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I started showing signs of being bipolar about the time puberty hit, so for me, around age 10.  My sex drive kicked in with full force and it wasn’t long until I found a willing partner.  I was 13 and he was 16 and it was very shortly after we started that I became pregnant.  No 13 year old girl really has any business having a baby, so my parents made the best decision they possibly could – I had an abortion.  I was barely far enough along to even register as pregnant.  The procedure was fairly quick and painless and off I went, armed with the knowledge that any sexual encounter I had needed to be a protected one.

I went through my teens and twenties pushing that.  I had lots and lots and lots of unprotected sex.  Sometimes I was on the pill, sometimes I couldn’t afford it.  Sometimes I just flat out didn’t care.

When I married Rob I thought perhaps a baby would be a good idea.  I stopped taking the pill, he stopped wearing condoms, we kept having sex.  But nothing happened.  For awhile I was devastated.  I thought for sure this was punishment for having given up my one chance at motherhood.

And then I got diagnosed with Bipolar.

Within 6 months I had my tubes tied so that I couldn’t get pregnant.  Bipolar is genetic and there was no way in hell I was going to pass this shit on to a kid.  Another few years later and I had a partial hysterectomy, to really ensure it couldn’t happen.

I’ve never really liked kids, and I have no reason to think I’d have liked my own.  I’m not particularly fond of Josh’s daughter.  I like my nieces, but I spend precious little time with them.  A kid of my own that I’d have to feed and clothe and pay for all the time – no thanks.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m decent to kids.  They didn’t ask to be born.  Josh’s daughter never asked for her parents to be idiots and to divorce within a year of her birth.  She never asked to have 4 parents instead of 2.  She particularly never asked to have a step-mom who would have been happy to go her whole life without ever having responsibility for an immature life-form.

But she got me, and I’m stuck with her, and now we make the best of it I guess.

The ex and her husband are moving to a new house later this month.  The brat will have her own pool.  Josh has already dropped, in front of her, that she’ll probably not want to come over at all this summer because we can’t offer her anything anywhere near that cool.  No, we can’t.  We can’t offer to take her on vacation to Vancouver for a family reunion.  We can really buy her any new toys or clothes because we have next to nothing for extra money.  We’re not really parents in any sense of the word – we’re babysitters she has to hang out with twice a month.  Only she’ll be 12 soon, and in the state she lives in, at 12 she can decide if and when she wants to keep seeing her father.

It’s going to break his heart, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming.

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