She stared resolutely at the ceiling tiles, hands curled into tight fists. Yet another pair of impersonal hands probed and prodded the most private parts of her body. If one more disembodied male voice said, "Just relax, sweetie. This won't be so bad," she would scream. Her thoughts were already screaming.
I'm only 19 years old! I don't want to have a baby! Why is this happening to me? STOP TOUCHING ME!
Nausea and panic fought for supremacy in her thoughts. She closed her eyes and prayed for the humiliation to be over.
"Young lady, your pregnancy is too far along for an abortion. You must be feeling movement by now."
She nodded meekly, unwilling and unable to make contact with the doctor's kind eyes. What was his name again? There had been so many in the past week. She couldn't remember the names, only the succession of unemotional voices all saying the same thing. Too late. Too late.
The discussion she had dreaded happened in the car on the way home. Her mother looked over at her, and said, "I can't help you raise this baby. Maybe it's selfish, and maybe I should, but I can't. You'll have to give it up for adoption."
The girl's response was immediate. "I can't give my baby away!" She turned her face away and stared blindly out the car window. As the tears started to fall, she roughly wiped them away, determined not to cry. She kept her eyes averted, simply because she couldn't bear to see the soft look of hurt and pity on her mother's face.
"You're not ready to raise a child. Is he?" The girl knew he wasn't. He was even less prepared for the responsibility than she was. His reaction had stunned her. He had seemed almost relieved that he was able to father a child. She was still angry. She felt alone, overwhelmed and more frightened than she had ever been in her life.
She didn't know what to say to her mother, so she said nothing.
"Well, we can talk about it after you've had a chance to think it over. But we will have to make a decision, and soon."
The girl wrapped her arms protectively around her middle and tried very hard not to think.
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She ran her hands over the big mound of her pregnant belly. She was still mildly surprised every time she felt the movement of a small arm or leg. The birth couldn't happen soon enough. She was so tired, both physically and mentally. The last few months had been almost surreal. This little baby was like the proverbial elephant in the room that everyone knows is there, but refuses to acknowledge.
She had known from the very beginning, from that first awkward discussion in the car, that adoption was inevitable. She knew what kind of a life her baby would have if she kept her. (She also felt certain that this baby who was hers but not hers, was a girl.) The girl's parents barely spoke to each other. Money was tight. What kind of a chance would a little baby have, being raised by teenagers, in an atmosphere like that? No, adoption was the far wiser, kinder choice.
The girl had made her peace with that. All during her pregnancy she tried very hard not to grow too attached to the little being growing inside her. Sometimes late at night, though, she massaged the skin tightly stretched over her belly and spoke silently, from her heart to the tiny beating heart inside her.
You're not mine, little baby. I can't love you too much. I can't keep you, but I promise you'll have a good life. I won't forget you. I promise, I'll never forget you. Hurry up and grow now, so we can all move on. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry...
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The birth left the girl feeling bruised and exhausted in body, mind and spirit. She left the hospital without ever seeing the face of the baby girl she had labored so hard to bring into the world. Slowly, one by one, the pieces of her life were falling back in place. Back to normal. Her life would eventually move forward. She was the same, yet not.
Every time she looked in the mirror, she looked for subtle changes in her face. Do I look different? I had a baby. I am a mother. I should look different. I had a baby... I am a mother...
The true lasting changes were not written on her face, but felt keenly in her spirit. The little baby girl being nurtured in someone else's arms had indeed made a tiny warm place for herself in the girl's heart.
She believed that it had been the right thing to do, to give her baby the very best chance for a wonderful life with a loving mother and father. She hoped there would be other children in her future, children who would call her mommy. But this little one. This sweet little soul would always be felt, always be remembered, always be loved.
