University of Nevada, Reno

Sense and Sexuality From Teen to Teen Mom: Redefining the Label

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Art in English

By

Katie Smith

Dr. Susan Palwick/Thesis Advisor

August, 2011

THE GRADUATE SCHOOL

We recommend that the thesis prepared under our supervision by

KATIE LOUISE SMITH

entitled

Sense And Sexuality From Teen To Teen Mom: Redefining The Label

be accepted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Susan Palwick, Ph.D., Advisor

Ann Keniston, Ph.D., Committee Member

Lisa Black, Ph.D., Graduate School Representative

Marsha H. Read, Ph. D., Associate Dean, Graduate School

August, 2011

i

Abstract

After becoming a teen mom my senior year, I worked my way through college while being a mom, wife, student, and worker. Throughout my studies and life experience, I realized that there was a lack of teen parent literature, for or by teen parents, and a lack of teen parents being open about their experiences, good or bad. At that point,

I realized that I needed to complete my memoir about teen sexuality and being a teenage mom.

The memoir exposes my journey from eighth grade, when I was first exposed to the idea of sex, and concludes with me now, a twenty-six year old wife, parent of two, and college graduate who is working as a teacher and writer. Throughout my memoir I open up about being a teenager in love and how my mature emotions transform into having to make mature decisions. The mixed emotions I experience are complex, and I am forced to handle them without always having the life experience or knowledge necessary. Important private moments are revealed in hopes of getting my message across to adults and teenagers.

One goal of writing this memoir is to increase awareness about the prevalence of sex and sexuality among teens. The solution set forth is that communication between adults and teens needs to be more open; teens need to know their options when it comes to sex and safety. Another goal is to show that teen parents need to be active in attaining their success; success does not just happen.

Struggles and perseverance combine to offer one, not so rare, account of a smart girl‟s decisions pertaining to sex and sexuality and the repercussions. ii

This book is dedicated to my family, especially Levi, for believing in me.

I would also like to dedicate this book to other teen moms, because I believe in you.

iii

Table of Contents

Prologue: I Can Only Hope That Everything Happens For a Reason

Inevitable-Finding Out………………………………………………………………2

Section One: Oh, To Be a Teenagers Again…No, Thank You!

Eighth Graders Have Sex?...... 11

Scandalous Summer…………………………………………………………………19

A New Chapter in My Life………………………………………………………….29

Lives of Impulse……………………………………………………………………..39

There‟s Always a First for That……………………………………………………..46

To Love and Lose……………………………………………………………………56

How Do I Move On With a Broken Heart?...... 65

Crash and Burn………………………………………………………………………74

Section Two: Too Young to Be a Mom?

Working Mom……………………………………………………………………….83

Telling the Truth……………………………………………………………………..95

Trying to Grow Up…………………………………………………………………..102

An Unexpected Beginning to My Senior Year………………………………………109

The Time of Our Lives………………………………………………………………119

How Do You Prepare For the Unknown?...... 133

Another Curve Ball………………………………………………………………….142

Section Three: Oh Baby!

Bundle of Joy……………………………………………………………………….148

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Settling In……………………………………………………………………………164

Do Expenses Ever End?...... 173

Pooping, Puking, and Other Baby Ailments..……………………………………….181

More Than Another Welfare Recipient……………………………………………...190

Hard Work Really Does Pay Off ……………………………………………………199

Resources……………………………………………………………………………202

1

Prologue

I Can Only Hope That Everything Happens For a Reason

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

2

Inevitable-Finding Out

Everything is set. My black tea is steaming waiting for me to take the first sip.

My document is open, format is set. My favorite plaid pajama pants and mismatched sweatshirt allow me to shift around comfortably in my computer chair. I raise my feet and push them against the wall behind my desk. Still, the cursor is continuing to blink back at me, prompting me to get started. What else could I possibly need? Then it hits me, an Ah-Ha moment. What about all the other teen moms? Where are they? What are their stories? How did they make it through? Or did they?

#

It was a dry, blazing hot Friday in August, one of those days when you picture fat ladies fanning themselves while continuing to sweat. In two days I would be a senior in high school. Thank God, I would finally be at the top of the school. The only problem was that I was late. No, not for a blind date, nor for a meeting. I was late getting Aunt

Flo, you know, my monthly cycle. It was not a big deal—it had happened before, and it always turned out fine. All right, I had never been a week late. All week my stomach had been in knots and my brain had been mangled with fear, reservations, and what ifs.

How would I explain this to my parents, family, friends, and peers? I was a straight A student. This type of thing doesn‟t happen to a good student. I had made some bad decisions at times, but overall, I thought I was a good girl. I was too young and had too much ahead of me for this to happen.

On Monday, I had told Levi I was a day or two late, but it was no big deal. I had been exercising a lot and maybe that was why I was late. After Monday we didn‟t really 3 talk about it, but each time we had sex that week, making sure to use a condom, he knew

I still hadn‟t started.

When Friday rolled around, and I was done with work at the daycare, it was time.

My stomach was doing flips and my mind was running in circles. I couldn‟t focus.

Levi was at work at the grocery store when I called. “Levi will you pick up a test at the store?” I spoke into the empty void of his voice message box as tears streamed down my cheeks and my stomach continued its obsessive workout routine. I did not have to say what kind of test, because he already knew what was going on. Over the past three years, Levi was always the one to buy the pregnancy tests, the thin white stick that attested to the mistakes we made in moments of pure passion. I couldn‟t imagine people seeing me buy it. What would they think of me?

Levi and I talked about everything, but it was the unspoken things, the things we didn‟t have to say, that were usually the hardest. His shift ended twenty agonizing minutes after my pleading message. I pictured him sitting in his sporty, white Honda

Civic checking his voicemail. I could see his pale face transform to a sickly white color as he listened to my message. I knew Levi would do anything for me. He arrived at my parents‟ house thirty painful minutes after he got off work. I had never felt so alone.

I heard his car pull into the driveway below my second story bedroom window. I couldn‟t bring myself to get up off the bed where I lay in utter silence and fear. Within a minute, he was in my room. In his work uniform, he looked like a Jehovah‟s Witness who was trying to convince me of joining his religion. He pulled a small grocery bag out of his inside jacket pocket. The grocery bag wasn‟t from the store he worked at. I didn‟t 4 have to ask why. What young man would want to buy a pregnancy test from his place of work? People there knew me. They would know who the test was for.

As he walked across my room, his pace revealed his anxiety, and his face exclaimed, “Wow, this is it.” He slowly, and almost methodically, sat down on the foot of my bed. He rested his hand gently on my thigh, “Is there anything else I can do?”

My distant, blank stare was now fixed on his handsome young face. I didn‟t look into his eyes. Instead, my eyes were fixed on the one inch scar on his forehead from a car accident he was in as a young child. I couldn‟t answer, because I knew if I did, my tears would start again. I wouldn‟t be able to keep my emotions in check.

I shook my head side to side with all the strength I could muster through the paralyzing fear that was overtaking my mind and body. I slowly moved my legs off the bed and pushed myself up to sitting and then somehow, as if in a dream, I was standing.

Levi removed the plastic bag and was placing a white box that read “EPT: Now a second one FREE!” in my hand. This was really it. It was time.

#

My fingers and my brain are convinced that I can‟t demand them to get to work.

The only action occurring is that the questions continue to rattle around in my head.

What about other teen moms? The internet. That‟s it! Duhh, Katie! The internet holds all the answers—it must. As I surf from site to site and search to search, I come up with nothing more than harsh statistics and a few depressing short stories about the dismal realities of being a teen mom. As it stands, I have not found any novels, memoirs, or books by or about teen moms. Where the heck are they?

# 5

I opened the EPT box as I sat in the bathroom on the toilet lid reading the directions. I had taken these tests before, but again, never a week late, and I wanted to be sure I didn‟t mess up. Sex is so easy. Shouldn‟t taking a test be just as simple? After a close examination of the directions, I opened the box and pulled out the shiny wrapper that contained a slender stick. After removing the wrapper, I gently and carefully set the test on the back of the toilet, opened the toilet, and sat down. It took a few seconds for my bladder to overcome my fear and release onto an awkwardly small stick that was no bigger than my pinky. It was like some obscure arcade game that involved aiming and precision. After I was done, I placed the test on the back of the toilet, closed the seat, plopped down, and looked at my watch.

For the next few minutes, all I could do was stare at the towel rack in front of me.

My gaze never faltered. After the recommended time, I stood up and reached for the seemingly simple piece of plastic that held the answer to my future. Plus means positive and minus means negative. I reached for it as my hand began to shake and looked at it closely. Staring back at me was a pink plus sign. The test slipped from my fingers and landed with a bang on top of the toilet seat. At that moment, my heart no longer pounded to get out of my chest, but instead, it seemed to stop, just like the rest of the world.

#

According to teenhelp.org, 820, 000 teens get pregnant every year. I don‟t know if this shocks me or simply saddens me. Around one third of teen moms will graduate from high school. Only one and a half percent of teen moms will go on to graduate from college with a four year degree by the time they are thirty. These failure rates are 6 horrifying for teen moms, the people who love them, and the society which may end up supporting them.

Failure. What a terrible word. It resembles the red F that I always feared would stare back at me from an exam, possibly an exam that I studied hard for. This F-word is more than the letter on a test; it stands for failure in life. I never wanted the F-word to be my label, because I knew I would no longer try. I would have allowed it to become my true title, or would I?

Teen pregnancies are on the rise, yet there doesn‟t seem to be anything being done for teen moms, except allowing them to fail and accept WIC and Welfare as bandages for their ever deteriorating lives.

#

The next thing I remember I was in my bedroom. I was lying down on top of

Levi, not in a sexual way, but instead, more like a parent holding their child to let them know that they are safe and that everything will be okay. He didn‟t have to say anything, or he couldn‟t say anything. He wrapped his slender arms around me, and I buried my face on his chest. I couldn‟t stop the tears. As I sobbed harder, Levi squeezed me tighter, because he knew he couldn‟t take away the pain. We both realized on that bed that the impossible was possible.

After what seemed like an eternity, I lay there, with my head still buried, thinking about a conversation I‟d had with my mom.

We were headed home in the car. In the moonlit car, my mom‟s short curly hair was silhouetted against her driver side window, and her plump body was positioned squarely behind the steering wheel. Her five foot ten inch body always seemed taller 7 because she had perfect posture. She had been pretty quiet. I knew she hated driving in the dark.

Out of nowhere, my mom asked, “Katie, you‟re not having sex, are you?” Levi and I had been together for well over a year.

I was sure she was not asking me—she was demanding that I must not have sex.

Why was I never honest with her? Did I have a choice? Did I want to be chastised by her, or maybe worse? Who wants to intentionally get themselves in trouble? What if my mom said that Levi and I could no longer see each other? My world would have ended.

As a teenager, I was worried about many things; I knew that I was no longer a carefree kid, but I also knew that my parents didn‟t consider me an adult. During this short conversation with my mom, if you can even call it a conversation, I had the chance to be open and honest with her. I wasn‟t. I didn‟t feel like I could or should be, and now look where I was. Now, the fear of telling my mom I was pregnant overwhelmed me.

Sex was something my family told dirty jokes about; it wasn‟t something that we had serious conversations about.

The tears began to slow, and I lifted my head to look at Levi. I had thought we were invincible. His rough hands carefully brushed my hair out of my face. His face was as complicated as my thoughts. If I could have made a map of his face, it would have led me in a whirling dervish of circles and turns. Gently he put his soft lips to my forehead and then my cheeks and then my lips. In this simple act, he showed all the compassion I needed. I rolled off of him, onto the bed, and rested my head in the crook of his arm.

I managed to get out, “What do we do now?” These were the first words either of us had spoken in over an hour. 8

He let out a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath through the whole thing. I think he was relieved I was the first one to speak. I have always been the talkative one who was never afraid to say what was on my mind. As he turned his head to me, his unspoken thoughts and fears intertwined with mine, and we both knew we didn‟t need to ask each other the major question: Will we keep it? We both knew we couldn‟t live with ourselves if we didn‟t keep the seed he had planted and that I would cultivate over the next eight months.

During previous scares we had talked about abortion and agreed; we were both pro-choice but abortion was not for us. We thought our love might get us through. Also,

I was Catholic and my mom had always told me to come to her if anything ever happened. Many times she had said, “I would rather you come to me than have an abortion and get hurt.”

I think there was an element of fear—abortion equals the possibility of my death.

I didn‟t know anything factual about abortion. I knew it was against my religion. I couldn‟t help but remember all the Sundays I spent at church school with my mom and sister. For as long as I could remember, my mom was in charge of my church‟s Sunday school. She was not a religious zealot who judged others, but she believed in God and believed that he helped us to be better people. Everything I had ever been taught seemed to be falling into oblivion.

Levi‟s crystal blue eyes fixed on me. Just like the first time we had sex, all he could say was, “I‟m sorry.” 9

My tears finally stopped, and I was able to say, “It‟s not your fault.” His arms tightened around me. His touch, like always, pulled on my heart strings and let me know everything would be okay. At least, I hoped.

Levi managed to say the words that I was at a loss for. “I never thought this would happen. Umm…I mean „til we were older and maybe married.”

How did he think I felt? I was in high school. “Yeah, I never thought it would turn out like this…so young.” Little did I know just how much it would complicate our lives.

The tears began to well up in my eyes again, and I have never been the type of person who cries. “What do we do?” We both thought we were old enough to have sex, but neither of us was responsible enough to use birth control every time, and now, we had to figure out how to be responsible enough to take care of a baby.

10

Section One

Oh, To Be a Teenager Again...No, Thank You!

“Good decisions come from experience and experience comes from bad decisions.” ~Author Unknown

11

Eighth-Graders Have Sex?

On the first day of middle school, I was ready to get away from my family, especially my sister, Maddy. That was until I realized the torture I would soon have to endure. Maybe I am being melodramatic, but if I was the first person to be able to experience time travel, and the only time I could return to was middle school, I would politely excuse myself and run away as quickly as possible. I think that there is a reason that middle school is usually only two years. Those two years were the most awkward years I ever experienced. Friendships were difficult, my body was changing (in all the wrong ways), and I was stuck between being a teenager and a kid.

At the beginning of summer in 1997, my family and I moved for the first time in my life. On my last day of sixth grade, I helped to pack and load the massive, yellow moving truck that stuck out over the end of our driveway. The next day tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to capture the last image I would have of people I had known since I was old enough to walk. My family and I were beginning our two day drive to Reno, Nevada from Wilkeson, Washington.

In Washington, I was perfectly happy, adjusted, and popular, but as a twelve year old, I really didn‟t have much say. Reno was foreign territory I didn‟t feel prepared to explore.

“We‟re moving and that is that,” my mom informed me during one of my begging and pleading sessions. She was the voice of reason and the one in charge.

After the long summer spent with my sister, I was headed to seventh grade, and she would be in eighth grade. New school and new friends, how exciting! School started at 7:30 a.m., so my mom was sure to drop Maddy and me off by 7:20. My mom was 12 always early, never late. Maddy and I stuck together until the bell rang. We said our goodbyes and were on our way to different homerooms. For the whole day I didn‟t listen to anything the teachers said. I was too worried about who I would sit with for lunch, besides Maddy.

As I shuffled my way from my locker to the cafeteria, I saw with utter amazement that Maddy was already eating lunch. I should have known that no eighth grader would want to eat with a lowly seventh grader, especially her sibling. I broke the unwritten code and sat with Maddy and her newfound friends, a whole group of eighth graders.

This only worked on Monday and Tuesday; for some reason the rest of the week the table was full.

By the end of my first tortuous week of seventh grade, it was apparent that the other kids simply thought I was some weird kid from another Reno elementary school. I assumed they thought I was dysfunctional in some way, because I did not have any friends.

