Whatever *that* was

Saint Patrick's Day, I begrudgingly met him at a coffee shop called the Brewed Book, in Davenport, Iowa. Imagine a wholesome cafe that's a mix between Belle's library and a beatnik poetry slam, this is the vibe. It was cute, it was quaint and it was a first "date", where he was going to sell me on his one-on-one self defense classes. I ordered my London Fog and he got something iced and delightful and after I paid, we walked over to a table and the conversation that changed my life began.

I started these "self defense classes" with him and learned almost nothing. It seemed he was more interested in my leg strength than he was in teaching me anything of value and after a couple of weeks, boundaries were crossed, the lines that were firmly drawn in the sand were wrestled with. He told me it was obvious I wasn't "taking this seriously" and that it was "my fault" and he was walking away. I had zero emotional investment into this arrangement and so gladly I marched into his blocked list.

This blog isn't about him. It isn't about the details, or how it happened. This is Ezra's story.

I had just moved the night that it happened. I bought a house, signed the papers and he helped me move the essentials over the first night. How kind, right? I told him I would be busy moving furniture, tearing out carpet, getting my home set up before I had to go to work three days later, but I would stay in contact as much as possible.

I felt like an absolute badass. The upstairs had this retched 1970's red shag carpet (rake included). It was so weathered that tearing it out was like ripping a paper bag with plumes of dust engulfing the well ventilated attic. I rolled up the carpet and slid it out the window. I painted walls, redid flooring, made someone else's home my own.

A couple of weeks went past and I was working at a chiropractic office where many people came in sick on a daily basis. I picked up random micro viruses and usually didn't know the difference except for some mild discomfort of some sort, or extra exhaustion. This one was taking me down. It wasn't your normal flu. I had heart palpitations, slight constant dizziness, constipation and the exhaustion was almost debilitating. The doctor told me it was going around and more than likely just another virus. I upped my supplements and hunkered down.

Before I had even missed my cycle, I just had a feeling. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all; I am a mother of 4 beautiful daughters. I confided in a friend what my suspicions were and they brought over two pregnancy tests, flowers and some chocolate - covering all bases.

I don't wait well. Although I am a very patient person, waiting on these tests is excruciating. I sat there and just stared as the line developed. One line pink...two lines....FUCK!

I bawled, a crumpled pile of sobbing ooze. A strong, independent woman shaken to her core laying in a lump on the bed. What was I going to do? Mind you, when I was a teen my entire 1990 Buick LeSabre was covered and I mean COVERED in "It's a child not a choice" stickers. And while I am completely humbled in annotating this, I have never considered it more. The options went around in my head like an psychotic carousel in hyper-speed. But one thing I knew for sure, I was NOT telling the dad.

Until I was told it was the right thing to do....FUCK!

He was away for the summer doing military things that military people do. I imagined him hiding in a faux trench with his cellphone as I texted him "we need to talk as soon as possible". I waited. It was lunch break and I laid in an acupuncture room with roughing nine-million needles in me waiting for a response, trying not to make the needles boing around with my increased respirations. My phone lit up and it was him "I can call". From the trenches?! I answered, I told him, he asked if it was his, I said yes, I gave him the option to be a dad, or pretend I never called, that I was fine with either.

But I kept the baby.

Months go by. The pregnancy was hard on my body. Not only was I pregnant with my first BOY (!!!!!) but I was experiencing extra weird symptoms. Sleep paralysis had hit pretty hard, I kept sweating super bad - especially when I left my house, my heart rate was all over the place, my blood pressure was erratic, it was odd. My due date approaches and my dream of a homebirth was squashed when I was seeing stars and almost passed out in my bathroom.

My sweet boy would be earthbound sooner than anticipated.