Part I ~ Part II ~ Part III ~ Part IV ~ Part V ~ Part VI ~ Part VII ~ Part VIII ~ Part IX ~ Part X
The Kris Story, Part XI
or...The Choice
5.13.8
Soon we had moved into our very own apartment in the Hickory Ridge development, which at the time was a decent little community with a lot of genuine diversity. We were so proud of ourselves and our independence. I had a (fairly crappy) job at Papa Murphy's, while she had found herself another waitressing job, this time at Zio's Italian Kitchen. She still made most of our money, but for once I was pulling some of my own weight. Being the man of the house, though, I still silently insisted on making most of the financial decisions. It wasn't a conscious choice really, so much as it just usually worked out that way. She acquiesced this unintentional arrogance, which was a fault of mine, perhaps. I think this was really just my misguided way of feeling that I was somehow taking care of her, though.
Our sex life, however, hadn't improved one bit. We still had the same barren schedule as when we had lived with my mother. I found myself increasingly frustrated by what I saw as a slight against me. Considering her sexual past, it seemed odd that she would suddenly be so opposed to the prospect of sleeping with me. I was certain that she enjoyed our intimate times together, a fact made all the more apparent by the constant fresh scars on my back. In fact, over the years I had been forced to slowly wean her from this pleasure induced scratching habit of hers, the pain from which never failed to take me out of the moment.
Unfortunately, the infrequency of our encounters did nothing to stop her from getting pregnant (nor did the birth control pills she supposedly took). She conceived on December 31st, 2003...a rare night when she was imbibed enough to actually let her fiancée touch her. At least, that's when it supposedly happened. The nurse who had administered the test initially gave us a somewhat different start date (one that seemed to correspond more with one of Kris' ever popular late nights out, actually...although I never mentioned this thought even as it crossed my mind). It wasn't until I pointed out this discrepancy that I was offered a wishy-washy explanation about how New Year's Eve could have indeed been the date as well. I accepted the answer, but still secretly harbored some doubts.
When we got home we had that inevitable discussion...the one that began with, "What are we going to do?" and subsequently, "What do you mean, 'What are we going to do?'" She had immediately accepted the fact that we were to be parents. She began taking folic acid and researching government assistance programs like WIC and food stamps. She found comfort in the fact that her best friend, whom had also recently given birth, was seemingly "doing okay."
I was much less convinced that things were going to be alright. I saw a baby as having the ability to cause irreparable damage to our futures. Her desire to go to college? Gone. My chances of ever making a living from art? Gone. Our youthful enjoyment of life, partying with friends, travel, frivolous purchases? All gone.
Of course, not all of my motives were entirely selfish. We were a waitress and a pizza maker, just barely getting by as it was. Not only would a baby put the kibosh on many of our usual expenses, but there were serious doubts in my mind that we could even afford to take care of one, period. Certainly, we would at least have to become slaves to government welfare, a prospect which I am ideologically opposed to, but even then...let's face it: We weren't exactly great providers.
Perhaps my biggest concern, however, was that I would grow to resent a child as time went on. I feared that I would end up blaming it for the suddenly lost decades of my inevitably unexciting life (a view that was surely overly pessimistic of me).
It wasn't that I didn't want her to be the mother of my child one day. I very much did. I wanted to be able to provide the best life possible for it, though. We simply weren't ready, and having always been the more cautious and logical half of our couple, I was the one left with the responsibility of mentioning it. I told her from the start that the choice was in her hands, of course, but felt that my involvement in the matter had at least earned me the opportunity to state my case. She sat on the couch listening as I paced back and forth in my usual manner, laying out each of these points and thoughts on the subject. My presentation may have been a bit detached and too straight-forward, but it was still a long, tough, emotional conversation. She argued with me nearly every step of the way, but I was satisfied that I was at least being heard on the matter.
When I was done, she told me that she would have to think things through a bit before giving me an answer. I told her that was fine and we spent the remainder of the day in mostly strained silence. Each time she did open her mouth to speak, I listened intently, waiting to hear if she had made her decision.
Eventually she said, "I've been thinking about it and...you're right." She went on to echo nearly all of the points made in my stump speech, agreeing that as hard as it would be, perhaps an abortion really was the best option for us. I told her sincerely how sorry I was but assured her that I felt she was making the right decision.
Over the next week, she made the appointment and went down for the procedure. This was followed by a relatively brief period of visible mourning. The only advice I offered her at that point was not to hold anything in. If she was ever feeling depressed or having any trouble coping, I wanted her to make sure to talk to me about it. The last thing I wanted was for this to eat away at her from the inside. I really did try my best to be as supportive as humanly possible.
During those first days, though, she refused to even talk about the event (outside of indifferent reports of residual physical pain from the procedure). As her body healed, it seemed, so too did her psychological state. Soon everything was back to normal. We had apparently averted a life-changing event, and though the ethical dilemma involved was hard on both of us, we were moving on with our lives.
Parenthood was going to have to wait, obviously, but in the meantime everything was OK.
To be continued...