On Friday, I walked the two miles up hill to my house (no joke). I thought this would be time to collect my thoughts and my composure. I was wrong. It was just more time to think and get myself worked up. As I entered my new cookie cutter home, I lost control of any composure I thought I had.

I walked in the house, dropped my bag by the kitchen, and laid eyes on my mom, on our free Hawaiian-flowered couch across the room. “Mom…why did we…mooove here?” I wept through broken breaths and tears. “Maddy has never had as many friends as me, and now, she has friends and I don‟t.” 13

My optimistic mom put down the romance book she was reading and rushed over to hold me. My family wasn‟t much for hugging or affection, so her embrace, although warm and cozy as her body enveloped mine, was uncomfortable. She tried to reassure me that things would get better. “All of the other 8th graders know Maddy is new, because they have all been together for the past year. You‟ll meet some nice kids. You have plenty of time.”

As a pessimistic pre-teen, I thought for sure she was completely wrong. How could she understand? How could she remember thirty years ago? As an adult, I now know I was not the only seventh grader who felt like it was impossible to fit in.

My loneliness ate at me. When we lived in Washington, I knew I was fatter than some of the kids (damn my mom‟s genes), but it didn‟t matter. My friends had been my friends since I was a pudgy little kid and size didn‟t matter. My humor and my willingness to stick up for my friends always kept my friends close.

Reno was new territory. I tried to focus on schoolwork instead of how insecure I felt every day as I entered the bustling cafeteria by myself, looking for at least a single seat that wasn‟t being saved. Since about fifth grade, I had hated to eat in front of other people. Now that feeling was even stronger. I didn‟t really want to eat with people I didn‟t know, but I definitely didn‟t want to eat by myself.

As a twelve year old I was worried about the present, the now, instant satisfaction.

I couldn‟t see the future. As I lay in bed at night, I was not suicidal, but I did wonder how far I would go to fit in. I would continue to lie there and think about trying to hang out with the one girl in P.E., the one who seemed nice, even if she did tell me that she did 14 pot and lived with foster parents. Oh, she can‟t be all that bad, I would think to myself.

Eventually, it would turn out I was too boring, not bad enough, and too fat to be her pal.

All I wanted was a friend, a companion, anyone, as long as I wasn‟t alone. After the first few weeks of school, my life seemed to pick up. Kids talked to me, and I talked to them. There were a few girls I was friendly with, but as quickly as we became friends, we were no longer friends. During my childhood, friends stayed friends, and all of a sudden, during my adolescence, friends were a lot of work. I had to work to keep them around, and then I had to work to keep up with them.

A few months passed, and I finally had my first sleepover. I didn‟t understand why my mom was so pushy for me to invite someone to stay the night. It wasn‟t until I was older that I realized that she wanted me to be happy. Anyways, I finally had a friend who was more than a person at school to talk to. I felt some of the adults around me forgot the importance of having friends. They acted like friends were a commodity that was easy to come by. For me, as a new teen, having friends was life, and it saved me from the depression I was sinking deeper into with each passing day.

Candice, my sleepover friend, and I would become better friends as time went on.

We would get into plenty of trouble together, but for the time being, I was lucky she did not do drugs, so neither did I. I would not have to submit to peer pressure yet.

Eventually, she and I referred to each other as “best friends.” This was not a term to be thrown around or used lightly. This term is comparable to when adults finally say they love someone. It is an emotional step—no, it‟s an emotional leap forward.

Because I finally had a few friends and one best friend, I did better in school. I kept up with schoolwork and found time to spend with my friends. Life was good. 15

Somehow I made it out of seventh grade alive, and spent a relaxing summer playing with friends and family. In August, I was excited to see what fate awaited me in eighth grade.

In eighth grade, I made more friends. I even felt lucky enough to say that I had a few groups of friends. This was a big deal to me. Some of the groups did not always include Candice, but this was okay, because Candice had other groups of friends. We were still best friends. We spent eighth grade working on school group projects, having various sleepovers, and gossiping about other girls and boys.

Life seemed pretty easy. My biggest worries were about finishing school projects and helping my friends tell boys they liked him. But like life often does, it became more complicated.

On a chilly fall day during my eighth grade year, I was eating with Candice in our school lunchroom. As I was biting into my tart, green apple, Candice chomped a mouthful of her tuna fish sandwich and leaned into my ear with some gossip that was juicer than my apple. In an emphatic voice, she told me, “I just found out that Dawna had sex with her boyfriend.” My eyes began frantically searching for Dawna.

Dawna was Candice‟s friend, not mine, but I had been to a sleepover with her once. All I could manage was, “What?”

“Keep your voice down!” She gave me a glare that I knew meant shut up or you‟re eating lunch alone today. I knew I didn‟t want to return to my single days. My days of loneliness and solitude.

As my brain tried to get over the shock, I started to wonder. Was Dawna the only girl my age to ever have sex? She could not be more than fourteen, because she was in eighth grade too. Sex seemed like such a faraway idea. It was definitely not something I 16 had thought about yet, nor had I talked about it with my mom. The closest I had come to sex was dirty jokes and Pretty Woman.

I dwelled on the idea of sex for a few days, but I never felt the urge to talk to my mom. I was uncomfortable talking to her about my period. “Mom, I need more pads.” I don‟t know why my mom never came to me. Her mom never talked to her about sex, so maybe that‟s why. Like most things during my teen years, I got over the fact that Dawna had sex, and I found something new to gossip about.

#

During middle school a lot of things came as a shock to me. I did not think I was sheltered, but now, looking back, I am starting to wonder. Was I a goody two shoes, or had I just been in the wrong places at the wrong times to find my own trouble to get into?

As I put these words to paper, I am mentoring a teen girl who is pregnant. She will become a mom at the ripe young age of fourteen. She is not old enough to drive a car. Hell, she is barely old enough to have her period, but soon she will be in charge of a baby. It‟s still hard to believe how prevalent sex is in young teenagers, but for me, what is even harder to believe it that so few adults are willing to address the issue of sex with teens.

#

A couple of months passed, and Candice and I slowly drifted apart. We were still friends and had classes together, but we rarely hung out outside the classroom. Because of our past, I still cared about Candice, and it shocked me a little to find out that she had tried alcohol a few times, even at school. 17

I thought maybe these were just rumors that someone had started. As her friend, whether we were close or not, I thought it was my job to stop the rumors, but first, I had to ask her.

In English class, I intentionally chose the desk right next to Candice.

“Hey, Candice, how are things going?”

“Good, I guess.”

“I miss hanging out with you,” I told her. I really did. We always had fun together. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” she said. As we both chuckled at one of our old jokes, her short brown hair bounced up and down and her almond shaped eyes closed momentarily.

“What, Katie?”

“I heard something.” No good conversation usually comes after this statement.

“And?” she said, with a snooty and quizzical glance down her acne covered nose at me.

“Did you drink?” I didn‟t know what else to say.

“Drink? Alcohol? Yeah.” Shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from me.

She acted like it was no big deal. I couldn‟t decide. Adults said that underage drinking was a bad and punishable offense. On top of everything, it was rumored that one of the girls who Candice drank with, Mindy, had had sex. I later found this to be true—she had used a sandwich bag for protection. Maybe all of these things were just a part of growing up, things I would eventually have to accept and possibly try for myself.

My mom did not ask about this stuff, and I definitely was not going to volunteer my worries and thoughts about things like this. I think parents, inclulding mine, could be 18 considered mentally incompetent if they truly believe that their child would never try these things, things that could jeopardize their future. Kids are often too caught up in the scene of the moment, the here and now, to worry about the effects of their choices.

Before sexting came about, Candice made a name for herself. She was very chesty, unlike me. She hated how voluptuous she became in eighth grade, but that didn‟t stop her from lifting her shirt in a grocery store parking lot for some classmates to take a picture. She didn‟t think anything of it until the boys developed the pictures. She was lucky her shirt was pulled over her face.

Even though Candice had made some pretty wild choices, in my eyes, she was still my friend. Eighth grade was ending, and I wanted to start anew. I was determined to become Candice‟s best friend again. Inevitably, one of us would have to change our ways. She would have to tame herself or draw me into her wild life.

19

Scandalous Summer

I finished eighth grade and was excited to go to high school. I often heard people talk about how great high school was and how they wished they could go back. Looking back, I don‟t know what those people were thinking. You could not pay me to go back to high school. Over the summer, I finally started to break out of my conservative shell. I made some bad decisions and some mature decisions, not like an adult, just about adult things. The summer before ninth grade will always be emblazoned in my mind as a summer of firsts.

The first few weeks, I was busy with summer school. Summer school is a form of cruel and unusual punishment for teenagers; at least, it was for me. I think parents‟ see it as a way to prepare their child for college. I could have cared less— I saw it as something that cut into my time with Candice. While I was in summer school, Candice spent time meeting people through Instant Messenger. In the summer of 1999, IM was new and cool. It was like texting, but with interesting strangers. Finally, I was done with summer school and ready to catch up on the social scene. If Candice enjoyed it, I knew I would enjoy it.

Instead of easing me into her new world, Candice dropped an idea on me like a bomb. “Hey, let‟s go on a double date.”

“Uh, okay. With who?”

She quickly set me up with a guy she had met. I later learned that he‟d had a crush on her. She didn‟t like him. Wow, the things we do for our friends. Insert uncomfortable laugh here. 20

Candice set up our double date for the movies—the perfect make out place. The theater she picked was beyond perfect; it was full of love seats. Yes, red velvet, cushioned love seats that were perfect for cuddling or lying down. We went to see

Entrapment. I remember the name of the movie even though I saw the opening credits and nothing else. It is one of those days that are hard to forget; it was the day of my first kiss.

Candice held on tight to Ryan‟s arm as we entered the theater. I walked next to

Matt, my date, as if we had to leave room for people to pass between us. Candice and

Ryan quickly turned right and sat down in the back row love seat. I stopped; there was no other seat next to Candice and Ryan. Matt noticed my hesitation and turned left to sit down in the love seat across the aisle.

I don‟t remember who made the first move, but Matt‟s hand and mine quickly intertwined. This was the first time a boy had held my hand. This was the first time a boy had touched me and made me feel a tingling in my stomach. Candice had prepped me for this. She knew I didn‟t have any experience with boys.

By the final preview, Candice had her legs draped over Ryan‟s lap. She wasn‟t quite sitting in his lap. Instead, she seemed to be enticing him to put one arm around her back and the other on her thigh. A moment later, I couldn‟t help but glance at my tour guide again. She was tangled in a deep lip lock with Ryan.

Candice told me to follow her moves so, a little more subtly, I did. I leaned my head onto Matt‟s shoulder. He got the clue and leaned in for a kiss. It was weird. I didn‟t know quite how to tweak my head to meet his lips, so I lifted my head off his 21 shoulder. Ouch. We both pretended not to notice the football head bump that occurred.

We didn‟t let it stop us.

I don‟t know if I was a bad kisser, but I can definitely say that I would rate Matt a one or a two out of ten on the good kisser scale. There was so much teeth bumping and rubbing that I felt like I was making out with an angry beaver. I also felt like I needed to resuscitate his tongue. It was as stiff as a corpse.

I felt Matt‟s warm, pudgy hand on my upper thigh. He was rubbing my thigh as if he thought I had a cat on my lap. I felt obligated to do the same to him. I slowly moved my steady hand to his thick thigh. He was a bit husky for my liking. I moved my hand around, knowing what should be there but very unsure what to expect. It was hard to tell through his baggy jeans, but I‟m pretty sure I found the small hard mass I was looking for. What the hell was I supposed to do with it?

My hand was steady, but my mind was boggled. Anything, something, please interrupt us. I kissed a boy and decided to steal second base all in one night. When could

I stop? Instead of making things awkward for the rest of the movie, our voracious kissing and rubbing experiment continued until the ending credits began. Matt and I rose from our seats and waited a few seconds for Ryan and Candice to straighten out their clothes.

Candice gave a little smile to me that implied, “Good job!”

I would later find out that the make out session was simply a way for Matt to get back at his best friend, Ryan, for dating Candice. I didn‟t care; I had kissed a boy.

Finally! 22

My mom was waiting in her car to pick us up. Candice and I got in my mom‟s car. As on most Saturdays, Candice was coming to my house for a sleepover. We had already rehearsed what we were going to say; now was our time to shine.

Glancing at us through the rearview mirror, as expected, my mom asked, “How was the movie?”

I felt my heart begin to race, “It was terrible,” I answered, without the slightest tremble in my voice.

“It was too hard to follow,” Candice said, as planned.

We hoped we wouldn‟t get caught in our small lie, and we didn‟t. My mom didn‟t question us any further. She simply drove home while we sat in the backseat, giving each other sideways glances and smiles. Lying, no, fibbing, didn‟t seem so hard.

Getting away with this simple stretching of the truth made us think we were smooth and that the world was on our side. This was the beginning of more lies to come.

If lying was this easy, then having our fun was worth the risk.

#

As a parent, even though my oldest child is only seven, I am already worried about raising teenagers. My main goal is to be open with my children. I want them to know that I wasn‟t perfect; therefore, when they mess up, they can talk to me about it.

My main goal is open communication.

I am pretty sure I told more lies as a teenager than any other time so far in my life.

Some of my lies were larger and more damaging than others. Most of the time I lied to my parents. I didn‟t feel like there was any reason to lie to Candice; she was always with me and knew my ever move. . If I felt the need to lie, I did. I wanted to be an adult; I 23 wanted my parents to treat me like an adult. I just never realized all the responsibilities that parents had. I had chores, and I had to pay for some of my own things, but I never had to pay rent, health insurance, food, utilities, and the list goes on. I would push boundaries to their limits, and my parents would continue to allow me to push more and more. They knew I was growing up and needed to make mistakes for myself. I had never been a teen, and since Maddy was only fourteen months older than me, my parents were only recently parents of a teen. It was a trial and error experiment. .

#

I ran into Matt once more that summer—it was uncomfortable. I later heard that he got into drugs and dropped out of school. I felt bad for him, but we were never that close. I didn‟t even have his phone number, so I pushed him to the back of my mind until

I found him popping up in this memoir.

#

Candice continued to have a very physical relationship with Ryan.

Coincidentally, Candice, Maddy, and I were invited to Ryan‟s Fourth of July party. His parents were out of town. The small lies grew.

“Mom, can me, Maddy, and Candice go to Ryan‟s Fourth of July Party?”

My mom set the book she was reading down on the arm of our couch. Like any normal parent, my mom asked, “Are his parents going to be there?”

“Of course,” I lied.

My mom‟s freckled had picked up her glasses and put them back on. “Okay, but be home by eleven, because you and Candice have to babysit in the morning.” She trusted us, so she didn‟t seem worried. 24

That night was the first time I felt like I was fourteen going on twenty-one. This feeling would happen again over the summer. Tonight it came in the form of a blue slurpee mixed with gin. I enjoyed every last slurp of it.

At the party, Ryan and Candice went farther in their purely physical relationship.

It was her first time to reach second base. She later relayed the events to me. They lay on Ryan‟s double bed. When their kissing became too hot for either of them to handle, they wiggled each other‟s pants off and moved under his forest green blanket. “The softness of his blankets and the roughness of his hands made me want to crawl out of my skin and into his.” I didn‟t quite get what she meant. Why would rough hands feel good?

I had so much to learn.

They continued to kiss, and they began to slide their hands onto and into each other‟s privates. “It was so perfect. Pearl Jam‟s „Last Kiss‟ was playing on Ryan‟s boom box. I love that song. I think I orgasmed. I know Ryan did. He had to wipe it off his blanket, while I wiped it off my hands.” It seemed crazy to me that only months before I was shocked and disgusted by sex. Sex was still mysterious, but more importantly, the thought of pleasuring the opposite sex was exciting.

