Crikey. I’ve always argued for the woman’s right to chose, but now that I might be “the woman” and I do have the right to choose, I feel like a sack of shit for wanting an abortion. After all, I’m somewhat capable of raising a kid. If I had to, I could. And I want kids someday. Kids are hilarious. But there won’t be anything hilarious about me bringing a little one to Spanish class.
Actually, that might be kind of fun. I’d never fall asleep in a lecture again if I was trying to entertain a tiny human the whole time. ¡Hola, bebé! Aww! Okay, okay. I’ll stay in school, I’ll raise this kid, I’ll open up my own business, and it will be totally Gilmore Girls. Yay. Okay. I’ll do it.
Watch me be the fun, young, quirky mom sneaking her baby into shows at First Ave. Oh shit, wait. Let me think here. If I have a baby I can’t go to First Ave—people smoke outside of First Ave. My friends smoke outside of First Ave! We can’t smoke outside of First Ave if I have a baby. Fucking damnit, there’s no way I can have a baby.
This is not even to mention good old Mr. Baby Daddy. Let’s talk about him for a blessed minute. Will my bebé inherit his musical/artistic talent and his low-key appreciation for good weed? I can only hope so. In Juno, Ellen Page refers to her unborn fetus as “the Thing” a few times. Sincere props, D-Codes, because I’ve been thinking of the possible fetus as a “thing” since the day after the day I was supposed to get my period. Back to the baby daddy—he wants to be involved by, and I quote, “paying for the whole thing upfront.” Unlike Diablo, Mr. BD doesn’t mean “baby” when he says “thing,” he means “abortion.” I couldn’t have hoped for a sweeter Michael Cera.
Honestly, by the time I told him that my period was unfashionably late to the party in my pants, I had already gone on a wacky, McFlurry-fueled Google bender.
Here are the highlights of my Google searches:
How much does an abortion cost?
Should my baby daddy and I go Dutch on the cost of an abortion?
Has Diablo Cody ever had an abortion?
Why was Diablo Cody allowed to write Jennifer’s Body?
“Diablo Cody” AND abortion
nutrition information Rolo McFlurry
translate abortion Spanish
abortion success stories
“I’m happy” OR “Good choice” AND “I got an abortion”
abortion AND depression risk
free counseling Boynton Health University of Minnesota
Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus. What would I even name it? Him? Her!? It’s going to have a gender. If I let it ferment and mature in my stupid body, it will come out with a pair of stupid sex chromosomes and (fucking horror) the accompanying genitalia. Someday, the thing that springs from my loins could have something spring from its loins. And that offspring might love weed too! I HATE my future if it involves me getting high with my grandchildren. Fuck that. I’m going to have an abortion. I won’t have to give that a gender-appropriate name.
I’m so far ahead of myself here. Let me take a deep breath. There’s no way I’m really pregnant. I would just know. I’d feel that womanly intuition or whatever. That commercial with the freaky space-age stream of pee says a pregnancy test will work a week after your missed period. I don’t even know if my period is “missed” yet—it’s been a solid eight days since the day I was kiiiiiiind of expecting my period, though. Fuckin…how much do pregnancy tests cost? I don’t want to waste my McFlurry money on something that won’t work.
Really, though, it’s not like Mr. Baby Daddy and I did anything serious. We used a condom! So it’s like we didn’t even do anything. We just…well, there’s really no way to spin this. We had sex.
But here’s some moral justification for abortion: I can think of it this way. One of my cells was in a car accident of sorts. It was crashed into. Ow. A sperm cell, lost in a highway wilderness, crashed into it. It was a collision. The sperm cell was probably super stoned. And I need to go in there with the Jaws of Life. A collision happened inside of me and now I need to rescue my little cell. You with me?
Let us pray: Dear baby Jesus. I will start believing in all the miracles of the saints and the freak-mystical aspects of Catholicism if you install some traffic lights in my reproductive system to prevent this kind of thing from ever happening again. I will build a fucking cathedral if you make it so that I won’t get pregnant unless I shout “Green light!” before sex. In the name of the Father, the Son, and Urban Planning, amen.
– Jen Wasserman luckily turned out to be barren and really just learned a lot from the whole fiasco—like how to say “Sorry professor, I didn’t get an abortion” in Spanish.