Chapter 1: The day that shook my conscience
Being a new mother is, in theory, a beautiful experience. You treasure every second, you become a professional photographer who takes and takes photos of everything: the ultrasound, the gender reveal, the baby shower... Everything looks like it came from a Pinterest board with a pastel filter.
But being a first-time mom at 16... Phew! Let's say that the filter in the photo comes out a little blurry.
Let's start from the moment you find out. The famous "positive". My first reaction was to ask the dumbest question in the history of humanity:
-That? But... how did it happen? —I asked the doctor with a face paler than a sheet of paper.
The doctor looked at me over his glasses, sighed and responded with a calmness that made me want to disappear:
—Do you really want me to tell you in detail how it happened?
Swallow me, earth. And spit me out on another continent.
At that moment, being a teenage mom can be summed up in one word: SHOCK. Your hands and legs tremble and, if they rush me, even your consciousness of pure nerve trembles. It's as if the world stops, but at the same time it starts running at a thousand kilometers per hour and you're not wearing a seat belt.
My life is summed up in one word: Ironic.
A week ago, my biggest tragedy was that the lipstick I bought online turned out to be "rusty brick" and not "strawberry pink." Today, my greatest tragedy is a piece of plastic with two pink stripes that looks at me as if they were mocking my existence.
I am 16 years old today. At this age I'm supposed to be worried about the physics exam or if the boy I like noticed me. Not to know if folic acid is chewed or swallowed.
Have you seen those movies where the protagonist vomits elegantly in a flower garden? Lie. I almost lost a lung in front of my dog, who looked at me with a look like: "Hey, human, if you die, who is going to give me my kibble?" And you would think that the problem ends there but no! The problem is not just that my belly is planning a territorial expansion. The problem is HIM.
That summer day, with the music in the background and its promises that sounded as real as a three-peso bill. He looked me in the eyes and told me we would always be together. And here I am, "together", but just me and my new pregnancy test friend, because he hasn't responded to my last ten messages.
The Dr. had already given me a diagnosis, for some naive reason I took a pregnancy test to see if "there could be an error", Of course the Dr. was wrong... I thought.
I hear the door to my room open. It's my mom. He brings my clean clothes and that "tell me everything" smile that disarms me. I feel like I'm out of breath. It's now or never. Either I tell her I'm going to be a grandmother (well, her, not me), or I hide this test in the deepest part of my closet and pretend it's a bad dream.
My hand shakes. My heart is beating so hard I could swear the baby—or whatever I have in there—is already learning to play the drums.
-Daughter? Why are you so pale? —she asks me, getting too close.
I close my eyes... Tomorrow my life will not be the same.
