I was nearly an abortion. And honestly I’m cool with that.
Really. I am. If I personally had been in the same situation that my mother had been in at age twenty, I would have gotten an abortion. My mother decided to keep me, which I’m also cool with. I mean, I like existing. I’m a fan of it. I’ve gotten the argument from a lot of anti-choicers (I refuse on principles of decency to call them pro-lifers) that I wouldn’t be alive if my mom had aborted me. My response is “Well, then you’d be having this argument with someone else instead, I suppose.” I wouldn’t exist, fine, whatever… no skin off my ass because my ass was never born! It wouldn’t matter! So that argument is stupid and I’m going to put the stupid hat on it and set it in the corner with a set of encyclopedias.
There is not really any singular point in my life where I realized “Oh hay, I’m pro-choice! Yay me!” I was an observant and curious child; and my mother was very frank about The Way Things Were. When I asked where babies came from, she gave me an honest answer. When I asked her what abortion was, she told me the truth. And she told me the truth about the way it used to be for women when abortion was illegal. If there is one thing I am grateful for, it’s that I was born in a time when women have the right to be something more than a wife or a maid or a nurse. If there is one thing I am grateful for it’s that I have the right to walk outside without covering my head up and without an escort. If there is one thing I will fight for the death for, it is the freedom to be whoever I want to be regardless of my gender or race or sexual orientation or religious preference. I feel very strongly about this, more than anything in the world, that I will never sacrifice independent thought for safety or comfort.
It’s always seemed sensible to me that if you can’t afford the time, resources, or energy to have a child, then you shouldn’t. I never wanted anyone telling me what I should like or dislike, where I should go and what I should do and how I should do it. Most people would think that this rebellious attitude would have landed me preggers in juvie by age fourteen, but surprisingly that never happened. I’ve always been a free spirit (all these girls in college were like all :OMG Sid you are SUCH a FREE SPIIIRIT!) and I could see the cage that parenthood would put me in. The thought of being a teen mother nauseated me. There was no way in the world I would get myself into that situation. I was not gonna end up knocked up like That One Girl.
That One Girl was a mother of three at the age of sixteen, and she was tired and worn out as the fifty-year-old lunch lady. She lived in a trailer with her mother and her three kids, had very romantic notions regarding the intention of teenage boys, a two-pack-a-day habit, and what I considered a very tenuous grasp on the enunciation of the English language. I never, ever, EVER wanted to become That One Girl. I still don’t. Especially because the likelihood of That One Girl being a realllly big Twilight fan is 100%. Urgh, talk about the butchering of the English language.
And so I didn’t become sexually active until I was much older (okay, plus I was a dork and boys didn’t like me) and when I did I used protection. There were a couple stupid mistakes of course. Everyone makes them. Luckily for me I never found myself pregnant after making these stupid, stupid mistakes and I cannot thank my biology enough. If I had been pregnant, I would have gotten an abortion. There would be no question. I don’t care how many government programs exist, I was not going to be a college dropout restaurant working starving artist parent to a child whose father I wasn’t even sure loved me. Hell no. I am not putting that shit on any living being.
So anti-choicers can come at me all day with their accusations of heartlessness. When they say “Well if YOUR MOTHER had that attitude then YOU wouldn’t be alive today,” I can’t do anything but laugh in reply. Mostly at the pure ignorance of the question, but also because my mom is the reason I have “this attitude”. My mom raised me to be open-minded. She encouraged me to think for myself and to make my own choices. She helped me realize that my body is MINE to control and not some old white man in Congress’. My mom had every right to get an abortion if she chose to. She had every reason to get one. Hell, it would have been the sensible thing to do. But my dearest, wonderful mother has always followed her heart more than she followed her sense, and so here I am, writing this. Writing my defense of my mother’s right to—in the words of the anti-choicers—kill me. Because, really. I would have been cool with that. I understand the need to make your existence mean something worthwhile before you become responsible for the existence of another human being.
I’ve never had an abortion. I’ve been lucky enough and sensible enough to not let myself get to the point of even being pregnant. But, in the very very unlikely scenario (for I am a birth control all the time every time for everyone kind of girl, I assure you) that I became pregnant, I wouldn’t think twice about getting an abortion. And I know that my unborn child would be cool with that. Because it wouldn’t exist. And it wouldn’t be much of an issue to something that doesn’t exist, would it?