I never expected a pregnancy. I counted the usual 28 days, waited for my period, and it came right on time. I always dreamed of becoming a mother, but I wasn’t in a rush — especially not after leaving a strange, toxic relationship that had already turned physically and emotionally abusive. I finally got out, and then at the end of May, I found out I was pregnant.
I called my best friend first, panicking, and we ended up laughing because we were both in shock. I was 24 — the same age my mother had me. When I called my mom, she immediately asked, “Are you pregnant?” I said no, then yes, and told her I had already booked my appointment with Planned Parenthood.
And that moment — hearing her voice, feeling her concern — that’s when something shifted. Despite everything we’ve been through, despite the resentment I carried, she supported me in a way I didn’t expect. My love for her expanded. She became the parent I needed, the steady presence when I suddenly felt like a child all over again. She was the support the father refused to be. I praise her so much. She will be an amazing grandmother one day.
In June, I went to the Brooklyn clinic alone. The father wanted nothing to do with it and kept texting me asking if I “got it done yet.” No support, no presence. During the ultrasound, the room was so quiet I thought maybe the test had been wrong. But then the nurse turned the screen toward me, and I saw it — and I cried. I had no idea I was already six weeks. They asked if I wanted to change my mind, but I knew I couldn’t bring a child into a broken home. It felt selfish, but it also felt like protecting someone I loved.
And even with all the pain and confusion, I still think it’s so beautiful that my body got to experience pregnancy. The process itself amazed me — the changes, the tiredness, the bloating, having to pee every five seconds, the food cravings. I appreciated all of it. One day, I can’t wait to experience movement. I thank God for allowing me to feel life inside of me, even for a short time.
Every Mother’s Day, every June, I feel that emptiness. I feel sorry to the child I never got to meet. I hope one day I meet them in another form. Because no matter what, I know I am a mother.
And when I do become a mother in this lifetime, I know I’ll be a damn good mom.