I have always loved kids. I love being around them, listening to them and reading stories with them. I love to take care of them and how funny they are. My fiancee Davina has ten nieces and nephews who I absolutely love being around. They make me laugh so much and bring so much joy into my life. I've adopted them as my own. I always wanted to be a mum from quite a young age but obviously at a time that I knew was going to be right for both me and my child. I was the nurturing type of kid and always wanted to help people. I never imagined I'd find myself in such a terrible situation. I was rebellious as a teenager. I smoked and drank alcohol at every opportunity I got, I did things with boys that made me feel dirty. I did it all to fit in and because I wanted to be loved. Acknowledged. Appreciated even. I never thought it would land me in trouble.
My first real sexual experience was with a boy I met on holiday when I was fourteen. My Aunt had a caravan on a holiday site in Yorkshire so my grandparents had taken me away for a break. I was smoking by this age and had already managed to blag cigarettes off the local shop keeper by swearing that I was old enough to get them. I used to run down to the beach which was only a few yards from the park and sit on the beach and smoke one after the other. I figured the more I smoked in this short space of time the less likely I was going to crave later on as there was only so many opportunities to sneak away. Of course, it made me as sick as a dog. Throwing up and coughing all over the beach because I'd just smoked ten cigarettes in one go.
One morning, I managed to sneak off for a walk and as I marched my way across the beach to my usual smoking spot, a boy approached me. He was taller than me. Striking blue eyes, Soft dark hair. There was a cold wind in the air yet he stood in front of me only in a t.shirt and shorts. His skin covered in goosebumps. I remember asking him why he didn't have a jumper on. "I don't feel the cold" was his answer. He walked me along the beach. I could feel him looking at me. I looked into his eyes and gave a cocky smile. I took his hand and led him to a quite spot on the beach surrounded my rocks. I don't know why I did this. I knew what was going to happen and I wasn't scared. I wanted it. I wanted to have sex with the boy and now. I kissed him and before I knew it I was butt naked on the sand having sex with some guy I didn't even know. I barely caught his name. It was over pretty fast. Was nothing particularly special. I basically got up, put my clothes on and lit a cigarette. He walked me back down the beach to the road up to the park. We never said a word. I went my way and he went his and I never saw him again.
seven weeks after I came home, I felt wrong. I didn't feel myself and Id missed a period. My periods were a little erratic at this age. I hadn't long started my periods, only the year before so I put the missed period down to that. The thought of being pregnant couldn't have been further from my mind. "It must be stresses too", I thought. I put it down to prelim exam stress and mum being in hospital only a few months before. It was only when I started throwing up all over the place, at all times of the day did I realize something was desperately wrong. What if I'm pregnant? It was only the once I kept saying. I would have been perfectly happy to have a baby if it weren't for the horrific thought of telling my parents their daughter is knocked up. That she's had sex. I put myself out my misery and made an appointment at the local family planning clinic to get a pregnancy test. I never had any money and I was hardly going to ask my mum to fund it. I remember waiting nervously in the waiting room, terrified of the results that awaited me. Could I be pregnant? But it was only one time, I kept repeating. I was called into the tiny white room and was told the news I was dreading "Your pregnancy test was positive, Louise. You're pregnant". I felt the floor fall beneath me. I felt woozy. What the fuck was I going to do? This was going to destroy my mum.
I was too scared to tell my mum or anyone close to me so I confided in my Guidance teacher at School. I remember the day I was going to tell her, knowing full well of the aftermath that lay ahead. I put on my school uniform and put my hair in a ponytail and I stood in front of my mirror and held my stomach in my hands. I was terrified. I'd made the mistake of having sex without protection and now I was paying for it. I knew I wanted to keep it. Nothing was going to keep me away from my baby now that I'd got used to the idea. I could feel it growing inside me. It needed me and I knew I could provide for it. Love was surely enough to get us through.
I made my way to my guidance teachers room to tell her the awful secret I'd been harbouring. We sat in chairs facing each other and I told her I had something I had to tell her but I was too scared to speak it. I asked if I could write it down for her to read and she left me alone for a moment. I grabbed the paper and pencil and scribbled "I'm pregnant". She came back in, quickly looked at it and sighed. She had already thought this was perhaps what she would hear. She took me straight round to my head of year who sat with myself and my guidance teacher asking me all kinds of questions. Does your mother know? How far along are you? When was this? Who with?
They called my mum and told her over the phone that I was pregnant and that they were driving me home to speak with her. I wanted to run away. I wanted to run straight out the office door and live in the run or something. Find a new family. My family were never going to accept this.
The car journey home was awful. I felt so guilty and ashamed. My dad was going to kill me. It was the worst possible thing that could happen to me. When we walked in my mum's front door she was crying. Saying over and over, "How could you do this? You're pregnant? Great! You're fourteen years old Louise! What's your dad going to say?!" I sat on our ancient dusty sofa with my head hung low. I couldn't look at her. I had shamed her. How would she tell my grandparents? They'd surely disown us.
I begged my mum not to tell my dad. I knew she would have to eventually but I needed time for it to sink in and for me to grasp the concept of my dad beating me to within an inch of my life.