After Ryan and Candice finished, they entered the kitchen, and I stumbled over to

Candice.

“Candice, I miss you,” I blurted out, as I placed my arms around her neck.

“Me too. You okay?” she asked, with as much concern as she could muster.

“I‟m great! I had a slurpee with gin, and I added some stuff to it, too, maybe some beer. I think.”

“Wow, I can smell that.” 25

Just then Maddy jumped into our conversation. “We have to go. It‟s 10:30.”

“You‟re so responsible, big sister,” I said, removing my arms from Candice and placing one around Maddy‟s shoulders. Maddy and I were only close at times of loneliness. In June, she had broken up with her boyfriend after a year. The only people she had to hang out with were Candice and me.

Candice was still sober and decided to chug the melted slurpee that Josh, Ryan‟s friend, had bought her an hour before.

Once the three of us were fluffy from the alcohol, we knew it was time to make the twenty minute drive back to my parents‟ house. Everyone at the party was drunk, but this didn‟t change the fact that we needed a ride.

“Can Josh give us a ride home?” I asked Mindy, a friend of ours who was dating

Josh.

Mindy disappeared for a few minutes and returned with Josh on her arm. I was drunk, so the fact that he could have been drunk didn‟t cross my mind.

After a long ride, crammed with Candice and Maddy in the back of Josh‟s neon, we were almost home. He stopped at the fire access road a few blocks from my parents‟ house so that we could inconspicuously walk home. This was a bad idea.

As Josh drove away, I realized that while I was in a standing position, I had to pee. There was nowhere to go, and I knew I would never make it home. The fire road was empty, so then and there, I dropped trou and tried my hardest not to pee on myself. I succeeded. I found this act, which was very unlike me, utterly amusing. The laughter started, and it was contagious. Maddy and Candice joined in. After we finally gained composure, we decided we‟d better be on our way. 26

We started walking and made it one block when we ran into three guys we didn‟t know. One looked about our age, and the other two looked slightly older. They offered us alcohol. Stupidly, we took it, and luckily, it was not spiked with something crazy.

We partied on, and in the meantime, time flew by. As we partied with our new friends, we heard a car coming.

“Duck,” Maddy said.

Uh oh. It was my mom. It was one in the morning, way past eleven, and she was leaving for her thirty minute, panicky drive to Ryan‟s house, where she would receive no answer. While my mom frantically looked for us, our night continued to go downhill.

The guys seemed nice, and the alcohol made us easy to entice. Candice was making out with one of the older boys but decided to walk away. That was when he called me over. He was cute, and he seemed interested in me.

“Hey there,” he said, as he put his hands on my waist.

“Hi,” I said, trying to flirt as much as possible through my drunkenness.

He leaned in under the glow of the street lamp, and I closed my eyes. His lips met mine. So this is what it feels like to make out with a human and not a beaver. I felt one of his hands slide off my hip and grab my hand that was resting on his back. At first, I didn‟t realize what he was doing. I quickly caught on that he was pushing my hand into the front of his pants. I had never put my hand on a penis, skin to skin. I didn‟t allow my hand to recoil. Instead, it shot down until it found what it was looking for. After a few minutes, he unzipped his pants, and somehow mine. My mind was beginning to cloud, but I knew I didn‟t want to go any further.

“Come on,” he said, as he tried to wiggle his penis between my thighs. 27

After a short giggle, I backed away and said, “Oh no. I don‟t want to do that.” I turned and stumbled back to my girlfriends, who were sitting on the sidewalk. They didn‟t say anything. I don‟t know if they hadn‟t noticed, didn‟t care, or didn‟t know what to say.

I later found out that “penis man” had asked Candice to have sex with him too.

Wow, that would have been a way to lose my virginity—drunk, on the street corner, with a stranger—pretty close to the definition of a prostitute, except I accepted alcohol in place of money or drugs.

Drunken making-out turned into the two of us girls being propositioned to have sex. This, combined with the fact that my mom would probably be passing back by soon, made the three of us realize it was time to leave. At two o‟clock, we made it the next two blocks.

We unlocked the front door, and to our surprise, were not greeted by concerned, angry parents. We tiptoed as quickly as possible up stairs and into my room. We hurried into our pjs and scrubbed our teeth, trying to mask the odor of alcohol. The three of us squeezed into my double bed. Maddy didn‟t go to her room: safety in numbers. Just as we were settling in, my mom walked in.

“Do you know how worried I was?” she said, as her voice trembled. The light shining in from the hall showed her blotchy face. She‟d been crying.

“We‟re really sorry,” I said, as the unofficial spokesperson.

“I drove all the way over to Ryan‟s house, and no one answered. I was thinking that something terrible had happened to you girls. Katie and Candice, you two are not getting out of babysitting at seven tomorrow. Also, all three of you are grounded for a 28 week. Candice, I won‟t tell your mom, but don‟t even ask if you can come over this week.” My mom stopped, took a breath of relief, and then was silent. She was wearing jeans and her pajama shirt. I had never seen her leave the house in her pajamas. She must have been in a hurry

She never asked us where we were or what happened. I think she knew that we had been drinking, but I don‟t think she knew anything else. We definitely weren‟t going to tell unless she found a new form of physical torture to use on us. She never told

Candice‟s mom what had happened, because she knew Candice‟s mom would go berserk and possibly ship her off to an all girl boarding school for the next four years. No joke.

It was punishment to have to go to our babysitting job the next day on less than five hours of sleep, but that wasn‟t as bad as not being able to see each other for a whole week. This incident didn‟t stop us from lying in the future.

I respect my mom for not telling Candice‟s mom and ruining both of our lives.

To be quite honest, if my mom asked why we were so late, I don‟t know what I would have said. Would I have been my usual quick wit and been able to make something up quickly? Or would I have choked and told some of the truth?

Looking back, it would have been embarrassing to have to tell my mom what happened, but it might have prevented other bad decisions. Honesty can be punishment in itself.

The summer continued to fly by. Two of the guys from our drunken night, not penis man, stayed in our lives for the summer. For me, it was innocent. For Maddy and

Candice, it was more.

29

A New Chapter in My Life

Over the summer, I had worked out tirelessly and tried to skip at least one meal a day. I wanted to enter high school a new girl. I didn‟t want to be the pudgy girl who everyone was friends with. I was getting tired of Candice always getting the guy. My hard work and obsessive dieting (often off the deep end, dangerous, dieting) paid off. I was down about ten pounds to the lowest weight that I could ever remember. What was even more, it was the end of summer, and I met my first boyfriend. He was the son of my dad‟s high school friend, and his name was Trenton. His family was visiting my family for a week. He lived in California, surfed, was cute, and liked me. What else could I want?

At the end of his week stay, his family invited me to go to Tahoe for a week and camp. Man, was I excited. The first two days were romantic, unforgettable, and short lived. I remember riding in the back of an old wooden trolley around Stateline and up to a deserted ski resort. Trenton‟s one arm was wrapped around my shoulder and his other hand was intertwined with mine. We would kiss. Then we would talk. Then we would kiss some more. He and I talked about love, a long distance relationship, and the future.

It seemed like we were on top of the world. Love and lust.

It was the first time I thought about the future with a boy instead of the here and now. He and I went to second base on the dark beach and approached third, but it was cold, late, and time to return to camp. We had left at nine and returned at two in the morning. No one noticed because they were all busy drinking and then sleeping. It was easy to lose track of time when no one noticed. I was not chastised for being late, so I knew that I would stay out late again: if not with Trenton, with someone else. 30

Our romantic puppy love relationship was short lived, because at the end of the week, Trenton went from talking about a long distance relationship to not talking to me.

He went from kissing me and holding my hand to being “busy” and avoiding me. I got the hint. To be sure I understood he enlisted his sister to be an evil bitch to me. She was older, knew more about relationships, and definitely knew how to stick up for her little brother, even if it meant picking on an innocent girl with nowhere to go.

I was so relieved on Sunday when my dad arrived.

I returned home from the week in Tahoe, and that evening I was faced with another teenage shock. Justin, the youngest neighbor boy from the drunken night, stopped by to welcome me home, or so I thought. Our conversation was only about one thing, Candice.

“Have you talked to Candice?” he asked, while his blue eyes sparkled. He grinned, implying to even a complete moron that he knew something I didn‟t.

“Yeah, a little. Why?” This was before cell phones were popular.

“Did she tell you about her weekend?”

“Not really.”

“Did she tell you about Seth?” he prodded.

“No. Who?” I was becoming more irritated by the second.

“Seth is friends with me and Dallas.” Dallas was Justin‟s older brother.

I could not handle it anymore. I ran into the house from the driveway and grabbed the phone. Back out to the drive I went to make sure that my parents stayed unaware of what went on in my life.

I dialed with blind fingers. They knew the number by touch. Candice picked up. 31

I calmly asked, “Candice, what did you do this weekend?”

Her only response was, “Not much. Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering what happened with Seth.”

She hesitated and in an even voice answered, “How do you know who Seth is?

Who did you talk to? Maddy?”

It took a minute for it to register in my head when I responded, “Maddy? What do you mean? How does Maddy know something about my best friend that I don‟t?” I felt betrayed, angry, and anxious to know what had happened between Seth and Candice.

Her only answer was, “Maddy knows because she was there.”

“Where?” I demanded.

“At Justin and Dallas‟s house,” she said, in a soft voice that seemed scared, yet still, trying to convince me that it was no big deal.

I had had it. I could feel my grip clenching the phone tighter as if around

Candice‟s neck to make her spit out the truth. I felt my face turn crimson, and I almost forgot Justin was standing in front of me watching everything unfold. She didn‟t wait, and even worse, she didn‟t tell me.

“I did it,” Candice whispered in such a hushed voice I could barely hear her.

“Did what?” I asked. Only now do I realize how stupid I sounded.

“It,” she said, sounding indifferent to the fact that she had lost her virginity.

I was nauseous. I sat down on the warm pavement of our driveway. How could she have had sex? I was only gone for a week. How did she have sex with someone I didn‟t even know? 32

“With Seth? When? Why? How?” The questions all seemed to pop out of my mouth like bullets from a machine gun. I started to think about my week with my boyfriend (now ex) and wondered what moved her to do the unspeakable. I thought we had some sort of unspoken promise to stay virgins, at least for a while.

“With Seth on Saturday. We drank some, and it all just happened. Hey, my mom‟s calling me, I gotta go.”

“K,” I mumbled. I hit the end button on the cordless phone that dangled from my limp arm, as I stopped and looked up at Justin.

This was one of the most shocking moments in my life, and there was no one to talk to except Justin. My sister was not home, and besides I didn‟t want to talk about sex with her. We were close, but sex was not something that anyone in my family talked about comfortably. My parents were home, but I really didn‟t want to talk about sex with them.

A smile spread across Justin‟s face. I didn‟t want to talk to him. He was receiving pleasure from my pain.

“I gotta go,” I said and started to walk in the house.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I replied, with my back already to him. I felt like sex was all around me, and I was no where near ready for the commitment it required. Why was I the last to know? I thought she was my best friend.

#

Sitting at my desk typing this I realize something I have never thought about. Did

Candice and I ever talk about what I did on the beach with Trenton? Did it matter since it 33 wasn‟t sex? Maybe I didn‟t tell her about Trenton, because I was so hurt about how she hid the truth from me. I can‟t allow this thought to carry me too far from my task at hand. Back to the story I go, hi-ho, hi-ho.

#

A week went by and the shock seemed to wear off. Candice didn‟t seem changed.

She didn‟t look different. Her silly sideways grin didn‟t change. The acne she had been long trying to fight off still showed through her makeup. She didn‟t look any older to me. I though when people had sex that meant they were an adult. I was so clueless.

It was the beginning of high school, and I had too many other things to worry about. No matter how much I wanted friends and to fit in I wouldn‟t let anyone ruin my purity. I would not regret my first time, and I definitely would not have sex until after high school.

I entered ninth grade feeling just a little older and more mature. I was now in high school, and I knew a little more about sex. The complication of friends arose again.

In a bigger setting like high school, I felt the need to have more friends. For the first few days, I tried to make more friends. I thought smoking might make me feel even older. I hung out with my sister at her spot, stoners‟ row. I am pretty sure I didn‟t fit in.

I liked my sister, but I was not like my sister. She dressed goth, and I dressed preppy. She was determined to be a rebel, and I was determined to fit in. Oh well, I thought I would give her friends a chance.

I would go out to stoner‟s row on my lunch break and have a few cigarettes for lunch. Maybe this would work as a diet? After my lung filling lunch, I would head off to health class. I could barely handle the smell of the stale cigarettes combined with the 34 plumeria body spray I applied before entering school. Both of these things mixed with sweaty bodies in my health class forced me to quit smoking after about four days.

Health class was one of the most tortuous classes in my high school career. I did not mind learning about the bones and muscles or about nutrition, but I did not want to hear or talk about sex with anyone other than Candice. There was no stopping it though.

There was no way I was going to ask my mom to excuse me from health class, because then we would have to talk about “it.” Ughh! Even the thought of having to say the word made me writhe in my hard, yellow chair, so like my peers I endured sex-ed.

Without too much ado, I made it through my first week of high school. It was

Friday night. Candice and I were doing our hair and makeup to go to the State Fair when the house phone rang.

“Katie! It‟s for you!” my mom yelled from downstairs.

“Hello,” I answered, in the usual jovial voice I used with my friends.

“Hi there, this is Levi,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“Uh…Who?”

“Uh…this is Levi…Uh, Nick‟s friend.” His quiet voice revealed the caller‟s nerves.

The only Nick I could think of was Ryan‟s friend. “Do you mean Nick, Ryan‟s friend?”

“No…um, Nick from the computer. His screen name is Nativeboy,” the friendly, yet nervous, voice said.

“Ohh…hi,” I said, trying to force a friendly tone, because my brain had finally made the connection. 35

#

Over the summer I had talked to many people on the computer. I did not realize one of them would call me out of the blue and change the rest of my life.

In the nineties, the computer and chat were new, and no one worried about pedophiles online. Nativeboy, Nick, had asked if he could have my phone number for his friend who had just moved to Reno from California. His friend was in high school too and did not know anyone. I thought nothing of Nativeboy‟s request and sent my number late one night, not realizing that a month later his friend would call me.

#

Levi and I chatted about insignificant stuff for the next few minutes, before he asked, “Can we meet up tonight?”

“Well, I‟m not really planning on doing anything tonight.”

“Well, can I call you again?”

“Sure. I‟ll talk to you later,” I said, to cut the conversation and finish getting ready. It was not that I didn‟t want to meet Levi. I just didn‟t want to worry about meeting up with him at the State Fair, because I had never been there before.

A week went by, and Levi and I talked periodically. Levi and I set up our first blind date for a Tuesday. My mom agreed as long as she could meet him first.

Tuesday, September seventh, rolled around, and it was 5:30 p.m. That meant

Levi should arrive any second, or so I thought. Around six, I received a call from Levi.

He was at a payphone and couldn‟t find the main street I had told him to turn on. As it turns out, he misunderstood my directions and ended up at the wrong place on McCarran, a huge street that circles around Sparks and Reno. Finally, at seven, he found his way to 36 my house. The doorbell rang, and I walked slowly to answer it. I made him wait a few seconds for the hour and a half he made me wait.

There he stood with his navy, New York Yankees baseball cap pulled down so that I could barely see his eyes. “Hi, I‟m Levi,” he said, without looking up.

“I‟m Katie,” I said, as I shook his hand. “Why don‟t you come in.” As he stepped in the house, he stood only a few inches taller than me. I gave him the once up and down. He gave a little smile, which made me smile. His ears, which I would later learned he thought were too big, and face (which he thought was too round) glowed red.

