March 28, 2013
No one knows, better than my precious boys, about my yearly crying spells, stemming from innocent spring walks, through the forbidden section of Nordstrom. It’s the pastel pink, linen and lace... panties, tights and ruffles. Dresses displayed on tiny hangers. Smocked, layered with tulle or imprinted with the year’s color scheme.
October 15, 2012
“It’s just a cell; get it out before it gets any bigger,” my high school friend said confidently. I was 19, but in retrospect I felt like I was 12. I was desperate for any type of guidance, but I couldn’t tell my parents. I had gotten there, in the first place, because I knew abortion was always an option; why then was it so hard to choose when the time came? I remember when it crossed my mind that I was pregnant, the first time; it was right after I threw up. It could have been my lifestyle, that made me sick, but I realized I hadn’t had my period in a while. “I’m pregnant!” it hit me. Mixed emotions started to surface; some of excitement, others of worry, thoughts like “what do I do now?” filled my head. I did the only thing I knew to do; I went to the local Planned Parenthood and had an exam. I remember when it crossed my mind that I was pregnant, the first time; it was right after I threw up. It could have been my lifestyle, that made me sick, but I