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One afternoon, while working at the salon, on my lunch break, I took a walk down to the closest drug store.

I purchased a pregnancy test.

Once I returned to work, I went into the bathroom and read the instructions. I pee’d on the stick, flushed and pulled up my panties. Then, I washed my hands and waited.

It had only been a few seconds of watching the stick when the pink line appeared.

I was pregnant.

Shit.

At 26 years old, I had been dating Mackey pretty steadily for the last six months or so. We had sex regularly, a few times a week. We were not using condoms but instead, spermicides.

Mackey and I had an open relationship, we were not boyfriend and girlfriend. He occasionally brought home other girls. Also, I had gone out with two other men and even had sex with them. However, I had already had a period since then and condoms had been used with both.

Because of my OCPD, I went crazy on this anyway. I bought a calendar. Inside, I wrote down the names and dates of every sexual encounter I had had in the prior three months. Included, what types of contraceptions were used, etc.

I was like a Mad Scientist. If by Mad Scientist, I mean Giant Slut.

I showed the calendar to all of my closest friends.

When I was 100% sure who knocked me up, I called Mackey. I told him I had something urgent we needed to discuss.

I went to Mackey’s ghetto apartment after work that day and bestowed the glorious news upon him.

Mackey did not think the news was so glorious. Actually, he thought I should have an abortion. I told him that abortion was not an option. I had an abortion once in my life already, when I was 19 (that’s another story). Even though it was the right decision at the time, I knew I would never do it again. Plus, my biological clock was finally ticking. I wanted a baby more than anything in the world. I was excited.

After a little self debating, Mackey decided that he was going to man up to the situation.

“I guess we will get married.” he said to me.

“We can talk about that part later.” I suggested.

The following weekend we went out to brunch. Our mutual friends, Red and Zombie joined us. The server came by with champagne and for the first time in my entire life, I declined it!

This made Red and Zombie extremely curious.

We broke the news. They were happy for us. Zombie and Mackey spent the rest of our meal discussing names.

I was happy to have the support of everyone, plus, I was ecstatic to be starting a family.

I decided I was having a girl. The next day I went to the craft store and purchased over twenty different types of pink and purple yarn. I started crocheting baby blankets like crazy, as well as hats and booties.

I went to the book store and bought all the books I could find on pregnancy.

The following Weekend I was packing my overnight bag to head over to Mackey’s as usual when my phone rang.

It was Mackey.

“*****, I don’t think you should come over tonight. I have been thinking about it and really, I don’t think we should continue to see each other anymore. You know, at least not until we do a paternity test. I don’t want to get excited about this baby just to find out it’s not mine.”

I was dumbfounded.

“WHAT?” I screamed, “Paternity test? What the fuck are you talking about? We don’t need a test! I went over everything! Of course the baby is yours!”

“Hmmm. Well listen, I don’t think so. We had an open relationship and you were sleeping with other people. Until we have the DNA, no Dada.” He said.

“You came inside of me a minimum of twice a week, Mackey! For months! Even if I was banging someone else at the same time it’s still probably yours!”

“Well, we will let the lab determine that then. I gotta go.”

He hung up.

I was devastated.

Now listen, it wasn’t that I wanted to marry Mackey. I didn’t, I still hadn’t gotten over being dumped by Donut the first time. However, Mackey and I had been friends for almost five years. We hung in the same circles. I at least expected his support.

How could I endure this entire pregnancy on my own? I couldn’t even support myself. Shit, I was living with my grandma!

I may have been a drunken skank, but there is one thing I have never been, and that’s a liar.

Also, I’m really good at basic math.

I knew which asshole it was that blew the fateful load that had impregnated me.
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I started to go to doctors appointments on my own. I got my first ultra sound. I emailed the picture to Mackey. He ignored me.

Finally, roughly halfway through my pregnancy, it was time for a second ultrasound. This time they would determine the sex.

Pffft!

I didn’t need this. I already knew I was having a girl. She had eight pink and purple crochet’d blankies with hats and booties to match. She even had a name!

Tallulah.

Red was with me in the exam room that day.

The doctor covered my stomach in clear cream, turned off the light and began rolling the hand of the ultrasound machine over me.

“Congratulations!” The doctor said. “You are having a boy!”

“WHAT!” Red screamed. She literally jumped. She almost fell out of her chair! She was more shocked than I was. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” The doctor assured her. “See, right here! That’s his penis and here are his testicles. This boy is well endowed!”
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A week later Mackey invited me to lunch. This was the first time I had seen him since the brunch where I broke the pregnancy news.

We met up at that same Indian restaurant. I had grown a lot. As a matter of fact, at five months along, I was HUGE!
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I was obviously, extremely angry at Mackey and with good reason. I figured, though, it was better that he became a part of the pregnancy now than not at all so I accepted his lunch invitation. I even brought along the ultrasound picture so he could take the first look at his son.

We sat down at a table. I handed Mackey the picture.

“Isn’t he cute?” I adoringly asked.

“Not really. He just looks like an alien to me.”

Mackey handed me back the picture.

