So Lee and I basically lived together. But not “officially.” You could accuse us of a lot of things, but being conventional wasn’t one of them.
In August or September, Justis’ mom had her own troubles at home and moved out of her mom’s house. She was basically just crashing on friends’ couches and didn’t really have anywhere permanent to stay. So Justis came to stay with us.
In April 1993 I was a carefree 18-year-old, working hard (as a cashier at Wendy’s) and partying even harder. By September 1993 I was living on my own, had a [basically] live-in boyfriend, and a live-in one-year-old. My how things change. And so quickly.
I spent the next couple of months changing diapers and trying to get Justis to give up the bottle in favor of a sippy cup. And I was a little bitter about it. I was only 19 after all. Plus this wasn’t even my kid. When he woke up at 7am I downright refused to get up; making Lee change early morning diapers and get him breakfast. And I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about being selfish with my sleep.
Little did I know it would’ve been good practice for me.
By November Justis’ mom found a more permanent place and Justis went back to live with her. And Lee and I settled back in to our childless ways.
But I soon realized my period was late. My period is NEVER late. I often joke that we could create calendars based on my periods. I was starting to do what I do best; PANIC.
I didn’t tell Lee because I didn’t want to worry him in case it was nothing. We’d been dating for less than six months. No need to freak him out unless I had to.
Just days before Thanksgiving, I drove myself to the local Planned Parenthood for a pregnancy test. It was positive. I was devastated.
When I got back to my apartment I handed Lee the paper I got from Planned Parenthood confirming the pregnancy. I said, “I don’t expect anything from you. I can do this on my own.” Because that’s what stupid 19-year-olds say when they are scared and trying to act tough.
He said, “Ok” and left. As he was walking down the stairs and out the door I began to throw anything I could get my hands on at him; clothes, kitchen utensils, remotes, etc. And I was screaming “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ARE REALLY LEAVING.” Along with several curse words that would make my grandmother blush. Yeah, it didn’t go well.
And that’s how we broke up.