He seemed nervous, and I was excited.

“I‟m really sorry. After I called, I got lost again, because you said to make three or four, I don‟t remember, rights in your complex and that didn‟t seem right. That would make a circle. Again, I‟m so sorry.”

“I guess it happens. This makes an interesting story for my first blind date.” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Although my mom wanted to meet Levi before we went out, she had to work.

The next best person to meet was my dad. My dad had decided to party that evening with his friend. That was an embarrassing first moment.

“Hey,” my dad said in a monotone.

“Hi, I‟m Levi,”

“Right on. Nice to meet you,” my dad said, with an alcohol induced chuckle.

“Bye dad,” I yelled and grabbed Levi‟s hand to pull him behind me. I didn‟t want to get stuck talking to my dad.

We were on our way. 37

As we got in Levi‟s car, to his dismay the emergency brake was stuck. He succeeded in releasing the pedal e-brake, but he did not succeed in staying clean. He got grease all over his hands. I just wanted to leave and start the date, and I‟m sure he wanted to leave his skin and be someone else after all of his mess-ups.

I got out of the car and grabbed a paper towel out of the garage. Now, we were on our way. We decided to go to Red Lobster. As we drove through downtown Reno,

Levi began to look concerned.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“The car is starting to overheat, but we should be fine,” he said, with a little smile.

I thought we might end up having to push the car, but we made it to dinner.

While we were at dinner, at Red Lobster, his parents stopped by and traded cars with

Levi. I didn‟t meet them, because Levi and they had extra keys to each other‟s cars.

For dinner, Levi ate crab and I picked at some pasta. I was talkative, as usual.

Levi bided his time by cracking and eating crab, instead of talking. Dinner was over and we were off to our next destination. As we walked out, I tried to keep the almost one sided conversation going, so I was not paying attention. Thump. Thud. Kerplunk. I fell.

A barstool had jumped out and grabbed me, and I found myself sprawled on top of it.

Although I found this embarrassing, Levi couldn‟t help but crack a smile as he asked me if I was okay. My clumsy move lightened the mood. He finally started to loosen up and chitchat with me.

Next we went to the Atlantis to play air hockey. Again I managed to embarrass myself. I was being competitive and tried to shoot the puck in for a score. I hit the puck 38 so hard that it flew off the table, across the room, and smacked into the head of a bald man. Levi ran over to pick the puck up.

“Sorry sir, that was her,” he said, as he pointed at me.

He came back to the table and we had a good laugh. Levi knew he had to have me home by 9:30, so at nine o‟clock we were in his parents‟ car and headed back to my house. So, this is what it felt like to be responsible. Levi was close with his mom and stepdad. He respected them, so in turn, I think that is why he respected my parents‟ wishes.

As we pulled in the driveway at my house, my mom was taking out the garbage.

Man, parents know how to be embarrassing without even trying.

I quickly introduced Levi to my mom. Then he gave me a gentle hug, “I‟d like to see you again.”

“Me too. I had fun.” I really had.

After that night, it was only two days until we started dating, 9-9-99, my sister‟s sixteenth birthday.

39

Lives of Impulse

American society is no stranger to impulse: buying infomercial products and bargain buys, unexpected trips, running up charge cards, living day to day, and allowing alcohol (including beer goggles) to win over discretion. But teens, including myself, win the gold medal for allowing impulses to take the wheel. Itwas never a conscious rebellion. I made rash decisions. Later in my life I learned that teenagers‟ frontal lobes, the part of the brain that controls decision making, are not completely developed.

Uncontrollable impulses were the root of many of my juvenile problems.

#

It was Friday; therefore, I was going out with friends. I needed to get out of the house for a while. I always felt like I could be more open with my friends than with my parents. Levi agreed to take Candice, Mindy, and me out. Since middle school, Mindy and Candice had continued to grow closer while I was often left on the outskirts. In middle school, they were a little wild for me, but they connected, because they came from broken homes. I wasn‟t in that club. Mindy and Candice experimented with drinking and lying while I focused on school work, at least until the summer after eighth grade. I should have known our night would be interesting.

Candice, Mindy, Levi, and I were driving out of my housing development when I broke the silence. “What do you guys want to do?” It was as if I thought that one of us would suddenly turn into someone with the capability of making an instant decision. The car‟s engine was the only noise that prevented utter silence, besides the clunk of the old engine. 40

“Let‟s go to the Riverwalk,” Levi finally decided. His suggestion took me back to the day, two weeks before, when he and I were last there.

#

Summer turned to fall, and the downtown air smelled of stagnant water with a touch of casino dumpsters. There was rarely anything about downtown Reno‟s smell that was pleasant. I grabbed Levi‟s hand as we walked past the massive, abandoned Mapes

Hotel. The tagged bricks and boarded windows covered up over fifty years of history and stories that many people, people alive before Levi and I were born, had created there.

This was only our second date, but we were comfortable. Silence didn‟t make my mind race trying to think about what to say next. Silence did make my heart race wondering what would happen next. Levi‟s sideways glance and the smile that spread across his face let me know that he was excited to be holding my hand. His Yankee‟s hat, the one he wore on our first date, and his oversized, light blue, button-up shirt showed me that he was trying to impress my while staying true to his love of baseball.

As I pulled in close to his arm, he knew it worked.

As Levi and I strolled along, I thought about how I had never been outside any of the casinos or their parking garages. My parents would bring me and my sister downtown to eat, but never had I left the confines of the glitz and glamour of the Reno casinos, never until that night. That night was special.

Levi and I stopped on the Virginia Street Bridge for a few minutes. We watched the Truckee River roll over rocks, slap into the riverbanks, and fight past garbage that had been carelessly tossed aside. The river was dark and mysterious, and its noise, the music it created by lapping against its contents, was romantic. It was the perfect setting for us, 41 two excited young lovers. The damp air from the river and Levi‟s fingers interlocked with mine made me shiver. Levi noticed my quivering and placed his arm around my shoulders. I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I wished every moment could feel that safe, that exciting, that important.

We crossed over the bridge and arrived at Levi‟ desired destination, the

Riverwalk. I have no clue how he knew about this gem in the heart of downtown. The night kept getting better. We walked along the top level of the River Walk and admired the plants that would soon die off from the winter snow and bitter cold. As we reached the end of the upper level, Levi turned right and led me down a paved ramp. What I saw amazed me and left me a little awestruck: beautiful fountains, all very different, all with lights shining on them to illuminate their intricate features. A large cement wall spanned all the way up towards the top level. Three spigots in front of the wall, in a small water retention area, spilled water over the three brass animals that hung from the wall, glowing from the lights that were aimed at them. We continued on. The next piece of the

Riverwalk was an eight by ten rounded part of the wall. Water rolled down the wall and gently splashed into the basin at the bottom. Water and all of its sounds has always amazed me. Somehow Levi knew the perfect place to bring me for our second date.

Levi stopped and turned to look at me. He grabbed both my hands and stood staring into my eyes. We were starry eyed teenagers without a care in the world. My mind started racing. Wow, he likes me, and I like him. What comes next? Should I say something? Will that ruin the moment? Just then, Levi leaned in, and instinctively, I knew what to do. I tilted my chin up, closed my eyes, and that was it, our first kiss. 42

It was not a simple peck on the lips; it was a lip lock. It was a juicy, tongue kiss.

Our breathing became one fluid entity. We were both still new to kissing. I don‟t know if I was any good, but his tongue was a bit stiff as it thrashed around in my mouth. I wasn‟t sure if kissing was supposed to be so abrasive, but at that moment, I didn‟t care. I liked the intimacy, the wetness of our tongues, and the softness of our lips pressed together. After an exciting few moments, his tongue retreated, and he pulled his head slowly away.

Without hesitating, Levi said, “So does this mean we‟re dating?”

“I think so,” I replied, unaware of how dating worked.

#

As Levi pulled his beat up midnight blue Celebrity into the Cal Neva parking lot,

I was bumped back to reality. The three of us girls began to chatter about where else downtown we might go. None of us cared if we didn‟t have a specific destination.

Planning was not a requirement of being a teenager. For us high school came with a new found sense of freedom, especially since we finally had friends, like Levi, with cars.

The four of us left the CalNeva parking garage and began our slow meandering pace. Like Levi and my last visit, there was a chill in the air, but nothing that required a jacket. It was the perfect time of year to go to the Riverwalk and enjoy the outdoor sights one more time before the bitter winter bombarded us with unrelenting wind and snow.

When people walk in groups of an even number, there is a natural tendency to partner up and walk in twos like marching ants. Mindy and Candice sauntered ahead of

Levi and me all the way down to the Riverwalk. After a short while, I noticed that they 43 were not looking back to make sure we were still with them. It was almost as if Levi and

I were their chaperones. Little did I know we would need to be.

As the four of us approached our initial destination, Candice and Mindy were suddenly back walking along with Levi and me once again. They saw the shape of two scruffy, large men ahead and foresaw them as a threat. The beautiful Riverwalk was not only a popular sight to view, but it was also a popular spot for homeless people to hang out. As we passed the two men, they slurred out the best sexually charged “Hey there” they could manage with their alcohol numbed tongues. I wish I‟d known at that moment that they were the least of our worries.

Two twenty-something year old guys were the next group we approached. Their accent revealed that they were from out of town and quite possibly from another country.

I had Levi, so I didn‟t need to stop and be friendly to a couple of older guys. On the other hand Mindy and Candice were more than happy to have good looking men pay them attention. Their conversation began innocently but that didn‟t last long.

“Eh ladies. Whud you up ta tanight?” said visibly drunk number one, as he leaned against the perfectly laid brick flower bed.

Candice uncrossed her arms, pushed out her chest, and replied in her most tantalizing voice, “Oh, we‟re just out enjoying the sights. How „bout you guys?”

“We‟ve ah been waiding for your two. Would you like a drink?” said smooth talking drunk number two, as he pulled a small flask of alcohol from under one of the bushes in the upraised planter behind him, while trying to stay balanced on his feet.

Levi and I stood there, not quite sure what to do. We were not part of the puzzle that fit in. 44

“That would be so sweet of you guys,” replied Mindy, as she stepped closer to

Candice, so their arms were pressed together. Was she thinking safety in numbers? Or maybe she was thinking it would be easier for two sex pots to get a swig off the flask. Or maybe she wasn‟t thinking at all. I really don‟t know.

Smooth talker was only momentarily able to remove his stare from the two young ladies. He stole a quick glance at his buddy, which could only mean trouble. “Well, we av jus one small prablem,” said smooth talker

“What‟s that?” asked Candice, while batting her eyes and leaning her head to the side like a sad puppy dog that could do no wrong.

Slurring drunk number one rose off of the planter‟s edge, like a stiff zombie from the grave. “Well, ya see ya jus need ta lift your tops an then we can give ya a drank,” he said.

Candice and Mindy looked at each other, and instantly, Levi and I looked at them.

We did not see this as our place to interfere. We were all teenagers, and not one of us had the sense necessary to be responsible and suggest that we walk away. After a few seconds, my two friends flashed the drunken foreigners, and then they took a few nips off the flask. All of the events were momentarily shocking. I flashed back to the rumors I had heard less than a year before. Now, I had seen it with my own eyes. The shock didn‟t last too long, because we saw a cop walking around the corner.

The four of us acted like we had been walking by. The cop gave us all a once up and once down look, like he could see right through our transparent skin and Candice and

Mindy‟s alcohol induced smiles. Thank God, we were lucky! What would have happened if we had been stopped? Would our night‟s wild adventures be over? When 45 the cop was far enough away, the four of us snickered, and we hurried our pace to a brisk walk.

As we continued on, I worried about myself and my infatuation with Levi. Before

I knew what had happened, Candice and Mindy were a good pace ahead of us. As I noticed this, I also noticed a black delivery van pull up next to them. The van slowed and a guy opened the sliding door. I felt like I was watching some horrifically real version of

Law and Order where the unsuspecting girls are kidnapped. The guys in the van began to hoot and holler at my friends walking along the road. Now, I was worried.

Levi and I broke into a sprint to reach Candice and Mindy as the van took off. At this point we all saw fit to call it a night. On the drive home, we all laughed off the night‟s events like they were no big deal. Ironically, it would not be too much longer after this incident that I allowed my impulses to pull me in.

46

There’s Always a First for That

The phone‟s bleating ring breaks my concentration. It drives me crazy when I am being productive and people call me! “Hello? Hey, mom. What‟s up?”

Her motherly tone rings in my ears. “I was wondering if you guys were coming over for dinner.”

My jumbled mind starts doing somersaults thinking about all the stuff I still need to get done. “I dunno. I‟m trying to work on my book, but it might be nice to get out of the house for a bit.”

She is one of the most understanding people about my busy schedule. “Hmm.

Well, do Levi and the kids want to? If you‟re busy, it might be nice to have them out of the house for the evening.”

Damn, where is my family? This book seems to consume my life at times.

“Uh…Call his cell. I think they‟re at the grocery store.”

“Ok,” she replies, in her even tone. She takes a moment and asks the dreaded question. “How‟s your book coming?”

“Well…” The seemingly innocent question is so difficult to answer. My mom and I have not really talked about my book. I am not one to talk about what I am writing, and she is not one to pry into my business.

She senses the hesitation, but is still curious. “What are you writing about right now?” I think she thinks talking about my book will help my creative juices flow.

Mom, do you know the can of worms you‟re opening? “You sure you want to talk about it?” I give her a second.

“Of course I do. Why else would I ask?” Good point, straight-forward mom. 47

“I‟m writing a difficult part of the book. I‟m almost to the point about losing my virginity.” There‟s no turning back now. It‟s out in the open.

#

Like most teens who are in lust, I mean love, with each other, Levi and I spent every moment we could together, but we didn‟t spend as much time together as some of our other dating friends. We went to different schools. He had wrestling, and I had swimming, but we made sure to find time for each other. Neither of our parents objected, at the time, to our spending all of our free time together. If we couldn‟t see each other, we spent countless hours on the phone. Even if there was an immense amount of dead silence, which rarely happened, it didn‟t matter, because it was still the closeness to one another we needed or wanted. It started to feel like we couldn‟t get any closer.

For our three week anniversary, a week after our adventures with Candice and

Mindy, we went on a movie date to see For Love of the Game. In a dark secluded corner of the theater, one that shouldn‟t have had seats, because the view was nonexistent, Levi and I locked lips in what must have looked like a form of resuscitation. Movies were a place we could feel hidden from our parents with the opportunity to make out for at least one hour straight. I don‟t know if our parents thought the best of us, but they shouldn‟t have been fooled. Movies were not the best babysitter they could buy for a couple hours. Don‟t get me wrong, I loved going to the movies to get away from my meddling parents, but I hope they didn‟t expect us to watch the whole movie.

Between make out sessions, we caught parts of the movie. Damn, what a sad movie! After the emotional movie, my emotions were running wild, and I knew it was time to talk to Levi. Oh God! 48

Outside the Sparks Theater, Levi and I strolled around Victorian Square, another romantic area. It‟s an old part of Sparks with old fashioned street lamps that fit perfectly into the ambiance established by the Victorian style buildings.

As usual, I felt content and safe with Levi‟s arm secure around my shoulders and my arm locked around his waist. I felt invincible. It had been three weeks of sheer bliss.

It felt as if we had known each other for a lot longer than three weeks. Do all people feel this way when they start dating someone they really like?

Levi and I found a quaint, cold bench to sit on while we admired each other and the water fountain that spurted from the ground in front of the theater. It is made for people to run through and play in. I wondered how cold it would be to run through.

Levi removed his arm from my shoulder, so he could grab my hand and take it to his mouth for a gentle, warm kiss. Pure ecstasy. After a few moments of silence and a large knot in my stomach, I managed to blurt out, “Hey Levi?”

