A Tale of Heartbreak: Giving Up My Child for Adoption

I can think of so many beginnings to this story and so many endings, but the story will be the same no matter what words I use to describe the heartache and break of those wonderful and terrible nine months. So I will just tell it plainly, as if I were telling a dear friend.

I didn't realize I was pregnant until the middle of June. I was a month and a half late, and when I found out, I was ecstatic. I had just gotten a beautiful engagement ring on my finger, not big, but something that showed the delicate promise of our love. His name was Arich. He was a tall, stringy boy, reaching 6'4" with enormous green eyes, and hair that was naturally red, but dyed so many times that the color was a mixture of black and an abnormal color of red, almost an orange.

Arich had proposed to me a few days after prom night, the night that we unknowingly had gotten pregnant. We were just two sex frenzied teenagers who loved to screw like jackrabbits, and we weren't thinking of the result of our lovemaking. We used condoms, we used spermicidal, and yet I still had a life growing inside of me as I found out later.

As I said before I was ecstatic about the pregnancy. I have always been a very maternal person, taking care of others was what I did best, compassionate about everything that drew my passions, and children and babies have always made me happy. Arich, on the other hand, was scared shitless. He automatically suggested an abortion, but I was raised a Christian and believe that any life, no matter how small or newly formed, is precious. Next he suggested adoption. He was adopted himself. He, in my opinion now, didn't turn out that great having gone through being adopted. He was a seriously fucked up person, mentally, that is. He had a lot of abandonment issues, on top of other weird quirks and oddities. I told him no, that I wanted to keep the baby.