“Listen.” he said. “The reason I asked you here today was because I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

Finally! Mackey had grown a heart. What did he have to say? Was he apologizing? I guess I wasn’t in any position to not forgive him, I would, have to make him suffer a little, though. Maybe, Mackey wanted us to move in together. I couldn’t afford to live on my own, especially with a baby. Was Mackey going to propose? Maybe I could consider marriage if it meant having a stable home for my child.

Mackey looked me in the eyes, he spoke.

“I was wondering if you had thought about looking into adoption.”

What the fuck?!

He continued, “I was talking to some co-workers about it and they told me…….”

That was where I stopped listening.

As we were finishing up the meal I told Mackey that I was naming my baby PJ. Mackey said he didn’t like the name. He thought William was a much better fit. I told him if it’s not his kid that he shouldn’t be worried about naming him. He told me that was fair enough.
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I saved every cash tip I earned at work. I stuffed it all into a bag in my closet every day. After eight months I had enough to buy a car. So, I did.

My co-workers threw me a baby shower. Everyone empathized for me, they loaded me up with all the necessities.
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A few weeks after that, Red threw me another baby shower. I ended up being gifted everything on my registry.

Do I have the most amazing friends or what?

Seriously.

The only thing left to find was a home.

I apartment hunted. I found a small, two bedroom apartment close to work that I really liked. I was given a tour and filled out a rental application. It turned out I didn’t even come close to meeting the minimal income to be considered as a renter.

I tried to find a roommate. No one wanted to live with a screaming newborn.

Then, looked into low income housing. I was given a tour in a scary, rundown apartment complex in a not-so-great area.

Guess what?

They denied me as well!

As it turned out, I was too poor to be poor.

Thats right!

I was too poor to meet the minimum income of the LOW INCOME housing!

Please, someone explain that to me!

So, completely out of better ideas, I did what any desperate, child loving, former slut would do.

I called my mom.

Now, if you have been following my blog you are fully aware what a desperate time it must have been for me to go that route! I hadn’t spoken to her in years. She always pretended like she was going to help me, only to back out last minute, leaving me fucked.

But, I loved my unborn child more than life itself. I knew I would never be able to get on my feet alone in California. Rents were a quarter of the price in Las Vegas. I could do it there.

A few weeks before my due date I made the big move. I put my notice in at work. I rented a U-haul. With the help of my family I made the move to the desert.

Then, I waited.

Without having insurance, I was directed to the low income clinic. Also, I had to attain a new doctor. The new doctor decided, by her new ultrasound pictures, that I wasn’t due in two weeks after all. I still had four weeks to go. I explained to the doctor that I knew exactly when I got pregnant.
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That bitch laughed at me.

Then, she changed my due date.

Living at my moms house was pure HELL.

My mom has a case of OCPD that makes me look normal.

Things she would get upset about:

*Don’t drink out of that particular cup.
*Don’t shower in that bathroom, we only take bathes in that tub.
*Is this your hair? You left a hair on the rug!
*You can not drink or eat in any part of the house but at the kitchen table.
*You may not sit in the family room. Those couches are for gusts only.
*Did you wash your hands?
*Don’t put your hand in that bag of (any) food! You will contaminate it! Pour it in a bowl!
*No, not that bowl!

I could go on about this for another fifteen pages but you get the hint. This caused a lot of stress in the house between everyone. I just wanted to have this baby and get the hell out of there.

Plus, I was enormous.
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I couldn’t get comfortable. The baby was huge. I had a hard time breathing. I was having tons of Braxton Hicks contractions on a daily basis but I wasn’t dilating at all.

My original due date came and went. Life was becoming more and more unbearable. I was feeling my baby less and less.

I complained about the lack of movement to my doctor.

“You are just being impatient.” She told me. “I don’t care what you think, you are not due yet!”

I hated that bitch.

I was having a check up every week at that point.

My original due date had passed. The new due date came and went. I was now a week shy of entering my eleventh month of pregnancy.

Yes, ELEVENTH MONTH!

It had been close to a week since I had felt any movement from my baby. Still, I was having.no signs of real labor.

A miracle happened.

I went in for my weekly check up and that horrid doctor was gone for the day. There was another doctor in her place. I explained to this doctor what was going on, how my due date had been changed, how I knew the exact day I had conceived and most importantly how the baby hadn’t been moving.

This new doctor was not a bitch.

She was concerned.

She led me into the ultrasound room and took a look at my baby. There was barely any amniotic fluid left. I needed to give birth right away.

I was finally sent to the hospital.

My mom and I cried the whole way there.

The county hospital was overcrowded and the birthing floor was at full capacity. I had to wait there eight hours before I was finally taken in for my c-section.

My mom went in with me. It was the only day of my whole life I was grateful she was around.

Ha!

She held my hand as they cut me open. I cried through the entire thing. Then, the baby was sent to the nursery. I told her to go be with him while they finished stitching me up.

After, I was taken to the recovery room. I remember forcing myself to move my legs so the nurse would bring me to my hospital room, I wanted my fucking baby, NOW!

Eventually, they took me to the bed. The hospital was old. They didn’t have private rooms. I was sharing my room with another new mother.