"He's your dad, Louise. I have to tell him". As I lay in bed that night, I prayed to god that I wouldn't hear the shouting and arguing as my mum broke the news of my pregnancy. I asked my mum the next morning if she told him. She had. I ran up to my room and burst in to tears. What was I going to do? I'll have to leave home and life somewhere else. Foster care. My baby will be taken off me and Ill end up on the streets. I'd always had a vivid imagination but I couldn't help but fear the worst. I lay on my bed, holding my stomach and watched the clock strike 5pm. He would be home any minute.
I could hear the car drive into the street. It was a Volvo, the only car he'll ever drive because he says "They are the safest cars on the road by none". My stomach lurched. I closed my eyes as I heard the key in the door. I knew he would be coming up to scream and ball at his slut of a daughter. Who got herself pregnant at fourteen.
Sure enough, I heard the footsteps on the stairs. I jumped up from the bed and pulled the covers back and dived back in. I pulled them tightly around my face and turned to look at the wall. I didn't want to look at him. See the anger and shame in his eyes. I just prayed for peace.
He opened my door and there was silence. "Who is he?" He asked. "I don't know" I said "No one you know".
"You are fourteen years old, Louise. I don't want this under my roof". He exclaimed.
"Well, I want to keep it. It's mine. I'm sorry Dad". I began to sob. He left my room. I knew he was angry and he didn't want me in the house. I hoped my mum would fight for me and look after me. I didn't want to leave my home. I heard my parents argue that night. My dad screaming that I was disgusting and my mum screaming back that I was her daughter and she was going to protect me. I've never felt so truly awful than when I did that night. Hearing your so called parent say the nastiest things about you. I don't think my relationship with my dad has completely recovered from that.
My mum told me the following morning that she had calmed him down and that they would just deal with things as they come. I took at deep breath as though this was the very beginning of my decent into motherhood. I could get on with my pregnancy without worrying about my parents. I could start thinking about what to do with my room and how to accommodate a baby. I would rub my belly every night and talk to my unborn baby. A week or so later I was in to see the doctor who examined me, in front of my mum which was the most humiliating thing ever. She felt around my abdomen and asked me if I knew the date of my last period which I told her.
She told me to sit back down on the chair and she brought out a calendar to determine my due date.
"I'd say you are around nine to ten weeks pregnant and I'm putting your date of delivery at around May 18th". I was ecstatic. It felt so real. I was going to be a mum. So what if I'll only be fifteen when it's born? I'm going to be the best mum in the world and nothing would get in my way.
At the same time as finding out about this joyous news, My Aunt was over from Australia. My mum kept asking me to tell her but I would beg her not to. I feel so common around the rest of my family. They have all got good jobs, went to university, got married before they had kids and here I was. Their fifteen year old niece has screwed some random bloke and got herself pregnant. With no money and no prospects. I couldn't have more people looking down on me, snubbing me. Disowning me. I was so terrified of them finding out and I knew they would sooner or later.
A week or so later I finally got my appointment through the post for my hospital scan at the maternity day assessment unit at the local hospital. I kept imagining to myself what it would be like to see my tiny little baby up on the screen. It's little heart beating. Would I be able to make out a baby on the screen or something that looked like a baked bean. I kept busy for the few days leading up to the appointment. I was going to school, something I hardly ever did, and was keeping up with chores and homework. I was getting a little bit of pain in my stomach but put it down to eating too much or really needing to fart. When I woke up the next morning I noticed blood spots in my underwear. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what blood in your pants meant when you were pregnant. I tried to stay calm and went to the bathroom to get a pad. I spotted a little more after that but after a day it all stopped. I thought maybe it was some kind of period. I'd heard somewhere that women sometimes get periods when they were pregnant. I stopped worrying and looked forward to the impending scan.
My mum came with me. I didn't really want her to though. I was going to feel so uncomfortable with my disapproving mother looking on. I was already worrying about what the Sonographer was thinking. "Another lazy teen mum. Poor kid". We sat in the waiting room for a few minutes, waiting to be called. The place was empty. Hardly a soul there. It made me feel uneasy. I don't quite know why. When my name was called I asked mum to wait outside. She demanded she was coming in.
"You are my daughter and I want to be here!". She said under her breath. I sat up on the bed and a very nice woman introduced herself. "Hi, Louise. I'm Sandra. Could you pull your top up to just under your bra and pull your trousers down to your pubic bone for me please?". I was feeling nervous. Like butterflies floating around in my stomach. Mum was watching. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. It had finally hit me across the face that I was a teenage mother. I was having a baby.
"Now, I'm just going to put some gel on your stomach. It's quite cold." Sandra said. With that, she squirted a giant dollop of clear gel onto my belly and began working the scanner across it. I lay back with my arm under my head, staring at the screen, waiting for that devine moment when I see my child for the first time.
"I'm having trouble locating a heartbeat. I can't see the foetus." She said worryingly. "Have you had any type of pain, bleeding. Anything unusual?". I thought back to the pains in my stomach that I'd mistaken for gas or eating too much. The blood. Why didn't it click with the blood!? I should have known to tell someone, my mum, that I was bleeding. Have I killed my baby?