His mind seemed to be wandering, but his attention was now back on me.

“What‟s up?” he said, casually as he pulled me in tighter to his body. We seemed to be melting together despite to chilly weather.

My jumbled thoughts seemed to untangle for a moment so I could say, “I want to tell you…umm…well…” My stomach grumbled and stirred like a cat was trying to get comfortable inside me. How was I going to say this?

His hand tightened on mine as his eyes met my eyes. Under the streetlamp his eyes twinkled like crystal balls. “What‟s up? You know you can talk to me.”

His sincerity was the only thing that gave me strength, “Well, do you remember how I told you about Candice? How Candice slept with that guy that she didn‟t even 49 know?” I didn‟t give Levi even a second to answer. “I want to let you know…I am not going to have sex until after high school or maybe not until marriage.” As strong as my feelings were for Levi, I was not ready to give in to sex. I knew teenagers who were having casual sex for fun. Things were getting intense between Levi and me, but I didn‟t want to be expected to have sex.

Levi took what seemed like minutes to respond. He brushed my bangs aside, put his hand on my cheek, and said, “Katie, I‟m not worried about it. You have to do what you think is right, and I‟ll stand by you.” I think he really meant what he said. He was and is a genuinely sincere and nice guy.

The next night was Friday. For dinner, Levi and I had fast food. Then, since it was the weekend, we planned a stay-at-home movie marathon.

Levi‟s parents were renting a house in Old Southwest Reno. I loved that house!

On the first floor there were two bedrooms, a small bathroom, a living room and a kitchen, but the real gem of the house was the downstairs basement. Although the basement contained the washer and dryer, it also contained a pool table, TV, couch, and a tiny workshop with Levi‟s twin bed. The basement was a teen heaven.

After dinner, our marathon started, but I have no clue what movies we watched. I do remember that we hit second base. We both put on comfortable clothes and held each other on the couch in front of the TV. As we made out, we both put our hands in one another‟s pants. I didn‟t pull Levi‟s penis out, so I hope he washed his own underwear.

After Levi orgasmed in his underwear, we both closed our eyes and wrapped our arms as tight as we could around each other. I didn‟t climax, but my body was still new to me. I had never masturbated, and I had no clue what to expect. All I knew was that I felt so 50 much pleasure. I wanted more. During the excitement of hitting second base, a nagging thought entered my mind. Wow! This is great…I wonder what sex is like...No…No…No…I don‟t!

By date two, Levi and I had hit first base, kissing. Now at week three we slid our way into second base, assisted masturbation. We had not yet rounded third base, oral sex, and a home run, sex, was not an option. I find it weird that sex is associated with baseball.

Saturday was the same thing as Friday. Make out, play with one another, enjoy the pleasure of each other‟s company, and be happy we were together. Sunday was family day, and this meant I finally had time to get my homework done. Our movie, make out, masturbation marathon had come to an end.

In middle school, homework had been a top priority. I had friends, but I did not need to spend every moment of my existence with them. Now that I had Levi, homework was something I did at the last minute, so I could do well in school. I didn‟t hate school. I just preferred to spend time with Levi.

Monday rolled around like any other Monday. School was monotonous and swimming, my P.E. class, was tiresome. After Levi got done with wrestling, he picked me up from my house to go to a fancy dinner at Jack-in-the-Box. Okay, maybe not fancy, but we enjoyed it. After dinner, we went back to Levi‟s house to hang out.

Levi and I both put on loose pairs of his jogging shorts, so we could lie down and not feel constricted. Neither of us mentioned the stuff we had done over the weekend, but the simple act of putting on loose shorts showed that the intentions were there. In 51

Levi‟ basement, we thought it would be a good idea to lie in his twin bed and make out.

On the bed, we had hit second base a few times over the weekend.

Levi‟s body was on top of mine with his hardness pressed against me. My hands were in his running shorts, and his were in mine. Suddenly, his penis was hanging out from the shorts (8:03). It was no longer contained like it had been over the entire weekend. Before either of us knew what was happening, it ended (8:06)…the sex and my virginity. As Levi‟s relaxed body collapsed on top of me, all I could think was,

Wow! Did I not say that I was choosing to stay a virgin? Did I also forget I wanted romance, not sudden, scary pleasure?

It happened so suddenly. No candles. No romantic music. No removal of clothes. Not what either of us expected for both of our first time, but October, 4th, 1999, two months shy of my fifteenth birthday, was the first of many times we would allow our hormones to do all of the work. It was also the first of many times we would not use a condom.

#

We were teens, and we couldn‟t always afford protection. Buying protection, although smart, would have cut into our gas and going out money, and would have made it almost impossible to be together as often as we wanted. Not to mention that for me to go on the pill, one of us would have had to confide in an adult that we‟d had sex, and sex is bad, right? There was no way I could tell anyone. Well, except my friends. We were teens and neither of us was a forward thinker. We did what felt good, even if it wasn‟t always right. We were not concerned with the future. We thought we knew everything 52 about love. Little did we know that the chance of us, or any other teenage lovers, getting married, or even staying together for a year or more, was slim to none.

#

Levi and I got out of the bed in silence. We didn‟t lie there and talk like we usually did; we were silent. We both removed our shorts and put on our pants. I went and sat on his couch to put on and tie my shoes. My fingers trembled as I grabbed for the laces. My body quivered from nerves, not pleasure. How had this happened? How had I let it happen?

Levi rested his hand gently on my shoulders before I rose to leave. “Sorry,” was all he could manage.

I couldn‟t answer. I didn‟t know what to say. It was both of our faults.

On the way back to my house we stopped by 711 to get a slurpee. As I got out of the car, my knees were weak. I felt different. Only then reality was sinking in. I didn‟t feel like a woman, nor did I feel like an invincible teen. I felt like a scared girl who could become another pregnancy statistic in nine months.

#

I wait for my mom‟s silence to pass. Do I continue or let it go like I have so many times before? My mom‟s a good talker and a good listener, just like myself, but she also doesn‟t meddle in other peoples‟ business, including mine.

Before I can think twice, the words spill out of my mouth. “I need to know some things from you. Did you ever know or think that Levi and I were having sex?”

This time she doesn‟t hesitate to answer. “No, I really didn‟t know anything was going on.” Her tone seems mellow, and yet it‟s hard for me to not get choked up by the 53 thought of her ignorance. I think my parents thought the best of me, but it was this mentality that allowed me to hide the fact that I was having sex. Maybe it‟s a bad analogy, but good parents can raise murderers, so the fact that my parents raised me, without knowing my sex life, doesn‟t seem too farfetched.

“Mom, you did some bad things when you were a teenager. Why didn‟t you think

I was?” My parents would sometimes tell my sister and me about drugs and drinking. I think they hoped it would possibly teach us a lesson. Well, I didn‟t do drugs, so maybe it worked. I never knew anything about their sexual past, until after I became a teen mom.

I feel my grip tighten around the telephone as if it is my lifeline to finishing my book.

“I thought you were smarter than me,” she responds, in her usual jovial, not judgmental, manner, but there‟s something different, something that suggests an awkward, uncomfortable smile at the other end of the phone, a smile acting as her shield against the questions I am bombarding her with.

I automatically retort, “Mom, that‟s not fair. You know that sexuality has nothing to do with intelligence.”

“I know, but as a parent of a teenager, it was easier to think that than about what you may have been doing. You know, I recently went to a seminar, and the guy was talking about how the part of the teenager‟s brain that controls the hormones is fully functioning and so is the part that has to do with anger, but the part that deals with being forward thinkers is not. If I knew this when you and your sister were teenagers, I might have tried to control more of your actions. Well, I would have tried. I think.” If I was sitting right with her, I would be able to see her gaze off into space as she considers what she would do if she could go back. 54

My nerves make me spurt out my next question without knowing if she is done talking. “Looking back, would you change anything?”

I already know that part of her answer will be something about things happening for a reason. “You know I believe things happen for a reason, so no, I wouldn‟t. If I did it might mean my whole life would be different. I wouldn‟t want to change things and chance not having you or your sister or my grandkids. But if I could do something different without changing anything, I would have been more open when it came to talking about sex. I mean…we have always talked about the dangers and realities of drugs and alcohol, yet we never really talked about sex.”

Trust me, I know. This is terribly uncomfortable. I think if we had started to talk about sex when I was much younger, and continued to talk about it, it wouldn‟t be so difficult. I dredge up my next questions. “Would you have shared your experiences? Do you think that might have made us more open about it?” I feel my tense body start to relax. In this one conversation, at the age of twenty-five, I have talked more about sex with my mom than ever before. I am finally starting to feel a slight sense of being at ease.

Through the phone line I can picture her shaking her head up and down in a slow motion. “Yes, I think that would be good. Yeah, I think if people, especially parents, were more open about sex then maybe that would help kids, not to learn from parents‟ mistakes, but simply to be more open. I dunno. Maybe the more people talk about things that are uncomfortable, then the easier it becomes.” 55

I have had enough Q & A for one day. “Yeah, I agree. Open communication about sex. I think maybe that would have helped me. I have a lot to work through still.

So anyway, call Levi, and I‟ll talk to you later.”

“K, bye,” she responds, like we had had a normal everyday conversation. This is a good thing. I can talk about sex with my mom and come out unscathed. Too bad we didn‟t have this conversation sooner.

As a teen, I was happy my parents didn‟t push the issue of sex, but as an adult,

I‟m scared. I know the possible outcome if I avoid the uncomfortable sex talk.

I think my parents falsely assumed that because I was a good student and got good grades that I was too focused on school to have sex. Or maybe because my grandparents never talked about sex with my parents, my parents didn‟t feel the need or the knowhow to talk to me. I‟m not trying to blame my parents for any of my own mistakes. I‟m simply trying to figure out how the hell Levi and I are going to raise teenagers.

56

To Love and Lose

Our one year anniversary was approaching. I had just started my sophomore year and Levi, his senior year. The prior year had flown by. Levi stayed busy with wrestling, baseball, working at a local dollar store, and with me. I had been busy with swimming, babysitting, and Levi.

Over the past year we had talked to each other about everything: past, present, and future. In one year, we became best friends. We shared laughs, love, and tears. Levi was the only one there for me the first time I missed a period. He bought me my first pregnancy test.

#

We had been dating for about three months the first time my period was late. I had not gone on birth control. The only people I knew to ask about birth control were my mom and my doctor. The problem was that I didn‟t want to talk to my mom about sex, and anytime I went to the doctor, my mom was sitting right next to me.

Levi bought condoms when he had the extra money or when we remembered. I didn‟t want to buy condoms, because it was embarrassing. Just looking at all the different packages of condoms hanging in the store was overwhelming. I wouldn‟t be caught dead buying condoms, so I never did.

One of our main problems was that we had sex almost every day and sometimes more than once a day. That was a lot of condoms and a lot of money. The little money we had would be spent on food, movies, or any other adventure that would keep us together and out of our parents‟ houses for a little while. Our parents were always home, and they always wanted to spend time with us. “Let‟s play a family game.” Games and 57 family time were sometimes fun, but for the most part, we enjoyed each other‟s company.

I had distanced myself from Candice and other girlfriends, and Levi usually only hung out with his friends at school and baseball.

If we didn‟t buy condoms, then sex was a free activity that only the two of us could partake in. Sex was a combination of alone time and making each other feel good emotionally and physically. When we didn‟t use condoms, we didn‟t think about the consequences until we had a scare. After a pregnancy scare, we would promise to use condoms again, but our promises were not written in blood. They were often short lived.

They lasted as long as our wallets could handle.

As Levi walked through my bedroom door, he announced, “I didn‟t know which one to buy, so I bought two.”

“Okay. How much did they cost?” I asked, more concerned about the strain on his wallet than the strain on our lives. The thought of being pregnant seemed abstract, foreign, and not possible. Money on the other hand, was necessary in our everyday lives.

“It‟s not a big deal. I only spent twenty dollars,” he replied, as his shaking hand handed me the grocery bag containing the boxes that held the answer to our future.

“Wait here. I‟ll be right back,” I told Levi. I rose from my bed and went into my bathroom. Walking the short distance to my bathroom felt like I was walking the plank to my demise. What would I do if the test was positive? How would I be able to tell my parents that at the age of fifteen I was pregnant? Why didn‟t I think of these things when we were having sex? Why was sex so enjoyable? Maybe if sex wasn‟t so good, I wouldn‟t have it so much, and maybe I wouldn‟t be in this position. The problem with sex was that it didn‟t get worse; it just kept getting better. 58

Levi and I would find new positions, new locations, and new techniques. It was like a science class—we just kept experimenting. Some days we would just have a quickie, because Levi had to leave for wrestling or baseball, but on other days we would spend an entire day trying to see how many times in one day we could make each other orgasm.

A few minutes passed, and I was able to breathe easier—the test was negative.

But Levi and I were not quick to learn our lesson. If we ran out of condoms, we had sex.

If we couldn‟t afford condoms, we had sex. If we couldn‟t be bothered to put on a condom, we still had sex. Sex wasn‟t about getting pregnant; it was about feeling, the best feeling in the world, the climax that sex brings on and the release and relaxation when it is over.

We thought we were invincible. Over our first eleven months together we had three pregnancy scares. For as often as we had sex, only three scares was a blessing.

Each time, our vow to use condoms became less meaningful. It was like a person who gets a speeding ticket vowing to never speed again; it never lasts. We would stick to our promise for a while, but it was too easy to forget the horrifying feeling of a pregnancy scare.

Pregnancy and being a parent were such abstract concepts. I knew very little about either one. I knew a brief overview of how a baby grew over nine months—I learned about it and saw pictures in Sex Ed—but I didn‟t know the actual physical and emotional feelings of being pregnant. I also knew that my parents were good parents, so why wouldn‟t I be? The fact that my parents were in their late twenties and early thirties 59 when they had my sister and me did not bounce around in my head. Only my love for

Levi filled my head, almost beyond its natural capacity.

Sex was never far from our minds, our mouths, or our bodies. Any time we were alone, even if our parents were downstairs at my house, or upstairs at Levi‟s house, we found a way to pleasure one another. The forbidden was exciting. The pleasure of having an orgasm was unimaginable. The feeling of closeness with Levi, the boy I loved, felt necessary, like if I didn‟t have it, I would feel empty, incomplete.

We were love stricken teenagers. The word love spilled out of our mouths after a few months, and from then on, it was always rolling off our tongues and across our lips.

We hated our parents anytime they told us we had to spend time away from one another.

To us, it seemed like they wanted to keep us apart, because they were jealous that the love we had once given them was dissipating and being placed onto someone else.

Levi and I distanced ourselves from our friends. Candice and Mindy were always together, and I rarely hung out with them. Candice made it clear that if I wanted to be her best friend, I wouldn‟t be able to hang out with Levi all the time. How dare she make me choose!

Levi didn‟t hang out with his baseball friends much outside of school and baseball trips. I didn‟t think I needed anyone else; I had my best friend and lover. We could do fun things together, like going to the movies, and then we could end our day with sex in order to be relaxed and ready to go to sleep. It was impossible for either of us to see past each other. We were both happy, or so I thought.

# 60

On Labor Day, less than a week before our first anniversary, my house phone rang. It was eight o‟clock, and as usual, Levi‟s voice was on the other end. He seemed a bit quieter than usual. I had seen him earlier in the day, and we hadn‟t left on great terms.

I hoped he wasn‟t still mad at me. Why did I always let little things upset me?

Levi‟s parents had bought him a new car, yet they had not brought it home. They were going to pick it up the next day. Levi was so excited when he showed me a picture of a broken down piece of shit car. Instantly, I started complaining about how it was irresponsible (Yes, I used that word) to buy a broken down car for the amount they paid.