Two hours later PJ was wheeled in.
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He had the biggest hands I had ever seen.

I call them, Monster Mits.

My mom left.

Anyone who has a child knows what that feeling is like when you meet them face to face for the first time. There is nothing in the world that even comes close. I won’t even try to describe it because I wouldn’t do it justice.

I peered into that perfect face and then placed him on my breast. He sucked my nipple until it bled, then he threw up my blood. I was determined to breast feed but it was painful. The hospital did not offer a lactation coach nor did I own an electric, breast pump. Eventually I gave in to the formula.

As the hours passed the pain from surgery intensified. I couldn’t find a nurse. I kept pushing the call button just to be ignored. Several hours later, a nurse finally came to my bedside.

After putting PJ in the nursery, she began removing my catheter. She promised she would get me some pain medication after I urinated. I could feel her pulling out the catheter. It stung horribly. Then, she grabbed my arm and told me to sit up.

The most intense pain I had ever felt in my life radiated through my midsection.

“It really hurts!” I told her.

“That’s normal. You just had surgery. You will feel better after you walk a bit. Come on down.” She said, leading me off the bed.

I slowly reached one foot down to the floor. I pulled the other one down as well. The nurse gave my body a tug. My weight went onto my feet.

That’s when it happened.

I screamed louder than I have ever screamed before. I fell to the ground. I was crying and sweating in pain.

I can only describe what it felt like as this:

Imagine being in a magic show and the magician cut you in half, leaving you lying there helpless, bleeding to death.

Honestly, I really thought I was dying.

It took two nurses to get me up and into the bathroom. They held me as I urinated. Blood gushed out of me and all over the floor.

I got back to my bed. Someone finally brought me pain medication. I was allowed to sit for an hour while the pills took effect. Then, it was time for my walk. I was feeling a little relief but I was still in some serious pain.

Let me explain to you what was happening. With my body weight, I should have been given two pain pills every four hours plus an IV for the first 24 hours. However, the hospital was over crowded and under staffed. I was given two pain pills roughly every 8 to 10 hours. They were not doing much. I pretty much was feeling what surgery was like without pain killers.

On top of recovering I was attempting to take care of a newborn. The hospital was not helping me at all.

After this, I had to start urinating in my own. I remember the horrible pain as I attempted to slide myself off the bed and to the restroom, alone. I had to piss then shower while still losing a tremendous amount of blood.

I was bleeding everywhere.

I tried to wipe up some of the blood but I couldnt bend at all. It covered the walls, shower, toilet and floor. I had no choice but to leave it. I felt horrible for my roommate, having to share a restroom with me. The blood remained there for more than several hours before anyone was sent to clean it. The bathroom resembled a crime scene.

In the morning, on my third and final day, I was told I needed to sign some important, birth documents. I would have to travel down two floors and across an entire wing of the hospital to get there. I had to do this since there was not a fathers signature on the birth certificate. If I failed to do so, it would be a mess to gain full legal custody of my son. I had until 1pm to sign, otherwise the birth certificate would not be sent for. I called my mom and she said taking me wouldn’t be an issue. She would be to the hospital by ten am anyway. She would take me to the office in a wheel chair.

Phew!

Only, ten O’clock rolled around and my mom hadn’t come yet.

So, I called and she said she was finishing up some stuff at home and would be on here way.

Next came 11, then 12. By 12:30 I had given up on her.

I slid out of bed, still in an enormous amount of pain. Slowly, I wheeled PJ to the nursery and began my decent down the hall. I hurt so much, I was limping.

People watched me but no one offered me help. I made it to the office barely in time. The staff was really rude to me. I was able to get it handled in time though.

My mom (with my step dad) finally came for me at 3:30, a half an hour after I was released. The nurses needed the room. They put me in a wheel chair and had me wait in the hall for her, that half an hour, with the baby in my lap.

My step dad drove us back to the house. I think he went over every bump possible on purpose.

After we were back at the house, my mom went to the pharmacy and picked up my pain medication. I was finally able to administer it to myself correctly and get the pain under control.

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Five months later I was in California with PJ when Mackey met him for the first time. He came by my grandparents house with his mother. It was an awkward visit to say the least. I do not remember much of our conversation, only this:

Mackey’s mom said to me,
“PJ doesn’t look like my kids did when they were little. He has a lot of hair. Both my babies were bald.”

Mackey had brought with him a paternity test. He and I swabbed our cheeks along with PJ’s before mailing in to the lab.

I was back in Nevada when the results came in a few weeks later.

I called Mackey, he was on his lunch break at work.

“The results came back today.” I told him.

“And?” He asked me.

“Congratulations!” I said, “You are a dad!”

Silence.

Then, more silence.

“I gotta go. I’m gonna need some time to think about this.”

With that he hung up. I didn’t hear from him again for another six months, but that’s a different story.

3 thoughts on “No DNA No Dada

  1. Pingback: Aquarium of the Douche-Dick | It's not my fault.

  2. Pingback: Mommy Get’s a Say In It. Douche. | It's not my fault.

  3. Pingback: Balls on Fire | It's not my fault.

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