So when I found out I was pregnant, I had had an idea for a while already, but was in total denial. I had a weird period cause I sucked at taking the pill, which according to me, was why I wasn't getting a period. But one day I got extremely angry at my dad because I claimed he never bought me the fruit I wanted. I yelled at him all the way to the store, my poor dad. You know what I made him buy me? Grapes and cucumbers. Cucumbers aren't even fruit. He asked me if I was ok because that was a stupid thing to get mad about. Sorry pa, my hormones were a little wild.
I think it was the end of April when I went to Walgreens to buy a pregnancy test just to have a solid answer. I bought it, drove to 7/11, peed on the stick and waited for five minutes. I texted my boyfriend, at the time, to let him know what was going on. It didn't take five minutes at all. I saw the life changing symbol in the little box within seconds. I took the second test; same result. I cried. I told him both were positive. He asked me what should we do? I knew I wanted to keep it, yes we were only 19, but I couldn't go threw with anything else. My dad found out through Facebook; sadly I did not have the courage to tell him myself. I told my mom and she told me to think very hard about what I was going to decide. My boyfriend took me to my first appointment and I was twelve weeks. I missed my whole first trimester. We both got jobs and he talked about me moving in with him. All guys, I think, have their little scares and that moment where they don't know if they can be dads. My baby dad's lasted a week, but by the end of the week I was moving in with him. My pregnancy was typical for that of a young mom. You get the weird stares, the baby dad questions, did I finish school, etc. In June, I had the option of taking some test to see if my son would be born with a genetic disability. My parents were very against because my mom had gotten a very high chance of my brother having Down syndrome and it caused her to be extremely depressed the rest of her pregnancy. My brother actually was born "normal." I took it because I wanted to be able to prepare myself for anything, of course nothing would change the love I had for my little blessing. I actually had one of the lower scores, which meant it was VERY unlikely, as the nurse kept emphasizing, that my son would have any issues. Ironic isn't it? To me those results now mean nothing. When I have another child I'll probably pass on those tests. God has the final say in what happens. My labor was long, approximately 22 hours. The nurses thought I was funny because I laughed after every contraction. I guess I just loved the fact that my baby boy was almost out. Once my water broke, I started dialating rapidly. At 8 or 9 pm I was at 9cm so they suggested I take the epidural. I didn't want it, but what they hadn't told me up until then was that during my recent contractions my son's heartbeat was close to a stop. I was too tense and he seemed to be stuck. So I took the epidural and I had to lay on my left side. I felt everything on my right side, but I still got to take a nap. Next thing I know, nurses are rushing into my room waking me up at 2am announcing "Its time to push." So my dad and my baby's dad are each on one side; my mom and his mom are each holding one foot. I push for about ten minutes and they flop my bloody child onto my belly at exactly 2:15 am on October 30. They tell me to rub him hard on his back because he's having a hard time catching his breath. He's frantically searching for my boob, I put him on and he feeds like he had been doing it forever. The nurses and doctor were very impressed. His dad gave him his first bath and changed his first diaper. I ate a sandwich and I don't remember a lot after, but I was told I was rushed into another room because I started loosing a lot of blood. I think I passed out because the next time I woke up, it was to the cry of my beautiful 18 in., 6lb baby, named Roberto Giovahnii. My dad was very proud of me, he said I delivered better than any of my relatives including my mom, as though this was what I was meant to do. But at 19, I was still terrified at how disgusting my body was and all that was to come my way. As terrified as I was, I think it was good I didn't know about my son's disability just yet.