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I Thought About Leaving My Baby at a Fire Station
An unwanted pregnancy can lead to desperation.
It was Christmas Eve and I couldn’t stop crying. My son, Graham was asleep next to me in a twin size bed. His breath was hot against my cheek, his body pressed against mine so that we could both fit on the bed, the two of us and my swollen belly.
I was six months pregnant and I had just hit the stage where everything including sleeping is uncomfortable, even if I wasn’t squished into a tiny bed with my five-year-old. My belly was on the small side, barely noticeable in the baggy sweaters I wore whenever I was forced to leave the house. During my entire pregnancy, I refused to leave the house unless it was absolutely necessary, but I became even more of a recluse once I started to show. I wasn’t ready for the world to know that I was pregnant. I had barely come to terms with it myself.
An Unwanted Pregnancy
Towards the end of the summer after an unwanted sexual encounter that happened to me when I was blacked out, I jumped into a relationship with a guy who was eight years younger than me. He was nice enough, at the start anyway, but he was never someone I would have dated if I hadn’t been through what I deem to be a sexual assault. There wasn’t any physical attraction, we were not in love, but…