I would have been mad if my parents did that. Why wasn‟t Levi? I couldn‟t figure it out.

After I stopped my ranting, I noticed that Levi had pulled out the picture of the real car his parents bought for him. He thought the picture thing would be a funny joke, but my reaction confirmed his fears.

Why had I acted so crazy and judgmental? I was usually such a happy person.

Sex complicated things, and the fact that neither of us had someone else to talk to or hang out with put a lot of pressure on both of us.

“Hi sweetie. How are you?” I asked, into the phone.

“Okay. We need to talk.” Does any good conversation start with this line?

“What‟s wrong?” I said, feeling like I had a steel ball in the pit of my stomach.

“Well, I just…I wanted to say this earlier today, but I couldn‟t…I think we should break up.”

I was silent. I couldn‟t believe my ears. How could this be coming from Levi?

Weren‟t we in love?

“Katie?” 61

“I‟m here,” I replied, as I felt a wave a nausea rush over me.

“I‟m really sorry,” he softly told me, as I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes.

“Why…Why would you say that?”

“Katie, I just feel like you aren‟t happy.”

“Don‟t make this about me.” I felt the jab pop out of my mouth without even realizing I was acting and talking just how he meant.

“That‟s what I mean. You always get mad.” His voice became more disdainful.

Levi rarely lost patience with me, but I could tell his patience was waning.

“I‟m so sorry. I promise I will stop. Please, just forgive me. We can make this work…” I pleaded like a prisoner of war with everything to save and nothing to spare.

“I can‟t. I‟m sorry.”

“I don‟t understand why you had to call. Why didn‟t you tell me in person?” I questioned, trying to mask the tears.

After a long pause, Levi broke his silence. “Because I knew I wouldn‟t be able to go through with this. I wouldn‟t have been able to see your face and stick to what I felt.”

As I blubbered like a child without shame, I had to choke out the most difficult goodbye that had ever escaped my mouth. I dropped the phone to my bed and pressed end on an important chapter in my life.

At ten o‟clock, I realized I probably wouldn‟t be able to pull it together for school the next day. Like an exhausted marathon runner, I mustered up the strength to pull myself off my bed and down the final stretch to my parents‟ room.

“Mom…Mom…” 62

“What? What‟s wrong?” My startled mom asked as her head popped off her pillow. “What happened? Is someone hurt?” My mom always worried about physical injury and death during truly emotional times. Her voice would jump an octave, and I could tell her heart was racing.

“Levi and I…we…broke up,” I sniffled out, sounding like a sick or hurt duck.

As I stood like a statue next to my mom‟s bed, she rose to her feet. “Come here.

It‟ll be okay. I‟m sorry.” My mom wrapped her arms around my shaking body and held me. Hugging her in her thin nightgown felt weird. How could I be so physical with

Levi and feel such discomfort with the people who I had been with my whole life?

I pulled my face away from her shoulder. “I can‟t…I don‟t want to…to go to…to school tomorrow.” I looked at my feet, sad and embarrassed at my complete loss of control. My mom didn‟t even know the half of it. The only person I had ever had sex with took my heart. He had protected it for almost a year like the prized forbidden apple, and after tasting what he longed for, he threw it away to rot and never be thought about again.

“That‟s fine. Try and get some sleep. Do you need anything?” my mom said, as if she didn‟t want to know more than I was willing to divulge to her.

“No. Okay,” was all I could say as I turned to shuffle back to my room, a room full of once happy memories that were now all in shambles.

A few days earlier Levi had left a cologne and sweat scented shirt crumpled in the corner of my room. I approached the still shirt as if it were a poisonous bug ready to bite.

I slowly reached my arm to it, unsure of what was going to happen. I snatched the shirt up and clutched it to my chest. Careful not to taint the shirt with my snot, I placed my 63 face close enough to the shirt to smell Levi. He was there, standing in front of me, arms wrapped around my waist, embracing me like the thousand times before, times I had taken for granted. As I opened my eyes, Levi faded away like a cloud covering the reality that lay behind it. Levi was gone, and all I had to hold was a forgotten under shirt that had probably been discarded as Levi hastily put on his over shirt after a lovemaking session.

I spent Tuesday, the next day, in bed, disinterested in anything but calling Levi and pleading with him. I didn‟t eat until my mom told me to come to dinner. Even then I only ate a portion fit for a toddler. After dinner, I returned to my room to continue moping and trying to figure out how to make myself better: how to make myself appealing to Levi again.

On Thursday, the loneliness was overwhelming; I picked up the phone and dialed

Candice. After a brief conversation, we agreed to have lunch together the next day. At lunch, we briefly talked about the break up, and I realized she didn‟t care about it.

On Saturday night, we were bored and Levi agreed to hang out with us for a little while. We hadn‟t seen each other since Monday, and we both wanted to try to be friends.

We had secluded ourselves to the point that we didn‟t have many options of other people to hang out with. My mom dropped Candice and me off at the dollar store where Levi worked. When Candice and I showed up at the dollar store, I had a feeling of unease, one

I had never had before around Levi. Being friends was not going to be easy.

When Levi got off of work the three of us went to the Atlantis arcade, the location of mine and Levi‟s first date. After going to the Atlantis and playing air hockey, Levi drove Candice and me back to my house. Candice went inside to call her mom, while 64

Levi and I stood in the driveway in a long embrace. I think Levi was doing it just to be kind to my broken heart. I don‟t know.

Levi and I had never been anything less than boyfriend and girlfriend. For a long time, we had been lovers. I pulled away from our never ending hug, looked into Levi‟s eyes, and we kissed. It was like our final goodbye before sending him off to battle. Then

I said the words that would tear me up for two months. “I can‟t see you anymore. I can‟t move on if I see you. All I want when I see you is to be your girlfriend. To be the way we were. I know we can‟t, so I can‟t see you.”

“I understand. I agree. It‟s just too hard.”

“Maybe I‟ll call you sometime.”

“Yeah. That sounds good,” Levi replied, as we pulled away from each other. He climbed back in his parents‟ minivan; his parents had borrowed his new car for the evening since he had to work. It was weird that I wouldn‟t be the first passenger in his new car, but life was different. Life wasn‟t about Katie and Levi. It couldn‟t be.

As he backed out of my parents‟ drive, I gave a final wave, surprisingly kept it together, and walked in the house and up to my room to see Candice.

65

How Do I Move On With a Broken Heart?

Two weeks had passed, and I decided to pick up the phone and call Levi.

“Hello,” said the familiar yet unwanted voice at the other end of the phone.

“Hi, is Levi there?” I felt uncomfortable talking to a person I had became so close to but who was now so distant.

“Nope. He‟s out with his girlfriend,” said Levi‟s stepdad, making sure to put emphasis on girlfriend.

I think Levi‟s parents, mom and stepdad, had always liked me, but I also think at times there has been jealousy. Levi was always close to his parents, but like most teenagers, he grew apart from them. I think Levi and my closeness scared them. He was their son, and I had the potential to break his heart. Who would have known it would happen the other way around?

“Okay, will you tell him I called?” I asked, in shock yet still in control of my words.

“I dunno,” he replied, as I heard the ominous click of the phone being hung up.

Girlfriend: it felt weird to hear the word in reference to another female. It hadn‟t taken him long to move on. Our relationship meant more to me than that. I lost my heart and my virginity, and he gained a notch in his belt and a girlfriend. I felt like I had been beaten up and left in the woods without a phone or anyone to save me. No one cared.

The only way I knew how to handle the stress and the pain was to eat very little and work out. Both started out painfully and ended with me being in control. I stayed busy at school, but in the evenings when my friends were busy, it was hard to silence the hate and disdain I felt towards myself. Who else would want me? I was used goods. 66

Nightly, I would put on my running shorts, t-shirt and shoes. My running shorts were being used for a different reason that easy access. I‟d hop on the cloud walker (a contraption like an elliptical) in my room and try to forget the pain my mind and body felt. After twenty minutes, I could no longer discriminate between the pain Levi had caused me and the pain that my habits were causing me. The blurring of these two things made it easier for me to quiet the voices in my head telling me that I wasn‟t good enough.

Don‟t stop. Can‟t stop. Won‟t stop, not until my life is different, better.

Looking back, I see the pain that the breakup cause me, and I also see the pain and breaking down I caused my body. I don‟t know which is worse, emotional pain or physical destruction. The mind and body are supposed to work in sync, but at fifteen— like many times before—I felt like mine just didn‟t work. My only redemption would be finding my own happiness, but at the time, my happiness came in only one shape, mine.

I felt like I needed to get my overweight body back in shape to find the happiness that left with Levi.

#

From as early as fifth grade, I can remember being uncomfortable with my body, my stomach that hung over my jeans, my arms that flapped when I waved, and the rest of my body that jiggled when I wiggled. I would eat as little as possible and workout by myself or with a friend. I wasn‟t involved in sports, so I would jog, bike ride, or do workout videos.

In middle school, I wanted to make friends, so I lost weight. Then freshman year

I met Levi, and our happiness combined with our unhealthy eating helped me to pile on thirty pounds. When we were dating, I wanted to be comfortable in my skin, but it was 67 often really hard to say no to French fries or ice cream, especially when Levi said he would love me no matter what. The breakup was an incentive to try and lose weight. If I couldn‟t be happy with Levi, then I would at least need to be happy with myself.

As an adult, I realize my unhealthy habits during my adolescence did nothing but damage my mind and my body. To this day I still struggle to lose weight. Part of my struggle is battling against a body that requires very few calories to sustain itself.

Another part of my battle is the problems I have arguing with my own mind that I do look okay. No extreme is ever safe. Too bad I didn‟t know that at the age of fifteen.

#

I liked having the air-gliding cloud walker in my room. That way my parents couldn‟t bother me. They couldn‟t question how much I had eaten or worked out that day. Also, I could jump off the air glider to restart the Brian McKnight CD that I played for weeks after the breakup.

“Anytime” kept me hoping, wishing, and moping. “Do I ever cross your mind anytime? Do you ever wake up reaching up for me? Do I ever cross your mind anytime?

I miss you.” “6-8-12” reminded me every day of how long Levi was gone, and how I was left to wonder if he thought of me as often as I thought of him. “Do you ever think about me? Do you ever cry yourself to sleep? In the middle of the night when you‟re awake are you calling out for me? Do you ever reminisce? I can‟t believe I‟m acting like this. I know it‟s crazy how I can still feel your kiss.” I would close my eyes and imagine a different life. A life in which, I didn‟t spread my legs for someone so quickly nor allow my inhibitions to scatter at a moment‟s notice. A life in which, I was happy. 68

My daily routine continued. I knew, or at least hoped, that eventually I would find myself. I would find a me that didn‟t require a Levi.

One habit didn‟t allow me to complete sever my connection to Levi. Part of my daily routine was trying to keep my hopes up and my outward appearance positive hoping

Levi would call me.

We started talking the night after I called him and talked to his stepdad. He always called me. That way I wouldn‟t have to talk to his dad, and I wouldn‟t interrupt him if he was spending time with his girlfriend. Some nights I would wait up until midnight waiting to see if he would call. I would clutch the phone so I could talk at the first bleep, so my parents wouldn‟t know I was receiving a call late at night. It was often agony waiting to see if Levi wanted to talk to me. When his voice was on the other end it was as if I could exhale and breathe in normally, not like an asthmatic waiting to be saved.

Our conversations lasted anywhere from a few minutes to hours. We were trying to forge a friendship, a friendship that was not overshadowed by sex and all the emotions that sex involved. I didn‟t nag him. He didn‟t give me the silent treatment. We laughed, talked about the past, and even discussed our future. I was even bold, and told Levi, “I know I will marry you someday. We may be friends for a long time, but someday I will.

Don‟t say anything.” I knew I couldn‟t handle any more rejection from him.

We would even talk about sex. He and his new girlfriend hadn‟t had sex, but they were talking about it. She was a virgin and wanted Levi to be her first. Wow! He had made it to second base. She wasn‟t ready to touch his penis, but she was more than willing to have Levi pleasure her. He tried not to complain to me about it, because he 69 knew my sympathy would be lacking. Once, I was my brave self and asked who was a better kisser. Levi replied, “I can‟t answer that. You know I‟m not dating you. I can‟t say bad things about her.” Was he giving me hope? Or was he trying to be nice?

I had never met Levi‟s girlfriend, but I tried not to hate her. He was my friend, and he was the one who made the choice to leave me. She may have had something to do with it; telling Levi that she was interested in him was a bit forward. I didn‟t want any more anger or hate in my life, so I ignored her—out of sight out of mind—and focused on my friendship with Levi. I knew that hatred and jealousy were worse than heartache.

Push it to the back of your mind. Let it go. He‟s with her. Someday he will know what he‟s missing.

After two long months, I was down twenty-five pounds, and Levi began to realize how much he missed me. We had talked a lot over the two months, but we never saw each other.

I was house sitting with Candice when Levi called. He was supposed to meet up with his girlfriend, but she stood him up. According to him, she wasn‟t being very nice lately: taking her friends side over Levi‟s, making jokes about Levi. Wanting to see him,

I invited him over. A long twenty minutes passed before a knock on the door made a smile, one that was impossible to conceal, spread across my face. Candice answered the door for me.

Levi walked in, and I rose from the couch. When he approached me, he gave my body the once over with his eyes, like he was seeing me for the first time, and we embraced.

“You look great!” Levi said, as he let go. Maybe my hard work had paid off. 70

My cheeks began to hurt due to my enormous smile. “Thanks. You don‟t look too bad yourself,” I replied, as I turned to walk away. He looked good. The acne he had been long battling was clear. His head was newly shaved, and he was very thin (that‟s what wrestling season will do to a teenage boy).

The three of us sat and chatted in the living room for a while, when I realized that

Levi probably had his new car.

“Hey, did you bring your new car?”

“Yeah, I did. Do you wanna see it?” he asked politely.

“Of course I do.” Candice didn‟t get out of her chair when the two of us rose.

“Do you want to see his car?”

“Nahh. I‟ll see it later.”

Levi and I went outside. I was excited for him. I felt different, different than when we were dating. I wasn‟t grumpy, and I didn‟t feel the need to control him in any way. “Nice car, Levi.”

“Thanks. I like it. Do you want to get in and see my radio?”

“Of course I do,” I responded, without any hesitation.

The two of us sat and talked in his car for an hour. Candice never crossed my mind, but Levi‟s girlfriend did. “Levi, are you happy with your girlfriend?”

“Would I be here if I was?” Stop with the rhetorical questions!

“Hey, I thought we were friends?” I retorted, with a little laugh and a friendly shoulder punch.

We both laughed, and when we stopped our eyes met. I instantly felt like my heart thought I was running a race. It kicked into overdrive. 71

Our silence said it all. We had missed each other, and we had grown over the last two months. Grown together through all of our late night phone conversations, and grown on our own.

“Well, we better go back inside to Candice. I mean, that is, if you want to come back in,” I said.

“Of course I do.”

When we came back in, Candice had already gone upstairs to read. I didn‟t know if she was mad at me or trying to give us privacy, but I didn‟t care. All I cared about was reconnecting with Levi.

“I‟ve missed you,” I said to Levi, as we stood in the kitchen.

“I‟ve missed you too. I‟m sorry,” he replied, catching me off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“I‟m sorry I broke up with you. I‟m sorry it was over the phone. I‟m sorry for everything.” His sincerity made me walk over to him and grab his hands.

“It‟s not your fault. I was nasty. I started to resent you, and really, I didn‟t like myself much either,” I replied, as Levi pulled me in and hugged me like I was his long lost friend.

