A Whole Bunch of Whys...

Hi everyone (:

I know my blog is sounding more like a story at the moment, but don't worry, I just want to get you all up to date with the events of here and now. Also, lots of my experiences I had while I was pregnant shaped the way I think and see life now, so I feel it's important for me to share. I hope you don't mind. This next entry is called 'A Whole Bunch of Whys...'

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It was the question I had been dreading being asked: 'Why didn't you use protection?' When I shrugged and couldn't give an answer, the next inevitable 'why' came: 'Why did you do it in the first place?' That one was easy.

"Because I loved him," would come the quiet reply.

Please notice the use of the past tense in 'loved'. I have come to the conclusion that 'love' is a subjective term, subject to circumstance and the extreme levels of hormones rushing around the body. True love? Jury's still out on that one.

My mum was in one way the hardest, and another way the easiest person to tell. So many times when we'd be sitting quietly in the kitchen, drinking tea, or walking to the park in content silence I'd think, Now. Now is the time to tell her. But I just couldn't get the words out.

Every day I put on a front of normal, happy Heather. It was the summer holidays and I didn't have any obligations or demands that needed to be met. I should have been peaceful, but inside my emotions were in turmoil. I felt like the two masks of drama, glued together in expressions of delight and despair.

Little things began to slip through. 'Tummy ache?' Mum would ask, when she regularly came across me absent-mindedly rubbing my belly. I was getting plumper - normal clothes still fit but I felt frumpy and unattractive in them. I'd spend all night sitting crying in the bathroom, then get shouted at when someone found me asleep there in the morning.

It was 2am in the morning when mum found me sitting on the stairs, crying. 'Oh sweetie, what's wrong? You haven't been telling me something for weeks!' she said. I sobbed into her shoulder saying, 'I can't, I can't!'

'Why not?' she asked, perplexed. 

'You'd be mad at me!' I wailed, 'Really upset!'

At this moment my stepdad walked by. 'What's wrong with her?' he asked. Mum shrugged helplessly and shooed him away. Somehow we made it to the sofa and I told her, 'Remember how we went to the doctors because my period was never regular and she said don't worry? Well I was scared and I took a test and- and- and-' I broke down again.

Mum held me close and said nothing for a moment. Then she said quietly, 'I need to ask... is it-?'

'Yes,' I mumbled, 'yes, it's his'.

I still admire the way my family handled the situation. She got my permission to tell my stepdad, and instantly they sat down and started making plans, lists, figuring out dates and appointments. Eventually he thought to ask me, 'Well the main thing is, are you keeping it?'

I considered for a second. 'Yes, of course,' I decided.

And so it began.