It’s the second week of February, the deadline I set to decide what to do about Maybug.
I don’t want to live in my boyfriends’ parents’ basement for the rest of my life. I don’t even want to live here for the rest of my life.
But I want the baby.
I haven’t told anyone this yet–not even my boyfriend. I want to give it more time. Not much more time, but more time. Until the end of this week.
If I make this decision now, though, while he or she is still mine, still growing inside of me, while he or she isn’t promised to anyone but myself, it won’t hurt anyone but me. And it won’t even hurt me, maybe. Change things? Of course. Throw my life off balance? Sure. But ruin my life? Probably not.
My mind has been made up all along but I wouldn’t let myself realize it. I understand the commitment, and I understand that maybe we’re not ready yet. But we’ve got time. And if this is what we decide in our hearts is what we really want, then we’ll get through it. Because we have to. Because Maybug deserves it.
