My Life As A Teen Mom

I still remember how sick I felt that day. I was sitting on the toilet, staring at my shoes in the all powder blue girls' bathroom at my high school. I was in 10th grade, a sophomore, and I was pregnant. I just knew it. I'd ran to the bathroom to check for my period. The period that was never coming. It was one of those all encompassing, earth shattering moments. I'd only been with one guy and now...that may have been the last time I'd ever be. I was 16 and I was going to be a mom. No part of me was ready. Every fear I could have, ran through my mind. I had been raised Catholic and didn't believe in abortion, so that was ruled out. The first thought I had though, was fear for my own life. At the time I was so skinny, I didn't even weigh enough to donate blood. Would I be able to carry a baby full term? Would it die? Would it kill me?

Looking back I realized these were stupid questions. But when you're 16, you don't know very much about motherhood. Next, I worried about my parents. They'd be ashamed. I'd let them down majorly. I was destined to work at a fast food joint making minimum wage while living in a crummy roach infested apartment, probably by myself. I just knew it. Goodbye chances for college. Goodbye chances at a decent career or a living. I was going to be a single teen mom, and nobody wanted one of those around.

I'd come clean to my parents, and thank God they didn't disown me or kick me out. My mom and step dad were more understanding than my dad. He was massively pissed off at my mom, blaming her for her parenting skills. My brothers were disappointed too. I had accepted it fairly easily, stepping into the role more naturally than I could've predicted. I didn't feel as tore up about it as many other teen girls might've been. I'd always been more of a loner, and didn't seek to be validated by being accepted by my peers. I'd never even fully felt like I fit in at my high school, or the town I was living in, to be honest.

So, I started with the tests to confirm pregnancy, exams after. Then they gave me the little 'You're about to be a mother!' starter pack. It was a bag full of pamphlets with resources on motherhood and all things baby. The bag included samples of formula as well. I studied these items like schoolwork, determined to be a good mom. I dove in fully, letting go of my social life almost instantly and completely. I took the matter seriously and was dedicated to owning up to my own responsibility. Days were spent at school, nights spent by myself. I often wrote poetry in my room, or sat by the radio, singing for hours. I was content to be alone.

My boyfriend (my baby's dad) was for the most part supportive. He wasn't sure he was ready to be a dad, but he was trying. As I started to get bigger, I did start to get some interesting looks from local townspeople and some of my own peers. But for the most part, it wasn't that bad. I was unaffected by their judgement and I was proud of my growing baby, no matter how young I was. At some point, I'd grown rebellious and even started wearing Hooters t-shirts and other shirts with semi-offensive slogans as a challenge for people to say something to me. They never did.

Probably the most interesting part of my pregnancy was being told I needed to leave school early one day and drive to the police station for questioning. Imagine my shock, as I was about 6-7 months pregnant at this point, and finding out that I was somehow a suspect for an accomplice in a robbery. It gets more ridiculous. It was the robbery OF A WAFFLE HOUSE. I was cleared pretty fast from that suspect list when I showed up.

I was admitted to the hospital weeks before my due date. I stayed in the hospital overnight and a whole day, until the next night. I was given some kind of medicine,(along with the epidural) that made my whole body numb and made me feel high. (I'd never been high before LOL). Then my daughter was born. I was 17 by then, and now a real mom. She was pale and had golden brown hair and tiny pretty hands. She looked like a doll. For a moment, I felt nothing. It scared me. I felt empty, like a shell. She was here and that's all that mattered. Kathey was gone and now I was only her mom. I realized later this was called postpartum depression. I couldn't feel happy. I couldn't feel anything. Luckily, for me, it passed quickly. By the time we left the hospital, I'd become just as obsessed and in love with her as any new mom would be. I was so protective of her and territorial, like some kind of animal. I didn't want anyone to touch her, or hold her.

Then I brought her home...

To be continued...