12. Nobody Ever Says, "I wanna be a baby mama when I grow up"

I waited until Monday evening to call BD. Partly because I knew he’d been out of town that weekend for Homecoming -- Digital and I always met up at our alma mater around this time of year. When he texted me to ask if I’d be going down, I didn’t respond. -- The other part of me had waited a couple of days to make the call because I had no idea what I was going to say. I mean, besides the obvious. I had no plan to propose, no suggestions to make ... I was at a complete loss. What I did know is that my child needed a father.

My mind was still racing, phone to my ear. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, how are you?” I began.

“Hey Melyssa. Long time no hear.”

“I’ve been really busy. Made a few changes. How was Home Coming?”

He humored me with a few obligatory details about how great it was to be back on campus and see old friends and who won the game and yadda yadda ..

“So how’re you?” He finally finished.

“I finally found a new apartment,” I said. “And I’ve been looking for a new job.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear things are going well for you. And I’m glad you called. I was beginning to think you didn’t want anything more to do with me.”

“No, it’s not like that.”

My heart was pounding. I couldn’t wait any longer. The conversation was winding down with pauses and if I didn’t tell him now, we’d say our goodbyes and I would not be calling him back.

“Um, BD. I called because I needed to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

Another long pause.

“You wanna come around here?” He asked. “Come now. I’m home.”

And 20 minutes later I was back in that place. Everything looked the same, only, smaller. His place was tiny. Though built with a wall partitioning the bedroom/living area from the kitchen, you could hardly call it a one bedroom apartment. It was a tight little space that, scanning the walls from my seat on the futon now, I could not fathom having shared with him for months.

He was boiling water for tea as I studied cracks in the wall and dingy spots on the ceiling I hadn’t seen before. I looked down at the ratty spread covering the lumpy futon I was sitting on and began to physically recoil.

“Here. Sugar, right?” BD said handing me a mug. I smiled and accepted it. He sat his down and remained standing.

“You’re pregnant, right?”

I hadn’t swallowed yet, or I would’ve choked. I was glad he said it though. I’d been preparing to form the words all weekend and could not.

“I took a test” I said.

“Are you sure “““

“Two tests,” I interjected. I would not be bringing news like this to him if I wasn’t sure. Besides, they came in a pack of two. No sense in wasting the second one.

He slumped down next to me, hunching his back and burrying his face in his hands. I’d had days to cry, scream, pray and stare aimlessly out the window. I was composed at this point. 

“So, how, I mean, what are you “¦” He let his voice trail off.

“I thought about an abortion. I don’t want to do that,” I told him.

“Then what do you want to do?” He looked up at me with watery eyes. “I can’t be a father. I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Me neither,” I quipped.

“But I don’t believe in abortion either ... But how can we have a baby ... Oh God ...” He was talking this thing through, aloud. Wrapping his mind around how thoroughly and irrevocably his life had just changed with the utterance of two words.

I was just waiting. I had no more to say, really than I had when I knocked on the door. And he’d said that much for me.

BD talked himself in circles. “What are we gonna do?” He finally asked me. “What do you want to do?”

“I can’t do this by myself. I can’t raise a baby alone. I want my baby to have a mom and a dad in the house with him,” I blurted out before I could edit myself. This was my unadulterated fear.

I’d never thought I had much in common with them. Single mothers, working two or three jobs, raising children alone that they did not conceive alone. I couldn’t even see myself living that life. I’d always envisioned this wonderful fairy tale relationship, the ring, the wedding the house, then the baby. With my husband, not just my baby’s daddy. That sounds so ugly.

“What are you saying, Mel? You wanna get married?” It wasn’t said like an offer or half proposal, but more like a you-can’t-be-serious-but-just-in-case-you-are-I-need-you-to-vocalize-for-the-record-that-you-are-not-because-that-shyt-is-crazy.

“No,” I said calming his obvious protest. “I don’t mean that, I just mean ... I can’t care for a baby by myself.” His face was not one of relief, so I backed up even more. “At least at the beginning. I’ll need you there at night and in the mornings.”

I’d gone from wanting a life partner and full time father for my child to settling for a science project buddy. You know, like when you shared an egg in the sixth grade? I was clearly in a position of desperation.

“I gotta think about this Melyssa. I mean, you know I’m gonna be there for my child, whatever happens. But, about being together ...”



Wow. Did he have to say it like that? What am I begging? It’s not as if I want to be with him either. What I want is to make the best of a bad situation.

But in crystal clear hindsight, I know now it wasn’t just for concern for my child that I’d wept that day, that I’d all but begged BD to help build this makeshift family upon sinking sand. It was also this overwhelming fear of becoming a statistic, used goods, somebody’s baby’s mama and nobody’s wife. That is a form of vanity. And that pride would lead me into a situation that would soon have me wishing for the opportunity to live this day again. This moment when I have a choice and my and my child’s fate is in my hands. It would never be that way again.

I was certainly about to get what I’d asked for.

Originally posted on March 3, 2008