Music had saved me over the past two months. During this emotional moment my sappy side took control. “Levi, listen to this song,” I said, stretching out one of the arms that was wrapped around him and pressing play on the CD player behind him. He continued to hold me as Tim McGraw and Faith Hill belted out their song “It‟s Your

Love.” “It‟s a beautiful thing. I don‟t think I can keep it all in. I just gotta let you know what it is that won‟t let me go. It‟s your love […] And if you wonder, about the spell I‟m 72 under, it‟s your love.” As the song played, Levi held me tighter than I could remember. I knew he felt the same. We were still in love, or maybe, we were in love again.

“Katie, I have to break up with her on Monday. We can‟t do anything until I break up with her.”

My lovestruck mind wanted nothing more than to kiss him. “Okay. Why can‟t you call her?”

“I am trying to be a man.”

I appreciated his honesty. We had both changed, for the better. As we stood in the kitchen, Faith Hill continued to sing her love ballads.

The love songs made us yearn for one another, more than a warm embrace could accomplish. Faith Hill unknowingly sang to us, “Let‟s Make Love.” “The only thing I wanna do is be with you as close to you as I can be. Let‟s make love all night long, until all our strength is gone. Hold on tight just let go I wanna feel you in my soul. Until the sun come up, let‟s make love.” Levi and I began to sway back and forth in the kitchen. I felt truly happy for the first time in months, and the tears began to stream down my face and meet their final resting place on Levi‟s shoulder.

He pressed his cheek on mine and after feeling my damp face, kissed my cheek, trying to stop my tears. I lifted my head, our eyes met, and we were done. We kissed like our lives depended on it. We kissed like we didn‟t know anything else in the world existed.

Moments later we were in the bedroom I was staying in. We lay together for a long time, enjoying each other‟s company. The only problem was that one thing hadn‟t changed, our lust for one another. 73

After making out and above the clothes petting, neither of us could stop ourselves.

Our inhibitions were cast aside with our clothes. As I mounted Levi, our worries were forgotten just like the condoms that were down in Levi‟s car—the condoms he thought he would maybe get to use with his other girlfriend, the condoms we would remember to use later that weekend. During sex we remembered how easy it was to pleasure each other and say “I love you.”

“I love you” made it okay that we were fifteen and seventeen and breaking the rules. The rule of wait until marriage, the rule of waiting to have sex until you break up with one girl before having sex with another girl, the rule of wearing a condom. We forgot the rules as we worked to forget the past two months.

At the time, my happiness with Levi was all that mattered. Little did I realize that

Candice would slowly fade out of my life, “It‟s me or him.” It would be years until

Candice popped back in my life. We friended each other on Facebook and that‟s how I learned she had moved out of state. I sacrificed friendships because of my tunnel vision when it came to Levi. At least, I‟m lucky he was long term; he was worth it.

74

Crash and Burn

“Katie, we need to talk.”

It had been about nine months since I heard those troubling words flit off Levi‟s tongue and resonate within my confused mind. Levi and I had been back together for about six glorious months. Once again, the four words that combined to create a bone chilling phrase were being uttered ever so softly in my ear. I trembled as if my bare skin had been struck by a cool winter breeze, even though it was a warm May day. I propped myself up on my arms in bed next to Levi.

It was Friday, and I was staying at his house, like most weekend nights. My parents didn‟t object, but they also never really asked questions, like if we were staying in the same room. They knew we were happy together and didn‟t want to change that.

Levi‟s parents knew we were having sex, but it was more of the “don‟t ask don‟t tell” policy. Later, my mom told me that she didn‟t think we would have sex if either of our parents were in the house. Whatever the reasons were, we didn‟t question our parents‟ blatant disregard of the connotations attached with staying the night together.

My confused and quizzical look made Levi clarify his statement.

“No, no, no. I have to talk to you about something important. I‟m not breaking up with you. I learned my lesson.” A small smile spread across his face, but at the same time, his eyes showed that what he was going to say was serious.

We never really talked about the breakup after our first month back together. We put it behind us. It didn‟t seem necessary, to either of us, to rehash the time that, we both agreed, made us stronger. He had tasted freedom, and I knew what it was like to be left alone without him. Neither of us wanted these things if they didn‟t include each other. 75

It was approaching midnight, and my mind was calm and ready to let the sleepy time fairies coat my eyes with their dust. What could he possibly want to talk about? We remembered to use a condom. We both had climaxed. We were both satisfied physically and emotionally. He usually fell asleep right after he finished inside of me.

Trying to seem interested, I lay back down and rested my head back on his outstretched arm, both of us looking like an advertisement for Trojan condoms. “About what?” Seductively, I blinked my eyes and smiled at Levi in the light of the moon.

“Well, you know how there have been scouts lately at my baseball games?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, not quite grasping where he was going.

“Um, they have been there watching some of the other guys and me.” He was trying to lead me, but wouldn‟t completely grab the reins.

“Okay.” I wasn‟t quite catching what Levi was throwing at me.

“Well, one of the scouts is a coach for Lassen Community College. He asked if

I‟d like to come play baseball for him.”

“Oh, that‟s good. That is what you wanted. You going?” I said, trying to mask my disappointment, disappointment that he might be leaving me and disappointment that

I couldn‟t be ecstatic for him.

“Katie, I can‟t pass this opportunity up. You know I have to at least see if I can make it.” I could tell he was torn just as much as I was. He wanted to follow his dream of playing baseball. But over the past two years I had become part of his dreams too.

His sincerity was that of an innocent child telling his mom he dropped a plate from her favorite china set, and it broke my heart. I wanted to cry at the thought of him 76 being gone next year, my junior year. I wanted to by happy and excited for him, but I couldn‟t.

“I know. You have to follow your dreams. When do you leave?”

“I‟m here all summer, and then I will leave in August for school and baseball.”

He stared at the ceiling as if he was trying to fight off tears.

“Where‟s Lassen?” I asked, realizing I had no clue where Levi would be going.

“It‟s in Susanville. It‟s only about an hour and a half away. It‟s not too far.”

Was he trying to convince me or himself? An hour and a half seemed a bit far to me, considering that we only lived about ten minutes apart.

My eyes began to pool with tears. I turned and put my face in the crook of Levi‟s shoulder. Would a long distance relationship work? Levi might find a new college girl and leave me behind. I didn‟t think I could handle that. Not again.

He wrapped his bare arms around my naked body and squeezed me, and repeatedly said, “It will be okay. We will be fine.”

I wanted nothing more than to believe him, but I almost felt like he was a hypnotherapist repeating a mantra that would help the patient believe the unbelievable.

The next few months flew by. Levi was still playing summer baseball for his high school, and he was working for a local grocery store. I kept myself busy working for his parents‟ appliance repair business.

I worked from their home office, and I was in charge of parts. Working for his parents had its benefits. If Levi had a day off during the week, I could ask for the day off without any worry or guilt of having my day denied. I had patched things up with Levi‟s parents. I knew they were trying to protect their son. 77

Having days off allowed the two of us to enjoy our summer by going to the lake or by doing some other activity that allowed us to spend our time with one another, even if it was only briefly.

We were each other‟s everything. It didn‟t matter to either of us that we had lost touch with friends, including Candice. Our conversations never lagged, and to break things up and make them interesting, we would hang out with my parents or his parents.

We were all close. My parents had grown to love Levi like their son, and Levi‟s parents liked having me around.

August arrived like a jab to the face, expected yet still painful. “I‟m here [pop], so Levi‟s leaving [pow].” It was time to help Levi load up his parents‟ minivan and go with them to Susanville.

Arriving at Lassen‟s campus was a weird feeling. It was a foreign town and school where Levi would be starting a new piece of his life, without me. Before any of us hauled Levi‟s belongings up to his room, we decided to go check out his dorm room.

Levi was on the second floor. I had never been in a dorm room before. He would be sharing his room with another student. Both of their beds looked as if they had been constructed out of children‟s wooden building blocks. Weird. Across the room from the door and under a small window, there were two generic, wooden desks. The room was plain. There was a door just past the entrance, on the left. It led to the bathroom Levi and his roommate would share with two other guys. It was like the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that Maddy and I shared, just not as fancy.

Levi, his parents and I spent the day getting Levi‟s room set up. That required a trip to the local Walmart to buy essentials like food, towels, toilet paper, and a small set 78 of plastic dishes. After setting up all the things that would help Levi make this his home for at least the next semester, we all went to dinner. I don‟t remember where, but I do remember leaving Susanville as the sun was dipping below the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful purple and pink mixture. I also don‟t remember the drive to Susanville, but I clearly remember the drive home. Levi hugged and kissed his parents goodbye, and as they got into the minivan, Levi and I wrapped our arms so tight around each other that it was like we were a team skydiving together. I didn‟t want to let go because that could mean failure or even death. Maybe I‟m being melodramatic. I don‟t know. The thought of leaving Levi for more than a day made me weep hysterically. I pried myself off of

Levi, and I quickly kissed him and hurried to the van. I knew his parents were waiting, and I knew that no length of a goodbye could stop my tears.

The three of us waved to Levi as we rolled out of the parking lot. We didn‟t talk for the rest of the trip. His mom and I simply passed the box of tissues back and forth until our eyes ran out of tears and our noses were rubbed raw.

The first night Levi and I were apart, and every night thereafter, we talked on the phone. Sometimes our conversations had to be brief, but just the sound of Levi on the other end of the phone was enough to get me through each day.

Levi often tried to come up for at least one weekend day. He couldn‟t always make it, because baseball kept him busy. It didn‟t take long for his love of baseball to begin to dissipate and be replaced by his loathing of the coach and some of the players.

One weekend in October when my parents let me drive to go stay with him, he had some news for me. We went out for pizza for dinner and had a good time laughing and enjoying each other‟s company. 79

“Katie, I have something to tell you,” Levi said, as he reached across the table and grabbed my hands. His hands were more worn than usual. He had taken up a part time job helping build a log house. I think he was preparing the wood in some way. I‟m not too handy, so I‟m not too sure what he was doing.

“What is it?” I was once again baffled by his opening line.

“I quit baseball today.”

I felt my head tilt like a dog trying to understand its master‟s foreign language.

“What? When? Why? What does that mean?”

“Whoa. Well, I wasn‟t happy anymore playing baseball. It wasn‟t for me. I need to finish this semester of school, and then I will be returning home to Reno to the local community college.”

I couldn‟t keep the smile from my face. I wasn‟t happy that Levi would still have to be gone for a few months, but I was happy that I would have him back soon. He followed his dreams, and I didn‟t stop him. I didn‟t want him to ever look back and resent me.

After dinner, we drove around town. There weren‟t too many places to go for two teenagers longing for nothing more than one another. We found a back road that led us to a dark parking lot. Dark parking lots are a great place for two young lovers to make out. After getting each other heated up, we made our way back to Levi‟s dorm room. He had to sneak me in before curfew.

Levi and I lay in the dark waiting for his roommate to fall asleep. We had to celebrate his eventual homecoming. It was very difficult to have sex in a twin bed, with a sleeping roommate in the room, and trying to be quiet, but we succeeded. The thrill of 80 sex was, sometimes, what made it the best. If we thought we were going to get caught, it made us want sex and each other even more. After we came together, we fell asleep in each other‟s arms. Before long, he would be home with me.

A few weeks later, I had a missed call staring back at me from the screen of my cell phone. I didn‟t know the number, but I still called it. The voice at the other end was unfamiliar.

“Hello.”

“Hi, it‟s Katie. Who‟s this?”

“This is Levi‟s roommate. Have you talked to Levi?”

“No, I‟ve been in school all day.”

“I don‟t wanna alarm you, but he was in a car accident. His parents came out here, packed his stuff, and they said that he was returning to Reno.” His roommate informed me, with almost as much confusion in his voice as I had in my head.

“Oh, my God. Is he okay?” I retorted, scared that he was severely hurt.

“Yeah, he‟s fine.”

“Okay, thanks. I gotta go.” My heart raced and my concern began to bubble over like a pot on the stove.

I tried calling Levi. No answer. I finally went to his parents‟ house and found the three of them sitting in the living room. I raced to Levi and held him. I had to see with my own eyes that he was fine.

“What happened?” I asked.

Levi‟s face was stained red. I could tell he‟d been crying. “I fell asleep, and I drove off the road. I totaled my car.” 81

I didn‟t know what to say. He had stayed the night before with me and left early in the morning to return to school. We had stayed up late talking and messing around.

Why didn‟t I let him go to sleep? It was all my fault.

It was November, almost the end of the semester, and Levi would not be returning to school. His parents didn‟t want him to do the drive. Besides, he no longer had a car. I felt shocked. His parents didn‟t encourage him to finish his last couple of weeks. Levi was carrying As and Bs and would now probably end up with Fs. He agreed with his parents. He wanted to be home, no matter the cost.

I was happy to have my love back home, and he was happy to be home, even though he had to learn a lot of hard lessons by going away to college.

The rest of the year Levi and I continued to grow and try to mature together. He bought a new car and found a good job at a local grocery store, Winco. Then he enrolled in the spring at Truckee Meadows Community College. He took a few classes and finished them.

I continued to work for his parents‟ appliance company after school. It was June.

We had made it through another year of school and work. I was so close to being a senior. We couldn‟t be happier.

82

Section Two

Too Young to Be a Mom?

“In This day and age, some turn 18 and think they’re a man or a woman and that’s it, but that’s just not true. You have to establish your manhood and your womanhood with actions.” ~Orlando McGuire

83

Working Mom

Somehow I don‟t remember most of the summer before my senior year. What I do remember is that, in July, I found out that I was going to be jobless as of August first.

Levi‟s parents‟ appliance repair business was closing. As I look back, I can‟t help but smile at my naiveté. At the time, my biggest worry was that I didn‟t want to be a broke senior who couldn‟t enjoy her social life.

After a month of tirelessly applying at a variety of places around town, from construction secretary jobs to childcare, I finally received an opportunity that would turn out to be a major part of my transition from a carefree teenager into an overworked, underpaid adult.

My mom had worked at St. Albert‟s for about four years as the finance manager for the school, the church, and the child care center. My sister also worked at St.

Albert‟s, but she worked at the childcare center. It just so happened, St. Albert‟s was losing their baby room teacher mid August. To my advantage, I knew the boss and was able to drop off my application and simultaneously interview for the job. I can honestly say that, when I arrived for the interview, I didn‟t experience the sweaty palms and nervous adjusting of my clothes, nor the dreaded stumbling over words. The interview was the easy part.

The interview was almost a comical event. The director, Kathy, the assistant director, Kim, and I sat in children‟s yellow plastic chairs at a children‟s half moon table.

I felt like an oversized preschooler who was being talked to for misbehavior. Trying to lower myself onto the chair and find a position in which my legs were together felt like an art form. I didn‟t want to flash anyone in the loose jean skirt I was wearing. At the 84 same time I was trying to maneuver my compact, 5‟3” body to be comfortable and not seem incredibly awkward in front of what might be my future bosses. During the quick five minute interview, Kathy and Kim bantered back and forth about how they had known me for so long that they didn‟t know what to ask. Aren‟t there standard interview questions for any position? Finally, the two reached a conclusion; they would give me a shot at being the next infant room caregiver.

“Oh, one last thing. What do you think is a good wage?” Kathy asked me.

“Well, I made eight dollars an hour at my last job.” I knew eight dollars would cover my car, car insurance, and provide just enough extra to go out once in a while.

“We usually start at seven dollars, but since you will be in a room by yourself, without a co-teacher, eight dollars should work. All right, we will see you on Monday.”

I shook hands with Kathy and Kim, and I realized that I was ecstatic and scared senseless to become the infant room caregiver at a childcare center.

Monday, August eighth rolled around and off to work I went. I showed up at 8:45 a.m. for my nine o‟clock shift. Upon arrival, I stopped by the small twelve by twelve cubicle that would be my home for thirty to forty hours a week.

