There was the initial breaking of the news, then the telling of the parents, then the mother of my child said she needed a break from the relationship before she started to hate me. The latest development is that she’s said she definitely doesn’t want to be with me.

So, two weeks after I was told I still feel like I’ve had my insides scooped out. Not because I’m going to be a father, now it’s because I’m going to be an absent father without any choice in the matter. I’m going to be forced into a role I’ve always dreaded I’ll have to fill.

I want to get home from a long days work, walk through the door of my house and have my kid screaming “dad, dad, guess what!?” I don’t want to have to wait until the weekend to see my child. I don’t want to have to be on the beck and call of the child’s mother, at her mercy as to when and how I see my kid. I want to be able to decide on a whim to take my kid to the zoo, or to the park, or to anywhere I choose, and be able to.

This experience is teaching me new levels of pain and heart ache. It has simply confirmed a couple of things for me though: I have the shittest taste in women and when a woman talks to you about the future they’re talking complete crap. I’ve had two girlfriends now who’ve talked to me about getting married and having kids together and both of them have gone from 100% to 0% seemingly overnight. The girlfriends who’ve let things happen have always given me signs that the relationship was faltering. The ones with the plans haven’t.

You read that right. She’s STARTED to smoke! She quit in January. She’s bought a pack of 10 today.

She said that she wasn’t going to smoke them all at once, as if that makes it okay. Of course, I’m supposed to just believe that it will be this one packet, then she’ll have it out of her system to smoke or something. Fat god damn chance.

I thought I was selfish with the things I was hoping. Now that she’s started to smoke again I’m not so sure.

I never thought I could hurt as much as I do.

Now my only problem is mum. I thought we were going well, that we wanted the same things and that the news that she was pregnant would be a blow, but that we would deal with it because we both wanted kids eventually. In my mind it was just going to be a lot sooner than either of us planned.

It would seem that mum is either taking it badly, or else was never into the relationship in the same way that I was. She has been very, very distant since finding out that she was pregnant. She’s pushed me away and made it hard for me to be with her. She no longer wants me staying around her house and is using her child to explain why.

I’ve got some taste in women, I’ll give me that.

The hope I’m talking about is the hope that my partner miscarries. I keep hoping that this pregnancy goes wrong as early as possible so I don’t have to deal with it, so I don’t have to be a father.

Horrible, I know. I’m the worst person in the world.

My initial gut feeling was that she was going to tell me that she wanted to break up with me. However, as we continued to chat over SMS she was dropping kissses into her texts and so I started to wonder what it could possibly be that she needed to talk to me about. Then it occurred. It was almost that time of the month. I started to pray to myself that she was breaking up with me. At that moment I would have preferred that to the news that was to come. I would have chosen being dumped over being a dad in a heart beat. It still feels strange to refer to myself as a dad, even if I add ‘to be’ on there it still feels strange, like when someone says “come out of the way of the man” when I’m somewhere like a shop. I often have to fight the initial reaction of wanting to look behind me and see where the man is. I still think of myself as a lad at most, a teen at worst.

That’s not the part that’s going to make you think I’m the worst person in the world, however. That I’d rather be dumped than be a dad is small fry next to the thoughts that went through my head once she’d actually told me. My first thought was that it was going to screw up our sex life. Totally screw it up. She was already on the cool side for my taste and this was bound to make her leg-locked for at least a year. I read something encouraging on the net – that some women finds that the experience in the early and mid stages actually increases their sex drive, some by massive amounts. I should have known not to let that raise my spirits of course. She’s on total lock down.

If that’s not enought to get me the tag worst person in the world then the next thought that went through my head will. I hoped that she was going to have another caesaren rather than a natural birth. I’ve often through the course of our relationship thanked my lucky stars that she’d not had her vagina ruined by pushing a bowling ball through it. She is embarrassed by her scar and her inability to make her tummy firm due to the cut muscles. I’d rather have her stomach be saggy than her pussy, any single day of any week. Every and any day. I like that she’s still tight down there. I like that it’s not like throwing a snooker cue up a road. But she wants it to be a natural birth. I, on the other hand, am praying for complications and scalpels.

My child-to-be will be using that passage once. I may be using it for the rest of my sexual life. I’m being selfish, yes. However, I don’t care when it comes to this. For all the crap that’s spouted about sex and the ‘purpose’ of the sexual organs I can’t help but feel that nature has screwed up big time in the design department. A well designed body would not be destroyed by the continuation of the species. Either the vagina shouldn’t be destroyed or the male of the species should enjoy it more when there’s no pressure around the penis during sex.

See? Worst person in the world.

I’ve told my mother and she was upset and disappointed. I was expecting her to throw things and shout and call me names. In truth it would have been much, much easier to take. I’ve always preferred when my mum shouts at me because when she doesn’t I know I’ve done something really, really bad. To me, “You stupid moron! How could you be so careless!” screamed at the top of the lungs is less painful to hear than “I’m very disappointed in you” said in a hoarse whisper. It was hard to tell her, but I did it quickly using the age old plaster theory of quick and painful, but over sooner rather than later. I came right out and said it. I’m not sure my mum appreciated it, but it allowed me to get it over with and allowed her to start the coping phase.

About all my mum asked was if she was keeping it, what it meant for my education. My step dad was able to come up with more questions but none of such magnitude.

One week. I’ve been feeling cold and empty since she told me. If that doesn’t make you think I’m one of the worst people in the world then my next entry is sure to.