I made it clear to him while we were dating that I would not get an abortion if I was pregnant. We got married, and had been married for 11 months, and went on vacation to Hawaii and I didn't bring my birth control. He could have used condoms. He could have pulled out. I told him that the trip happened during my "most likely to conceive" days. He wanted me to have an abortion. I was okay with talking about it, but somehow being willing to have the conversation meant I was willing to abort. I started to feel like I was getting steamrolled. I lied hours before I was supposed to go to the clinic, and told him I'd started bleeding. He said, "Well, that's that." Five weeks later, I told him I thought I was still pregnant, and took a test and showed him. He said it was probably still showing up that way from the miscarriage. I took another a week later, and showed him, and he said, "Crap. I guess we're having a baby, honey." And he kissed me. I asked whether he was upset, and he just shrugged, "Hey, shit happens." Our son is now two. He loves him, and loves being a daddy. He cried when he first heard him cry, and cried again the first time he had to leave him in the hospital. He runs all over the house, playing the most elaborate peek a boo. They play David and Goliath, where my husband acts like a giant who's going to stomp on the little boy, but just manages to stomp around him. My son loves it when his daddy's legs walk over him, but always miss his head. Then as soon as he so much as touches my husband, he falls right down, "Oh, no! You got me! I am destroyed!" They love each other so much. I've asked my husband if he ever thinks about how we'd once talked about getting an abortion, and he said, "Not really. I don't usually think about what ifs, or things I can't change. But it doesn't matter. We didn't make a good baby. We made a great baby."