My husband and I met back in high school. After we both graduated from college, we decided it was finally time to get married. We didn't have a place of our own for a long time, so we made the choice to move in with his parents. There weren't many other options back then; he was the only one working, and the money was barely enough for groceries, let alone rent. His parents were more than happy to take us in.
Eventually, thanks to a recommendation from a friend, I managed to land a job. Our income covered the basics, with maybe a little left over for the occasional night out. Then, like a bolt from the blue, I found out I was pregnant. Since I grew up in a traditional Christian household, I knew my religious parents would never forgive me if I chose to have an abortion. I wrestled with the decision until the very last minute, wondering if we should keep the baby and how on earth we would claw our way toward financial stability.
It wasn't just my family putting on the pressure; his relatives were doing the same. They scared me with stories about how an abortion could lead to medical complications or ensure I'd never be able to have children again. Looking back, I realize most of that was just old wives' tales and scare tactics, but I was young and naive then, and I let them get to me. In the end, our son was born. I don't regret his arrival for a second—we were lucky, and we never had to face the true poverty or hardship that could have crashed down on us.
Our oldest is finishing third grade now, and he's the absolute joy of his grandparents' lives, but back then, we never imagined we'd end up with more than one. At the time, we were all squeezed together in a cramped two-bedroom apartment. The worst part was how paper-thin the walls were—there was zero privacy. You couldn't have a private argument or any intimacy without everyone hearing every word. It felt like living in a fishbowl.
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Eventually, we moved out because we could finally afford to rent a place of our own. By that point, my relationship with my mother-in-law had soured significantly. She was a very controlling woman who couldn't stand anyone questioning her authority. We had to leave anyway, though, because my husband's brother's wife had gotten pregnant, and they were planning to move back under the parents' roof.
After our son, we had a little girl. Things were still manageable then because two children are a world away from three. Besides, we could occasionally drop our oldest off at his grandparents' for the holidays, or he'd spend time staying over at his school friends' houses.
A few days ago, I found out I'm pregnant with our third. My husband is overjoyed. He says that, no matter what, we shouldn't even consider an abortion; he's convinced we can make the apartment work to accommodate the baby. The problem is, we're all living in a one-bedroom rental right now. We can't afford to buy a place yet, and we don't qualify for any of the first-time homebuyer assistance programs.
I know my husband wouldn't forgive me if I went through with an abortion. He wouldn't leave me, but it would devastate him, and he'd never truly move past it. I honestly don't know if we can save up enough for a down payment anytime soon. I have some government family grants sitting in an account that we're hoping to put toward building a house in the suburbs someday, but I'm at a loss for what to do right now. Deep down, of course, I want to keep the baby too.
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