Well it’s done. I suppose I should feel relieved it’s all over, everyone at the clinic were so nice and it was exactly like they said it would be: quick and painless.
“It’s just a little tadpole” the nurse had called it. It was meant to reassure me, like a tadpole was insignificant. Instead it made me think of something precious and fragile. Something to protect.
He had been wonderful obviously, had said all the right things. Totally my decision, he’ll support me whatever I decide. Yet he had made so many other little subtle comments about how young we were, and how we hadn’t been going out that long, and how it would definitely happen “one day”. And he seemed to convey through use of clever disguised words that “one day” was unequivocally not now. Not today.
If my intuition hadn’t already made it clear to me what his real thoughts on the situation were his enormous smile, bear hug and “ohhh Mist you’ll see it’ll be for the best- maybe we can go skiing in a few weeks now” after I had suggested the procedure had definitely cemented it in my mind.
Skiing! Like I wanted to be jovial and celebrate the whole thing- quick let’s hit the slopes now there’s no baby to damage or save for!
I had tossed and turned over the decision but what else could I do? Forcing a baby onto a father that had made it clear he wasn’t ready wouldn’t be fair on anyone.
I went to the clinic.
He came with me and held my hand, he stroked my hair and asked me if I wanted magazines. Yet not once did he ask me “are you sure?”…even when I stared at the exit with heavy tears in my eyes.
After it was over he kissed my forehead and took me home so I could rest.
He went into the living room and put on the TV and started giggling at a comedy: completely unaware that I was using the pillow to stifle my relentless sobs.