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You Didn’t Choose To Be Born
But would you have said yes if given the option?
“This is so unfair, everyone has a cellphone but me!”
My daughter’s wild eyes bore into mine. We’re two lionesses standing our ground.
“Well we aren’t everyone, Molly, and in this family, we do things differently.”
“I didn’t even choose this family! I didn’t choose to be born!” Spit sprays from her mouth on the word born displacing dust particles floating in the sunlight. I make a mental note to vacuum later. Molly stomps upstairs and slams her door. The force jostles my heart.
With Molly out of the way, I sink into our pillowy couch, her last words echoing in my head like an intrusive thought. I didn’t choose to be born. I touch the stain where Molly’s acid reflux left its mark as an infant. Alone with my thoughts, they splinter and darken. The miscarriages; one at nine weeks, one at twelve. I imagine some bearded deity approaching each of them and asking, “Do you want to be born?” I picture them shaking their little heads. I think about how two kids could have been four if they’d chosen differently.
I don’t realize I’m crying until my hand swipes a tear.
It’s quiet upstairs. I consider going up to Molly’s room, knocking on her door — which probably has some…