Maddie's Journal

February 21, 2018

I know it's been a while since I've written, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Because since my last entry, nothing is the same. And I don't want that to be the truth of my life, but... this is where I am. This is it, and I can't hide from it forever.

I'm pregnant.

And writing it—seeing the words on the page there in front of me—just makes it that much more real. And I hate it.

It's all felt totally surreal. Like I'm me, but I'm not me anymore either. Like I'm a shell of myself, a shell inhabited only by what's now growing inside me. Like I'm awake, but this isn't real life anymore. I don't WANT it to be real life anymore.

I kept my word to myself. I took that first pregnancy test the day after I wrote my last entry. And it came up positive. So did the three others I took. But I didn't want to believe any of them. Told myself they were wrong, that I'd believe it when the doctor told me it was true.

Well, she did. And I still didn't want to believe it. I kept it to myself for that long, but told Emily after my appointment. It was like once I knew, I couldn't keep it quiet any longer. I couldn't be alone in it anymore. I told Mom and the boys not longer after that. And to say they were disappointed is an understatement. I mean, none of them really SAID as much, but they didn't have to. I could see it in their faces. Mom's especially. Mark and Will were clearly stunned, but she was shocked. Not in a good way. The boys hugged me, offered what was clearly half-hearted congratulations, but she didn't. She just went into the kitchen to start dinner. Didn't offer a word of comfort. She's been reassuring since, but not that day. And I can't seem to get that initial reaction out of my head. And to make matters even worse, the first thing Mark asked me was if it was Harry's.

I've been crying for weeks now. Teary even when I'm not full-on sobbing—guess that's part of this whole pregnancy deal. But the thing is, it SHOULD be Harry's. I can't believe it's not. I can't believe that this happened—what I've done. I thought about getting rid of it. Thought about ending this here. Harry would never even have to know. But... I can't. I know that's ridiculous, but I can't seem to do it. Can't even fathom doing it.

There's a BABY inside me. And even though it's not Harry's, it's MINE. That's the feeling that's been winning out. Despite all the hatred I have for this situation, all the hatred I have for what I've done to get myself here, I can't make myself hate this baby. Resent it? Yes. But hate? It's like it's impossible. Like my body's been programmed to do everything it can to protect it, despite what my thoughts might say otherwise.

So, I told Rob last night. Because I'm a solid month into this now, and he needed to know. And I thought maybe, just MAYBE, if he didn't want the baby, if he hesitated even the slightest bit, I'd be able to actually, really consider an abortion. But, of course, he didn't. OF COURSE he couldn't have looked happier once the initial shock went away. His whole stupid, pretty face lit up, and even though my heart's been in turmoil since I found out, part of it was relieved he was so happy, too.

It's the most confusing mix of emotions I've ever dealt with, and every so often, the very real fact that there's a BABY growing inside me will completely overwhelm me until I need to sit down and hang my head between my knees. I'm disgusted with myself. Disgusted with my inability to put myself out of this misery.

But that's the other thing. It's not just about me anymore. It's about this baby. I did this to myself—the baby didn't do anything to me. Why should the baby suffer for my mistakes?

All of this has made me think a lot about Dad, too. What he would say, how he would react. I think he would've been disappointed at first, definitely surprised, but I think he would be telling me the same thing I'm telling myself—that I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. And I think he would've been incredibly supportive, even though all of this was a mistake. He would've been behind me 100%. He would've been there with me every step of the way, and he would've loved this baby with all of his heart.

I wish he was here. I wish I could talk to him, just once more. I think—no, I KNOW—that none of this would have happened if he were still here. He was the only person who could talk me down when I built things up in my head. He would've talked me down when it came to all my worries about Harry. I mean, if he hadn't passed, Harry and I would more than likely still be together. This baby would've been his, as it was SUPPOSED to be. 

But that's not what happened. Dad's not here, and he's never coming back. I still need him though, especially now. He'd know exactly what to say to make me feel better. Exactly what to say to reassure me that I CAN do this. He'd also know exactly what I should do about Harry.

I can't write about him yet. But that doesn't mean I've stopped thinking about him.

Madelyn