Page 53 of Skating the Blue Line
“I’m pregnant and I’m going to keep it.” That’s the first time I've said what I’ve decided out loud and it feels like a weight has been lifted. I didn’t have to tell her I was keeping the baby, she probably already assumed it, but I needed to say it for me.
Saying it made it all that more real.
Saying it made me one hundred percent confident in my decision.
There’s silence on the other side.
She's probably thinking of still jumping on a plane and yelling at me in person.
“You’re pregnant?” my mother asks, her voice a bit shaky.
I nod as if she were in the room with me. “Yeah, I found out last week.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks, the shake that was just there gone and in its place is something else. It's probably anger.
“Because I was scared.” I admit.
“Why would you be scared of telling me something like this?”
Is she serious? Both me and my sister heard the same lecture every single day when we both started dating.
No babies. Not until you are married.
“Because you always told us to not get pregnant unless we were married, that's why.”
“Oh, mija. I only did that so that you and your sister would be safe in your choices. Not to scare you when you were older. You’re almost thirty, telling me that you’re pregnant shouldn’t terrify you.”
Safe in our choices?
Is this woman for real?
I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-two because I was afraid to get pregnant and have my mother hate me.
Hell, I felt that way now.
“So you’re not going to lecture me?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Why would I lecture you? You’re an adult, you don’t need me to lecture you for this.”
I guess I was scared about nothing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” I say to her.
“It’s okay. If I had to guess, I would say that you didn’t call me because you were trying to figure out what the best choice was for you and when you made that decision you decided to call.”
My mom knows me so damn well.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Are you happy with this decision?” she asks, her question taking me by surprise.
I pause but I don’t even think about my answer.
“Yeah, I think so.” I admit.
I don’t even have to ask to know that she is trying to dissect my answer. “Tell me your thought process,” my mom suggests.
She will forever be the counselor.
