband-stealing ho. But, I can see their point.

I’ve seen all the hurt I caused, I talked to his wife and I don’t want to be part of the reason anyone feels like that ever again.

I’m sorry for my parents, too -- that I shamed them with my behaviour. It’s gutting knowing I let them down. I try and make it up to them by being the best mother I can be.

And while there are no excuses, all I will say is that I fell head over heels with this man. It wasn’t a quick leg-up in the bushes. We talked for months before he declared his love and I gave it up.

I’m also that lucky/unlucky girl that got knocked up the first time we had sex. It seemed like a sign that things were meant to be. It wasn’t.

However, I was 25 and thought I’d just met the man I should have married. Now I know I had a very lucky escape when he left me three months pregnant and basically had a mental breakdown.

A breakdown that involved disappearing off the face of the world for two years, drinking, shagging and basically not giving a shit about me or his son. My hero.

So, I know what I did was wrong and I would NEVER do it again, and I’ve stopped a few good friends making the same mistake; they know if I frown on it, it’s got to be bad. So, hopefully I’m slowly earning my good karma back.

I've cropped Dan out of this picture. I blame all those cocktails for a lot.

Tuesday 13th March 2007:

10 weeks pregnant. 
Have been meaning to start a diary since I found out I was pregnant. Which, by the way took place in the toilets at work -- not the most luxurious or sensible of places.

But, after my period being a week late and my boobs seriously aching and my pill packet laying unopened, Tash and Gem finally convinced me to go and buy a test. I bought a pack of two -- they’re actually pretty cheap these days.

Anyway, I’d also bought a pair of boots that lunchtime which ironically were called "Dallas" and cost £80 which considering I then found out I was going to have a baby I really should have taken back -- ah well!! (I met Dan on a press trip to Texas including a couple of nights in Dallas. Drunk times. Good steak.)

So, I took the test and yes, it was positive. There was the extra blue line down the middle that made my knees give out and cause me to have a serious case of the shakes.

I tried ringing Tash, but she was in a meeting so I went back into the office, walked past the desk she was at, talking to the marketing manager and just mouthed "Fuck" at her -- she immediately knew what I meant. Girls, eh?

We then took a walk around Hanover Square and Tash chain-smoked the whole way, I think she was more in shock than me. Perhaps I was just in denial.

And then I texted Dan and told him to ring me. Which he did 15 minutes later and I told him. We were both pretty normal and happy as we usually are and which is what got us into this situation in the first place.

I think I was happy from the moment I found out and I was excited and immediately wanted to keep it. Can’t say the man felt the same. We talked a lot about pros and cons of keeping/not keeping the baby and every time we agreed to NOT keep it, I felt really sad and miserable and just couldn’t find that feeling where you know you’ve made the right decision even if it’s a hard decision.

So finally I spoke to my mum and told her, which was really scary, but she constantly surprises me. Her looking at it positively just made me feel free to make the right decision for me, regardless of my relationship with Dan. [I am aware that this makes me sound quite selfish, surely it should have been the best thing for the child and many would say it definitely needed a dad. But I was 25. I was quite selfish.]

So I did. And I chose to have it, to keep my baby. I knew that all along really. Mum is really excited, she thought her and dad would be grandparents by 2008 -- looks like they were a year out.

Anyway, three weeks ago I worked up the courage to tell Dan that I was keeping the baby. I sent him a text -- not ideal, but I just needed him to know and I was scared. The next day he moved out of his and his wife’s home and went to his mother’s. It was a bad day all round.

To be continued.