Put down the picket & backpack.

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“Murderer!” the picketers ruthlessly scream because at about five weeks in the fetal development, the baby’s brain, spinal cord, and heart begin to develop. It’s during the third week, arguably, that the zygote develops into an embryo. For my government class back in high school, I spent the better part of a term researching abortion and the various methods. I lost my appetite. I couldn’t eat when my mom called for dinner. Just shy of seven years later, the stick was positive and I found myself in an unexpected pregnancy. I wasn’t ready. And I sure as hell didn’t believe myself capable. I wasn’t exactly known for being motherly or nurturing.

No lifting more than 20lbs. you dependent weakling. Say goodbye to coffee in the morning because there’s no caffeine. I hope you love migraines; they’re the friends that eat all your food and never leave. Good luck coping after a rough day at work because there’s no drinking alcohol in the hot tub. Instead, get ready to greet your new therapist twice a week as she helps to realign your spine. Think twice if you plan to dye your hair. Stay away from the sushi, deli meats, soft cheeses, and artificial sweeteners and coloring. Hope you prefer your eggs scrambled because that yolk will be fully cooked. And you can forget about your medium cooked steak or hamburger. Double check with your doctor regarding all your medications, previously prescribed or not. Don’t you dare sleep on your back—can’t put pressure on that spinal cord—but you best be getting that recommended nine hours each night. More likely to have serious car crashes when pregnant, you may not want to get behind that wheel. Or at least drive like the grandma you will be one day because the male in your life has an even higher crash rate.

Say hello to swollen ankles and that teenage acne that is coming back like a long lost best friend. You might even want to break out the matches for the constipation, and have fun with road trips, considering the constant need to urinate. If you don’t want cramps, stay away from the ice cream—it’s just willpower, those cravings don’t mean anything. Mind over matter and all that bullshit. And if you didn’t work out regularly before, you sure aren’t starting now. It’ll have to wait at least six weeks after birth when your doctor might give you the clear. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait even longer. You think that baby is magically popping out on your due date? WRONG. You may be induced early or it may come two weeks late. You want an epidermal to deal with the pain? Well shit, your platelet count better be high enough. Otherwise, you’re breathing and cussing your way through that natural birth. But let’s not forget that average minimum thirty pound weight gain. Hell, you might as well not even get out bed. Might as well learn to love that bed rest while on maternity leave.

I didn’t know the rules. For the five days between the night I found out and my doctor’s appointment, it was a self-educating process. I had a sandwich from Jimmy John’s because that’s what we always ordered for lunch at work. I didn’t know. I was a server; my tendency to lift a heavy tray was a daily habit. Habits die hard. I prefer my eggs dippity style. What the hell am I expected to eat for breakfast? My ex (boyfriend at the time) lived across the state and had a DUI; the driving to see each other was all on me. I sleep on my stomach but suddenly my little bump wouldn’t allow it; the body pillow became my new best friend. And the morning sickness was not just the first and second trimester, and it definitely was not just in the morning. That shit did not discriminate. It partied all day for all three trimesters.

If you wield a picket sign outside an abortion clinic, you sure as hell better have gone through a complicated pregnancy because not all are a happy dance in the sunshine. And even if it is a glowing pregnancy where everything goes as planned and expected, the mother still gave up a lot. Oh, you’re a man? You can’t get pregnant? Get a backpack and fill it with thirty pounds of weights and strap the bastard on—to your front. You, sir, are in for one hell of a backpacking trip. And don’t even think about taking it off when you sleep or use the loo. That shit is glued to you.

It is not possible to force a woman to continue with an unexpected pregnancy. Pregnancy is a highly selfless act and the expecting mother must be prepared to follow through with all the limitations, eat her daily vitamins, and educate herself on proper pregnancy care. Reality is not all mothers are willing, even those who are elated and want to be a mom. Then, how can you expect a mother who doesn’t want children or who isn’t ready to undergo the battle? Because it is a battle—them hormones can be a bitch, the cravings can cost a pretty penny, and it’s useless fighting the tears.

Abortion was never an option for me, but I will never understand the abortion debate and I will always question the integrity of pro-life picketers. Pregnancy is one hell of a commitment, even if it goes as planned, the mother is “glowing,” and it’s considered a healthy one. By no means do I think abortion should be a form of birth control, and it is highly unfair that unwanted babies get aborted everyday while other couples grieve over the inability to conceive, but if a female wants to terminate a pregnancy, I doubt she is willing to provide a healthy womb for the baby.

When I was five months along and my doctor prescribed me to eat ice cream everyday because I couldn’t gain weight, Worry began to nag. When she called me at 9 P.M. to tell me I had to be at the hospital at 8 A.M. the next morning to be induced, Worry took root. When my doctor told me my platelet count was too low for an epidermal, that they were concerned my blood wouldn’t clot if I bled, Worry rammed me like a freight train. After I gave birth and my doctor told my mother it was a good thing they induced because my amniotic fluid was unhealthy, Worry was finally derailed. Worry was constant during my pregnancy and I followed every recommendation given to me. It was deep-seated and the hormones didn’t help. The pregnancy wasn’t expected but my daughter was wanted. I couldn’t imagine being in that situation as an expecting mother who didn’t want the baby, the pregnancy.

It’s still unclear as to whether I should ever undergo a pregnancy again. My doctors have no idea if it will be the same battle or different results, if it would be detrimental to my health or if the baby would survive, but that doesn’t change anything. Abortion will never be an option for me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to condemn those who choose to exercise their right. Every pregnancy is different. And you never know the battles another is facing.

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About Jo Taylor

Sarcasm is my middle name, Poetry & I fell in love sometime back in middle school, & my books are some of my best friends. Writing is an old lost form of intimacy & reading is a relationship. My eyes were never the window to my soul; I promise you these words I write are worth way more. Joy Taylor is just my pen name. Joy is my real middle (irony isn't lost on anyone there) and Taylor is a homage to my disabled brother. Instagram: @tiff.joy, where I occasionally post some poetry amidst the craziness that is my life.

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