the story of hadley, part one: an ending

two years ago we announced the news of our unplanned pregnancy.

when it happened--it being, you know, it--we were freshly four months into dating, still getting to know each other, no where near engaged and still in our undergrad programs.

as hadley's second birthday draws near, i wanted to re-tell a bit of her story in three parts because

every. life. matters.


(cue THIS SONG by runaway symphony)

it all ended in a little yellow house.

or should i say rather, it all began.

but i'm getting a bit ahead of myself..

over the past two years we have been called privileged, lucky and many other things when it comes to our situation: being two, twenty-something, fresh-out-of-college parents.

i can tell you right now this road called parenthood has not been a glamorous or leisurely one by any means. it has not been a walk in the park.

in fact, i almost pursued a life without david and hadley.

it pains me to my core to say it, but it needs to be talked about.

before i was pregnant with hadley, i had plans for my future. grandiose, starry-eyed, day-dreaming plans. and being a mother--let alone being married-- was not part of them. yes, yes, of course one day i wanted to tie the knot, settle down and have a family, but not until i did what i wanted.

what did i want? i was working toward pursuing a job with npr music in d.c. which would allow me to travel between the capital and new york city every week for work. i had two bosses ready to sign and send recommendation letters on my behalf. i was ready to blaze that trail.

until july 31, 2014.

and i cringed when david left for work and thought that there was a slight possibility that he--that we--just made... a baby.

i phoned my friend and told her i needed girl time, stat. so of course we went and got pedicures.

david and i just--

no way, she interrupted knowingly and laughed it off.

yes and we didn't use--

you'll be fine, you're not pregnant.

ohhh those famous last words...

the following day i had dinner with another friend who insisted i go get plan b.

i mulled it over and something inside me just couldn't bring myself to, although i had taken it once before. but the thought that plan b was less than an eight-minute drive from my house kept crossing my mind.

but i'm not even pregnant, i thought.

just out of mere reassurance, i took a test the next day. it was negative.

there, see? and yet there, deep in my gut was this unwavering anxiety that was not yet put to rest.

the following week i drove seven hours to vacation with my parents in central oregon. i have never felt so lethargic in all of my life. yes, we were on vacation which means relaxation but i didn't want to do anything. i was all out of sorts.

each morning i lay there in that king size bed as my brothers shared a trundle out in the loft, thoughts flooding my head with how horrible it would be if--big if though, right?--i were, in fact, pregnant. then i would get on my hands and knees--more like just lay on my face, crying out to god for mercy, for grace (you think i'm exaggerating the laying on my face part...ha! just trust me).

grace, grace, grace.

i kept praying for it and calling david in tears.

are you praying? you need to be, i would say as if first, he wasn't and second, that it would cure this 'disease' that i may or may not have.

on the drive back to little ol' pullman washington, i could not sit still. i was shivering and so jittery from all the anxiety built up within me. i drove the full seven hours straight because i could not wait any longer.

there in the top drawer, beneath my lacy underwear was the second stick that came in the pregnancy test pack just waiting to be opened.

i pulled up to that little yellow house on south street, heart beating so hard i could see the pulse against parts of my skin.

i ran inside, shuffled through my undergarments and grabbed it.

the second test.

here goes nothing. or everything.

for those of you who haven't before, peeing on a stick is no easy task. you're bound to pee on your hand and is it just me or does every girl have trouble aiming?

after the mess of taking the test was over, the waiting began.

i popped the cap on the end, set it on the edge of the sink and started pacing around the maybe four square feet of that bathroom.

it was during those two minutes that my life flashed before my eyes. everything that had ever happened to me, that i had ever done, that i had yet to do, i saw it all.

two minutes hadn't been up, but i had to look, but i didn't want to.

i did anyway and there they were.

those two blue lines.

my heart and stomach switched places and i fell against the wall.

this can't be, i shook the test hoping the second line would disappear.

covering my mouth, holding my breath, i ran. as fast as i could, i ran next door which was--conveniently--david's house.

i was about to barge in the front door when he came out and we collided.

hey! he was excited since, you know, we hadn't seen each other in a week.

my eyes refused to meet his and the world was spinning as he leaned in for a hug and i awkwardly weaseled my way out.

i didn't have to say anything. he knew. yet he followed me back into the house so he could see for himself.

silent, i pointed toward the bathroom and followed in after him. he looked at the stick, at me, then back at the stick. i crumbled in an explosion of tears.

i was shaking, uncontrollably and hyperventilating. the only other time i had cried that hard in my life was the year before when my youngest brother was in a ski accident and i stood over his--what might as well have been--lifeless body, blood around his head staining the snow.

david bent down, picked me up and carried me to my bedroom where we sat for three hours in silence--rather, with me crying.

he sat there holding me, occasionally whispering, i love you. i'm here. i'm not leaving.

the first words to break my silence were the four words i thought i would never say in my life:

i'm getting an abortion.

we prayed and ended up at a bar with a friend, where i casually ordered a sprite.

that was it.

my life was over.

or so i thought.

i continued to repeat those four words the next few weeks, yet i couldn't quite bring myself to follow through

i did however make an appointment at the health and wellness on campus where they referred me to an obgyn in moscow.

david came with me on that sunny, somber september afternoon to the first--and in my mind would be the last--appointment.

i lay on the table in panic. the doctor came in, turned down the lights, glopped on some cool sticky gel all over my still-flat stomach and the ultrasound machine flickered to life.

there. she. was.

all two centimeters of her. kicking around, moving her legs up and down just like she did as an infant.

i tried hard not to laugh, as my eyes became wet and a smile drew across my face.

that's a baby.

the doctor printed some pictures for us and we left.

i sat in the car, my face glued to those images and i went hysteric, yet again.

i can't believe i said that. i can't believe i wanted to get rid of it. i have no idea what we're going to do, but we cannot get rid of it.

so while a chapter in my book was coming to a close--ending, this little fetus, zygote, embryo, this baby, hadley grace, won my heart when she was just nine weeks in utero.

after seeing her for the first time, i couldn't bring myself to want a different life.

i wanted this life.

her life.

and it was only the beginning...