When I was a young and extremely immature 19-year-old, I went to the doctor for what felt like the 20th time with a persistent and lingering bladder infection. My GP was inclined to treat me like he was my Pediatrician, which somehow bordered on endearing. During the course of my visit we had the following conversation:
Me: “Just wondering ummm…does a bladder infection make your period stop?” (Note: Yes I do realize how positively STUPID this all sounds now)
GP: “I would be inclined to say noooooo – I believe that we need to do a pregnancy test!” (I am now secretly hating this silly man)
Me: “??????????????????”
Around 15 minutes later we are having the following conversation:
GP: “Well young lady – it looks like we’re pregnant!” (I now want to beat this silly man)
Me: “WAIT – I CAN’T BE PREGNANT I’M ON ORTHO 777. ISN’T IT SUPPOSED TO BE SOMETHING LIKE 99.9% EFFECTIVE?!”
GP: “Indeed – however for YOU it appears to have been 0% effective”
Me: (I believe I may have passed out around this time)
I should point out that at this age, I didn’t even like kids. I had no interest in babies whatsoever – especially after a traumatic encounter with my cousin Scott when I was 10 years old. Seemingly, I was holding him up to the mirror (he would have been about 4 months old) and I DROPPED him into the sink. I actually DROPPED A BABY INTO THE SINK. See how shitty my maternal instincts were even at 10 years old? He was crying really really hard, so hard in fact he was making absolutely no sound, but his face was red. I thought I might have damaged his little brain. After a few minutes he stopped crying and everything seemed to be fine. I secretly watched him for years afterwards – just for little things, like – was he maybe a little bit slow? Fortunately he turned out just fine and by the way, he knows…
Pregnancy for me was like some sort of sick cosmic joke. It was MC Hammer time (1985-86) and I was able to get away without having to wear maternity clothes thanks to shaker knit sweaters and my “Hammer time” pants. (For those not in the “know” Hammer time pants were these long black stretchy pants that were sort of loose at the top with a kind of yolk around the waist. They were devilishly perfect for a terrified 19-year-old trying to hide a pregnancy from her parents. Forgive me if I don’t go into any detail about the “donor”. He has never been a father to my daughter, nor has he ever contributed personally or financially towards her wellbeing. Having said that, I don’t believe he deserves even an honorable mention in our blog.
I spent a lot of time in Victoria with my girlfriend Cathy and her husband Gregg. They were both significantly older than me, although they didn’t have any children of their own. They were quasi parents to me in a sense and they pulled me down from the ledge on many occasions (figuratively not literally). One evening we were going out for dinner and when I stepped out of the bedroom, I heard Cathy’s audible gasp. Before I even had a chance to feel good about myself, she was leading me back into the bedroom by the arm all the while saying:
Cathy: “OH – No no no no no no no no”
Me: “What???”
Cathy: (Gently nudging me towards the mirror) “What do you see?”
Me: “OH MY GOD – I LOOK LIKE THE MC HAMMER VERSION OF SANTA!!!”
Somewhere in my pregnancy addled brain, after I had put on my shaker knit sweater (this one a fetching powder blue) and my black MC Hammer time pants, I had committed a fatal fashion faux pas by fastening a roughly 4 inch wide belt along with ginormous buckle UNDERNEATH my pregnant stomach. Thus unwittingly creating a disaster that seemingly “…wiggled and jiggled like bowl full of jelly”. I took off the belt, put on my black jelly shoes and we left.
I was paralyzingly incapable of telling my parents that I was pregnant. It was complicated, but I was now 5.5 months pregnant. First there was the obvious – immense (and inevitably vocal) disapproval, but also, I knew that I was letting them down. My mom had actually noted that I had gained weight, even WITH my baggy clothing, (Oh how nothing escaped her eagle eye) which she asked me about. We had the following conversation:
Mom: “Have you put on some weight?’
Me: “Well it’s actually kind of funny that you should ask me that” (I could tell by the look on her face that she was NOT about to find any of this funny – it was like she just knew)
Mom: (At this point she is not saying anything, but she is staring at me in that way that makes people feel really uncomfortable, I tend to babble aimlessly in these situations.)
Me: “Well the funny part is – I think I might be pregnant!” (I sort of stupidly flapped my hands around at this point – I was probably going for a clap {I am an incessant clapper} but thought better of it, then didn’t know what to do with my hands)
Mom: “What do you mean you MIGHT be? You either are or you aren’t” (this was indeed a good point)
Me: “Well…yes then, a little?” (As if the thought has just occurred to me after I have deeply questioned MYSELF)
Scary Mad Mom: “And how far along might a little pregnant be?” (Why does she always have to complicate matters with things like details?)
Me: “5.5 months…”
Scariest Yet Mad Mom: “BILL!!!!” (reinforcements have been summoned)
The Accidental Parent 