Life in General Pregnancy

I’m Expecting and I’m Doing it Alone: Part Three (End)

Part One

Part Two


A week pass since I tell the Philosopher he was the father of my child.

He continues to message me during this time. He’s flirty and quick to banter. But he never brings up our child. We agree to meet up on Friday for a kind of a date. And then come Friday, he tells me he’s not feeling amorous and that he wants to have a serious conversation.

I was at work when I received this message and I was instantly brought down. My boss tried her best to cheer me up but she knew I had him on my mind. And on the ride to his place, my anxiety grew and grew.

He welcomed me into his home, smiles and hugs like usual. I sit down quickly and ask him what he wants to talk to me about.

Mr. Philosopher tells me I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.

He proceeds to tell me how young I am. How screwed up my life is. How naive I am being. How could I possibly consider bringing a child into this kind of world?

“I feel like you wouldn’t be keeping this baby if you didn’t have issues before,” he tells me.

I don’t disagree. I am young–numerically. My life was screwed up. I was pregnant from a man who wasn’t my abusive husband. And I was living back home with screwed up credit and no car. I was naive to think that when a doctor says you can’t get pregnant, it was the gospel truth.

“But why wouldn’t I bring this baby into this world?” I asked.

Mr. Philosopher wasn’t a moron living out of his car. He wasn’t where he wanted to be in life but hell, a baby could be the motivation he needed. For once in my life I had a job that would not only take care of me but also this child. Being home meant I had parents who would love and spoil the hell out of their grandchild. This child was going to be completely surround by unconditional love.

“So what do you want?” I asked, slightly offended with his assessment of my life.

“I don’t know. Part me doesn’t want this, but is thrilled to have done this for you. Like a kind of sperm donor. Then the other part is like, don’t be a fucking asshole and accept your responsibility.”

I explained to him how I understood that this was a big deal, especially since we only knew each other for a couple of months. But as I saw it, we had three options:

Option 1: He walked completely away. My child wouldn’t have his name. He would have no rights or obligations to my child.

Option 2: We tried co-parenting. We would take sex completely off the table and simply dedicate our lives to our child. The child would stay with me but he would have equal say in how our child was raised and parented.

Option 3: We become a couple. We become committed to one another. We didn’t have to move in together, we didn’t even have to get married. But we would share our lives from there on out and be a loving family

And then I asked if he had told anybody. The answer was no. He hadn’t told his parents, his family or friends. And I had told everybody.

I told him he needed to talk to somebody who wasn’t me. And he needed to decide what he wanted from me. Because I didn’t have the time or a patience to raise a baby and a man.

Another week passes and while I was working, I get a text message from him that he wanted to talk. I can guarantee he didn’t tell any of his family about me or the baby. I could tell he was pulling back. That he was putting distance between us. And being hormonal and staying true to my promise that I wouldn’t cry in front of another man, I told him if he was going to walk away, I wanted him to tell me then and there.

He apologizes and tells me our child deserved somebody who was all in. And he wasn’t. I told him I hoped the next family he started was worth his time and dedication.

That was that.

A couple of weeks pass and I have my first prenatal appointment. I see my child for the first time. I saw its arms and legs wiggling around. Saw the heartbeat. So being sentimental, I texted the pictures of my child to Mr. Philosopher. He told me he was very happy for me.

And then he blocked me.

Now and then I get sad. I wonder what the hell I’m doing and how I’m going to do it by myself. I get jealous of the women who have their men pampering them, adoring the growing bump. And then I see another picture of my baby. Hear the heartbeat, and I think to myself it’s his vision that’s faulty. There’s not a damn thing wrong with being afraid but there is with being a coward. My child is going to the most amazing person in our lives. And he’s choosing to miss that.

His loss.

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