In February last year, while hiking in California’s Yucca Valley, I realized I was probably pregnant.
I was 25 years old and had hoped to have more time to travel and write and get lost in the desert among the agaves, far away from my home in New York City, before having a baby. But the plus sign on my pregnancy test indicated that those plans would be cut short—and I’d need to craft new ones fast.
My husband and I had been married for three years, and we would have preferred to save more money before starting a family. But there was no question we were going ahead. I am staunchly pro-life, and though our child was unplanned, he was definitely wanted.