Birth of Adventure Part Two – Choosing Adventure
I looked at the pregnancy test: two strong lines, like they were drawn by a Sharpie. I was pregnant.
I was shocked. What was I going to do? I was recovering from an accident, my face broken. I’d only been dating my boyfriend for six months and we lived in different countries. We had a good relationship but it was still early – there hadn’t been any talk of a lifelong commitment. And right now I was in New Zealand, 9,000 miles away from David and all of my family and friends.
And what about the baby? I’d had surgery, xrays, morphine… what could that have done to the baby?
I decided to call David and tell him. First I talked to my sister Abbie.
“Are you sure you want to tell him on the phone? This is a big deal – maybe you should wait until you’re back so you can tell him face to face,” she said.
I thought it over, and shook my head although she couldn’t see. “No, we are talking every day and it’s too huge – he’d know something was up. I’ll tell him tonight.”
On the phone I mentally braced myself to tell him the news.
Better to just do it. I said, “I have something to tell you.”
“What, you’re pregnant?” he asked jokingly.
“Yes,” I said.
He erupted into laughter, snorting.
“I am really pregnant,” I said.
He laughed louder.
“I’m not joking,” I said.
His laughing stopped. Then there was silence.
“Oh”.
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“Ummm.. I don’t know.”
I really didn’t know.
“I want to see a doctor when I get home, check and see if any of this could cause … You know, the accident, the surgery, morphine … I just want to check if the baby would be okay.”
“Okay, well let’s talk more about it when you get home,” he said.
It was a relief to have more time to think. I spent the next few days doing my best to focus on work, although it was strange to harbor such a big secret. Only David, my sisters and Christine knew.
Flying home was exhausting and uncomfortable. It was already a long flight, over 30 hours through Australia, Hawaii, Los Angeles to Toronto but there was an 8 hour delay in LA. My face ballooned from the air travel and the summer heat- I so badly wanted to get home.
I was worried because I couldn’t reach David to tell him that the flight wasn’t going to arrive until the next morning. That was on top of worrying what he would think when he saw how I looked. The criss crossed bandages were gone, replaced by a white bandage over the gash on my cheek. My face was puffy and bruised, my mouth drooping on the left side.
When I finally arrived in Toronto and walked out of arrivals, David was standing there waiting for me. He looked tired. I wondered where he had waited, if he had slept. He grabbed me into a big hug and then kissed my broken cheek through the bandage. I relaxed for a moment in his arms. It was going to be okay.
He then pulled back and looked into my eyes.
“Where did you sleep?” I asked.
“The parking lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault, and you’re here now.”
We spent the next week together at his place in Hamburg, NY. It gave me a chance to spend more time with his daughters, Sarah, 13 and Hannah 11. Living in different cities, we usually saw each other on weekends, and sometimes he had the girls and sometimes they were with their mom. They were cute kids, smart, curious, funny, kind, and I liked them, and liked to see him with them – it was clear how much he loved them.
I did some work remotely using his computer and my cell phone, something we take for granted now in 2021. I was mostly in a blur, not yet realizing that the fatigue and exhaustion I was feeling wasn’t just from my accident and the concussion, but also was caused by the first trimester of pregnancy.
We visited his mom for the Fourth of July weekend at her home in New Jersey, my face huge from the heat. Not knowing what I was going to do about the baby and bearing this secret was driving me crazy. I had always supported the right of women to choose and knew this was my choice – but I didn’t want to still be choosing – I wanted to have chosen, I wanted to know.
I faced my worry about the possible effects of my accident and surgery on the baby. I called MotherCare at the Hospital for Sick Kids in Toronto. The attendant on the helpline went through the checklist with me – xray, morphine, surgery. She said not to worry – those shouldn’t have caused any harm.
My shoulders dropped from a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying. If I hadn’t wanted to choose the baby, this news might not have given me the relief that it did. I was comforted to know the baby wasn’t harmed from my accident.
I put my hand on my belly. Against all odds this baby had come into my life. I fell off a cliff and the baby was still here. I felt like this baby had chosen me, chosen us.
But what about my situation? I was living in a different city than David, not married, and with no plans to rush into marriage because of a baby. I told myself it was not the 1950’s, and I was completely fine doing this on my own if need be.
And how would I support myself if I was taking care of a newborn baby? I reminded myself that in Canada there was a year’s parental leave, and universal health care so I didn’t have to worry about the medical bills, and I had income for one year.
Where would I live? I was renting a tiny room in a condo downtown, no room for a baby. I told myself if it worked out with David, great, but if not I could probably live with my parents for a while.
I wanted the baby. I felt in my bones I could do this – with David or on my own. Either way, I was going to have this baby – I chose yes.
Telling David was almost harder than making the choice – it made it real. He admitted he felt nervous. He already had two kids. He didn’t want to be pressured to get remarried. I told him forcefully that wasn’t an option – we weren’t ready to talk about marriage yet.
After a minute he said he felt relieved – it was scary but he wanted us to have the baby too. Although I’d been prepared to do this on my own I felt lighter, stronger to be doing this together.
David drove me to my parent’s home where I was planning to tell them – he’d brought Sarah with him for the ride, and he left to take her back home to NY. She didn’t know yet.
I felt awkward – telling your parents you’re pregnant can feel awkward anyway, like announcing you’re an adult doing adult things. But I also worried they would be unhappy that I was in this situation – their girl, unmarried, having a baby.
When I told them, my mom’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m going to be a grandma?” she said.
This was going to be her second grandchild, after a 9 year wait. My mom had raised a houseful of kids and wanted more babies around. She was elated, and my parents let me know they would support me anyway I needed.
I called David to let him know how my parents had taken the news. We decided we would start telling others – his parents, our siblings and friends, but we’d wait for a while to tell the girls.
We thought about a name for our tiny little being. “Baby Adventure,” one of us suggested. This baby had been in four countries already. Likely conceived on our trip to Wales, discovered in New Zealand, and already survived a hang gliding accident in utero.
Choosing to have a baby was the scariest adventure I’d pursued yet. But I also felt that with the support of loving people around me, if I fell off the cliff again, I had a safety net to catch me this time.
I felt exhilaration tinged with trepidation like when you’re on a roller coaster and it starts with a jerk, inching slowly at first, the wheels clinking on the tracks, and you know it feels calm now but it all changes once you reach the top.
I had no idea what the future would bring. I didn’t know what would happen between David and I. I didn’t know where I would live when the baby was born. But I knew one thing. I felt a surge of love and fierce protection for this baby, for my baby. Baby Adventure had chosen us, and we were choosing Adventure.
The story continues: The Birth of Adventure Part 3 – The Mother of Adventure – coming soon