Defining Moments…

Today,  I share the real personal. This will be a series of Musings…
I got pregnant when I was 21. We can all safely assume it was not planned. A moment of rebellion with lifelong repercussions. I barely knew the man who would be the father of my child. I had just started University, and was,  in my own quiet immutable way,  fighting against all the precepts and concepts my parents had ingrained in me.  I was by no means wild,  just foolish. So there I was, pregnant and scared. And looking at options. We all know in Kenya,  abortion is illegal,  but it is still practiced every day. It is only when one stands at that place that one sees how easy an option it is. I didn’t take it. There are several reasons why. The greatest was the then to be father of my child.  He was barely 26 years. Newly employed and had really no reason to believe the child was his beyond my unshakeable stand. I knew, without doubt, I was either pregnant by him or it was an immaculate conception. He didn’t. And yet he took a step of faith. I am writing today about a man. Because often men get a bad rap. We hear stories of abandonment,  abuse, neglect.
When I told him I was pregnant,  and considering abortion,  he didn’t argue with me,  he sent me to a doctor,  paid in advance. Didn’t go with me. I walked into that office alone and trembling. Sat down and told the doctor I wanted a termination. The doctor looked at me,  gave me some pamphlets,  talked about the joys of motherhood,  gave me vitamins and booked me for an appointment the next week.  He told me if I still wanted an abortion,  we would talk then. I walked out, happy for the reprieve. This happened week after week,  by week four, I was resolved. I would have my baby. I would protect this little plum, growing in me. It was when I told the father of the plum,  that he explained. He knew the doctor would never terminate the pregnancy. Sending me there was his way of ensuring that his child got a chance to live. He saw I was wavering and hoped that time would make me remember all that I believed. That life is sacred. And this baby was wanted,  by him first,  then by me. I will never know if I would have gone through with it on my own, I thank God I didn’t find out. Because the father of my child stood. He supported me,  paid for the strange cravings,  bought the clothes,  paid for the doctor’s appointments, bought all the baby needed, faced my parents, paid the hospital bill,  stole the company’s car to pick and drop me to campus most days. And on the day my only daughter came into this world,  he looked into the little face, so like his own and I knew. That he didn’t just become her father,  he had been since I told him.  He was just meeting his daughter,  for the first time.
My husband is not perfect. But he loves his daughter.  And the four sons we went on to have after our wedding three years later. He stood. That is what fatherhood is about.