I think from the day I began this blog, I have been a day late and a dollar short.
I was late jumping on the blogger bandwagon. I was a day late for Delurking Day. I'm just late late late -- chronically late.
And so it goes for today. I am a day late. I am earnest, but nevertheless late.
Yesterday was the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade. BlogHer declared it Blog for Choice Day. Everyone who wanted to could sign up to blog about being pro-choice.
I didn't know about this because, frankly, I am a non-A-list, non-BlogHer blogger, and I tend to be clueless about these things. However, I was sucker-punched when I read Mr. Lady's contribution on her blog, Whiskey in My Sippy Cup.
I highly recommend you read her post. And my comment about how I had a similar but not really story, but I could not have told it as well as she did.
Of course, these things nag at a person. And the story I have to tell came crashing back.
I was newly engaged. We had five children between us. I had three boys. He had two.
We were the the punchline to that old joke from "The Cosby Show": "You know why we have five children? Because we don't have six."
I had a long history of infertility (yes, the woman with three children -- needed artificial reproductive technology to get them), and we just KNEW there was no way for me to get pregnant the "old-fashioned way." So we played it fast and loose.
And then, in my usual fashion, I was a day late.
And then two. And then three.
In a panic, I bought a pregnancy test. They weren't so commonplace then. You couldn't buy them at the dollar store.
Two pink lines.
Holy crap. Not possible. No no no no no.
We were getting married in four months. Now THAT would be an interesting sight in a wedding dress.
We talked. I cried. We talked some more. And I continued to cry.
My youngest was 5. His youngest was 17. We were both in our 40s. We had both been crystal clear when we got engaged that we didn't want any more children.
And now I was pregnant.
Every time we discussed "that word," I cried. Every time we talked about keeping the baby, I could function, at least marginally.
When we both came to that realization -- that the idea of NOT having this baby was making me miserable -- we decided to go ahead and jump back into the gene pool, and move the wedding three months earlier.
I know what you are thinking ... that this baby turned out to be the Roo-girl.
Well, you are wrong, my friends.
I miscarried that precious life at 13 weeks, just under the 2-week-miscarriage-risk mark for chorionic villi sampling.
Among the things that hurt was having to have my wedding dress altered to account for the missing baby bump. And the result of having been pregnant, albeit by accident, made me realize that I actually ached to have another baby.
And THAT was how the Roo-girl came to be.
So why does this make me pro-choice, you might ask. After all, I couldn't actually go through with it in the end.
But here is what I learned. After all my infertility struggles, I know what it is like to carry that spark of life within me and what it takes to raise the children that spark becomes.
I instantly knew that abortion is a personal CHOICE that I would never ever ever want to take away from another woman. I just chose to say no.
Mr. Lady said it better than me. But I know it in my heart as well.