My Favorite Memory
Some things in life can be planned, but nothing is ever certain. I found that out a long time ago, but what really made me truly believe it was when it happened to me. I was fourteen years old when I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t really believe it at first; I never thought it could happen to me. Nonetheless, it did. At such a young age, I really didn’t know what to do, after a lot of thought it was decided I was going to have a baby and this was going to be my favorite memory.
Legs wide opened, no longer caring about discretion and privacy, I screamed. I screamed and squeezed my mother’s hand as my doctor coached me, convinced me to push a second time. I pushed, allowing the dizziness to invade me, shortness of breath, and impatience to escape me. I pushed, screamed, and squeezed. I felt my screams come from my toes, sounding like that of a madwoman. I sounded angry. I sounded as if pain had wretched my entire 14 year old body, from the roots of my hair to the toes of my feet. And with the third push, that seemed to last for an hour, I gave birth. I was a brand new, unwed statistic, to a beautiful little girl that would teach me how to laugh a laugh I had never laughed and show I pride I did not know I owned.
Moments later, my obstetrician announced a fact that I had been aware of for months now and had searched relentlessly for the perfect name for that fact. Dr. Smith said “it’s a girl.” I smiled and waited patiently for him to place her in my arms. I wanted to see her. I had become impatient in those last months of my pregnancy just to see her, hold her, smell her, touch her tiny nose, kiss her tiny eyes. And he did. He placed her right in my arms. And as if I had been a mother before, as if she were not my first child, I cradled her, held her close, just like a mother would do. Just like my mom had done to me even in my older ages, cradled me, as if to keep me safe from the horrid world around us. I cradled my new baby girl. And I...