It was a winter afternoon during Christmas break that I discovered I was pregnant. Mom and I had been Christmas shopping together but immediately when we split to do our own thing, I dashed to buy a pregnancy test.
Although I was fairly confident that I was pregnant, the positive pregnancy test staring at me in the JC Penney bathroom that afternoon took me by surprise. I was 22 years old and a sophomore in college when I got pregnant with my son. He was born August 29th, 1991 at 5:10 p.m., and I placed my son into the arms of a loving family two days later.
I dated Danny, my son’s father for a year but our relationship had come to an end shortly before I discovered that I was pregnant. He was already dating another girl and chose to stay with her. I dropped out of school, moved to California and found support among friends there. And although I had their support, those remaining months were excruciatingly lonely and very painful for me. I longed to hear from my son’s father. I yearned to have him experience this pregnancy with me. And although my mom had come to stay with me during my last month of pregnancy and be there for the delivery, my heart ached for Danny.