The room was jammed with baby necessities. It was an eclectic setting that was far from picture perfect, but it was mine. Four mismatched baby cribs lined two of the walls. On the third wall there were two plastic, K-Mart special high chairs with an interesting jungle pattern on their seat covers. Above the two chairs were four Easter colored milk crates screwed onto the wall. They were full of individual baby supplies parents felt necessary to bring from home. There were bottle liners, baby crackers, maybe teething tablets (depending on the parent‟s preference), hopefully a binky (it 85 didn‟t take long to learn a binky is a baby caregiver‟s lifesaver), and a rainbow of baby food. The fourth wall contained a counter that was home to all of the necessities: a changing pad, a sink, a fridge, and a microwave. Finally, in the center of the room was a hokey, wooden rocking chair. It looked like something my great-grandma would have sat in on the farm. It still baffles me how one tiny room could fit so many things. Oh yeah, there were various small and medium size toys on the floor.

At first, I was under the impression that I would be trained for an entire week. I thought for sure that would be more than enough time. Boy, was I wrong. On my first day, I found out the lady who was training me had only worked in the baby room for two months and was actually due to leave Wednesday, not Friday. She helped me understand baby room rituals: reading the babies‟ schedule charts, basics of feeding, nap, and playtime, and how to answer the phone and the questions the callers would have. Maybe

I should have asked for more than eight dollars. I knew little to nothing about childcare, let alone babies, and I had to be the phone receptionist at the same time. What had I gotten myself into?

My quick training eased some of my nerves, but I quickly realized that no amount of training could prepare me for the numerous challenges I would have to face. After my quick few days of training, I was set free to be the mama bird to four little baby birds.

Maybe that‟s the wrong analogy, because it would be unsterile to feed the babies from my own mouth. Cleanliness was key! The basic questions I had before starting the job were quickly answered: When do I feed a baby? Feed them every two hours or as I saw fit. When do I change a baby? Check the baby‟s diaper every hour and change when baby is wet or poopy. How and when do I burp a baby? It is only necessary to burp 86 immobile babies during a bottle feeding, and how often, depends on the baby. But it‟s approximately every ounce or two. Am I allowed to give a baby medicine? Medication is only allowed with a doctor‟s note and the parent‟s permission.

I now realize all these questions are known as surface level questions. These questions all have a standard answer. What I didn‟t know, at the time, was that I would have questions that didn‟t always have an easy answer, questions that pertained to emotions, ethics, and legal issues: How will I feel when I have bonded with a baby for more than a year, and it moves to the next classroom? Is it my fault if an infant, learning to walk, falls and hurts itself? Do I have to follow all requests made by parents, even if I do not agree with them? None of these questions have the same answer in every situation, and at times, I had to do things, some I didn‟t agree with, to please the parents.

Childcare is a branch of the service industry. The motto is kids come first and parents are always right. The fine print says this is true, even if we, the caregivers, do not agree with them. For instance, one baby‟s mom wanted her growing baby boy, Chandler, to receive a bottle only every three hours no matter how hungry the baby was, or how much he cried. As Chandler‟s caregiver, I interacted with his mom Monday through

Friday, and I knew the mom was dieting. I could tell by looking at the breast milk that she sent that it didn‟t contain much, if any, fat. On top of that, Chandler was nine months old, an age when most parents are introducing finger foods and giving their infant three puréed meals a day, and she wasn‟t. Chandler‟s mom was not neglecting him, in the law‟s eyes, but to me, she was making her son suffer hunger pains and creating possible future eating problems. Also his crying created chaos in a room that contained three other babies. 87

No matter how difficult the babies or the parents, I quickly realized that creating a basic schedule for me and the babies was best if I was going to accomplish a variety of tasks and keep the babies as happy as possible. Don‟t get me wrong, setting a schedule was only a temporary thing. Once I learned one schedule, I would lose my older babies and get new babies.

Some parts of my schedule rarely changed. Every morning, I needed to set the toys, I had cleaned with water and bleach the night before, on the freshly vacuumed floor.

Then I would need to remember to fill the crock pot with water and turn it on in order to be able to warm breast milk provided by come moms. On Mondays, I had the extra task of covering the crib mattresses with a crib sheet and soft blanket that the parents brought in. Once the ritual morning tasks were out of the way, I would begin my multi-tasking day.

During my first year in the baby room, Chandler was always the first to arrive.

The center opened at 7 a.m., and he would be there at 7:20. Since the next baby, Dennis, didn‟t usually arrive until eight, I had about thirty minutes to have one-on-one, floor time with Chandler.

Over the year, I was able to watch Chandler transform from a cooing, crying baby into a toddling terror. He tried his hardest to steal other baby‟s binkies. Sometimes he succeeded. Then he would continue to push my buttons by climbing into my empty rocking chair, standing up, and seeing how fast he could get the chair rocking before I was able to swoop him out of the chair and place him back on solid ground where he belonged. 88

Shortly after Dennis arrived, Jack and Carry would arrive. Every time a baby was dropped off, I made sure to get the lowdown from the parent. When did he last eat?

When was she awake? Did he sleep well? Is there anything new going on in the baby‟s life? This last question was always tricky. I had to form bonds with parents through everyday casual conversation about their child, my own life, their life, or anything else that helped parents feel comfortable with me.

Parents had to leave their baby with me, initially a complete stranger, for the better part of the day. I wanted parents to be confident that, when they walked out the door, I would be taking care of their baby as if it were my own. On top of that, babies are easily affected by change, and if parents weren‟t at ease with me, they wouldn‟t share personal changes. That would mean two things: I hadn‟t done a good job bonding with the parents, and I would most likely have a grumpy baby on my hands. At times, it was hard for me to be compassionate when incessant wailing worked at my nerves and destroyed any sense of peace in the room. But if I knew the baby‟s parents were on new schedules, or one of the parents was newly absent for one reason or another, I would work my hardest to find my calm and understand the baby‟s confusion as justification for crying inconsolably.

After all four of the babies arrived, and I talked to each concerned parent, I would get down to business. Snack time was around nine. Dennis and Jack sat in the highchairs, and I watched them, in amusement, as their uncoordinated fingers chased cereal O‟s around their tray. Carry didn‟t wait patiently. Instead, she scrambled around below the highchairs trying to beat me to a runaway O. If she won, I would give in and let her eat the O. If I won, it went in the garbage. When Dennis and Jack had eaten, 89

Carry finally got her chance to eat a snack. As Carry had her snack, I turned down the lights and fed Chandler his bottle. While feeding Chandler, I put Dennis and Jack in their cribs to start falling asleep.

Working with babies was a rewarding, but often difficult, job. A normal day would often include putting four babies to sleep, feeding four hungry babies, or making sure the babies were not crying. All of this made me feel like an act in the circus.

I had to use my minimal experience, and best judgment, to decide which baby to tend to first. I learned to hold one baby in my arms while using my neck to hold the bottle, using my other arm to slightly shake one crib with a baby in it, and using one leg to shake another crib. Notice the problem? I still have one more baby. I hoped the fourth baby wanted to have a snack quietly or could sit in a crib with a few toys and await naptime. Explaining this is easier than doing it.

I would try and work my magic, okay, I would struggle to get the four babies to sleep. Then, in less time than it had taken me to get them to sleep, they would be awake.

The time after nap and before snack was limbo time. What the babies wanted to do changed from day to day. They would either be happy and ready to play, or they would be grumpy and need something.

On one seemingly normal day, Chandler was crying post-nap. After a few quick mental checks—last feeding, awake time, and finally, the diaper—I reached the conclusion that Chandler was probably in need of a diaper change. Little did I know the worst was yet to come.

Oh boy! Step one: lay a paper towel on the changing pad. Step two: put on latex- free gloves. Step three: place crying baby on the changing pad with his bottom squarely 90 on top of the paper towel. Step four: grab a diaper and wipes. I never assumed a baby was only wet or would not explode once their diaper was opened. Now, the excitement began!

I unsnapped Chandler‟s pants and proceeded to undo his diaper. I kept my right hand squarely on his diaper, so he didn‟t have the opportunity to kick his legs and in turn, kick off his diaper. Next, I wiped his little present off his cute baby bum. Then, to both of our surprise, the air hit his willie and suddenly his pee stream began. To his dismay, and sadly my amusement, his pee hit him right in the face.

The poor little guy started to blink quickly and swivel his head back and forth trying to escape his unknown predator. His lip started to quiver. He didn‟t take a breath; he was preparing to emit a sound so loud that it might have qualified as a reason for the director to finally check on me.

I am not sure if I was in shock, and that is why I didn‟t help him, or if I was too busy trying not to die from a laughing attack. His squirt gun stream of pee finally stopped, and just as I expected, he gasped for air and began a high pitched wail. The punishment that he gave my ears was much deserved for my failure to rescue him from the golden shower. Maybe I should have placed a hand, diaper, or anything in between his pee stream and his face, but I didn‟t. At that moment, I realized that as a stand-in mom I could be faced with a challenge and fail.

I cleaned Chandler the best I could. Then it was lunchtime. I found that it was best if I started lunch by 11:30, because that way, when I went to lunch at 12:30, the person breaking me would only be responsible for play time. Also, it was important that

I did not wait until the last minute to feed any of the babies. Making sure that food was 91 heated and ready to consume usually prevented their crying, which saved me from a headache and the babies from belly aches.

At lunch, there was more to do than sit down and feed one baby. I would place

Dennis and Jack in the highchairs. Jack would eat finger food while I spoon fed Dennis with my right hand. At the same time, I would cradle Chandler in my left arm with the bottle positioned under my chin, and simultaneously I would use my foot to tickle Carry or shoo her away, so she couldn‟t eat any food Jack dropped.

After their lunch, it was finally my turn for lunch. I was able to leave the room for an hour and enjoy adult conversation. No matter how much I loved my four babies, I was a social person who got tired of talking and never receiving a response.

My lunch hour would pass, and I would return to my post. Upon my return, I checked diapers, played for a short while, and then prepared for nap number two. On some days, I tried for an hour to get all four babies to sleep, and eventually, I would give up on one or more of them. After nap was diapers, snack, and playtime until parents arrived.

Taking care of four babies was no guessing game. It was an art. I would even dare to say that, at times, I was an informal doctor or nurse. I had to diagnose symptoms and signs. Then I had to decide what they meant and what steps I needed to take.

Once, I was presented with a puzzle. Although I like puzzles, I did not enjoy this one. The instant the smell hit my nose, I knew I had to work fast. Someone was poopy, and the smell was so sour I knew it meant one thing, diarrhea.

The smell was wafting around Chandler; he was the culprit. As I was changing

Chandler, I noticed a few things: his diaper was completely full from front to back with 92 the runny mess, the smell was beyond nauseating, and his poop was a very strange jungle green. I cleaned him up and had someone inform Kathy that I needed her. After I gave her the run down, she told me I was right to be concerned, and that Chandler would need to be tested for Rotavirus. Rotavirus often occurs in young children. It is a yucky combination of severe diarrhea and vomiting. I hated it when one of my babies was sick, and I especially hated making parents come get them. I didn‟t call parents unless it was truly necessary.

I wasn‟t a doctor, but at times, I felt very similar, so maybe I was qualified enough to assume what was wrong with a baby. Parents would fill out a daily chart in the morning: name, date, arrive time, awake time, and last time the baby ate and the amount.

A doctor checks a patient‟s chart before entering the room, and I would check four charts as I entered the room. The major differences between the medical professionals and me were that I was working on graduating from high school, not college, the pay I received was significantly less, my job was much less prestigious, and instead of family history, I had to consider baby room history. These three differences didn‟t hinder my care for my patients.

Baby room history was one of my most important resources. For example, if

Carry was out with the flu and one of the other babies began to throw up, I would most likely assume the worst, and yes, I would have the director call mom or dad. On the other hand, if Dennis threw up and no other baby had been out sick, I would start from scratch with my diagnosis. 1. Was he eating? 2. Was he crying? 3. Is it possible he is teething? 4. Does he feel warm? 5. Is he his normal color? 6. Is he abnormally tired?

After going through the checklist, it was my job to determine whether his puking merited 93 a call home FYI or a call to tell his busy parent to come pick up their sick son. This was not something I ever liked to do.

I always assumed the parents would be concerned for their sick baby‟s well being, but often, this was not the case. Some parents would become irritated and blame me. It was either my fault that there was illness in the room, or I had lied and their baby wasn‟t sick. I recall one time when Chandler‟s mom informed me, “I took him home and took his temperature and it was perfectly normal!” If she thought I would feel like an idiot, she was highly mistaken. I know for a fact that I went through my check list, followed childcare protocol, and was backed by the director. Nonetheless, it was a terrible feeling, like I was simply an expendable babysitter the parents used because their jobs were much more important than mine. Don‟t get me wrong; some parents were, and still are, very dear to me, making their appreciation known through verbal thanks, gifts on major holidays, and their respect.

Not only was I the baby caregiver with a splash of medical professional, I was also the quadruple baby surrogate mom. My job didn‟t stop when I was tired, or when I was pregnant, stressed, or overworked. As a matter of fact, those times were when babies would want more, and I would have to give more. No matter how comfortable I was, or how confident I became, there was often a new baby challenge to remind me that I could never be 100% prepared or know everything. For instance, every few months, I learned about a new virus I had never heard of: RSV, Rotavirus, Coxsacki, Shingles. On the other hand, I thought that since I took care of four babies Monday through Friday I would have no trouble taking care of one. I would shortly find out how wrong I was when I had my own puking, pooping, crying bundle of joy. 94

Ironically, three weeks after starting my new job as infant caregiver, I found out I was pregnant. During my stint in the baby room, I continued to work through many hard tasks. All the while, I was making a mental database that would help me when I had my own baby. By fate, instinct, or maybe just by chance, I was working at a job that would help me learn a few things about parenting.

The job couldn‟t teach me everything, though. I took care of the babies during the day, but then I went home or to school and didn‟t have to worry about anyone but myself. Also, if babies were sick, I sent them home, but if that baby was mine, it was going to have to be me who went home. So many things that I delegated would soon be problems I faced daily.

95

Telling the Truth

The entire night before, and the better part of the day, my stomach had been doing somersaults, not because of morning sickness, but because of fear and anxiety about what lay ahead. It was the day after Levi and I found out I was pregnant, and we were riding in my mom‟s car. As I sat in the back seat, I couldn‟t find a comfortable position. How would she react? How mad would she be? What would she say? How would I respond?

Every question jostled around in my head, yet not one question could take hold of my tongue and escape my mouth.

I tried to focus on anything other than the ball of stone sitting in my stomach, aching to be relieved through the simple act of opening my mouth. I‟m pregnant. I couldn‟t even utter a whisper. All I could do was focus intently on the back of Levi‟s shaved head. I didn‟t allow my eyes even the slightest opportunity to blink, because I knew, if I did, the tears would appear, and they would be a visible sign of the pain and fears I was keeping locked inside.

At that moment, my staring contest with the back of Levi‟s head ended. Levi casually glanced back at me during a not so casual time. Our eyes met, and he knew once again that I, the million-mile an hour mouth, was at a loss for words for the second time in a span of two days. I knew and Levi knew what we had to do.

As nonchalantly as he glanced back, he shifted his gaze back to the sand pitted windshield. Maybe he was looking for the words, or maybe he was mustering the courage he needed for one of the many difficult tasks he would have to accomplish now that he had been forced to grow up. 96

A few intense moments went by, and as his mouth opened, my heart stopped.

“Ummm…Katie‟s pregnant,” he blurted out. Wow, way to be tactful, Levi. Had he prepared something else, or had he just went with his gut?

Within only a few horrific seconds, my mom responded, “What? You couldn‟t wait ‟til the car was stopped?” Was she more worried about crashing or the news she had just received? My mom didn‟t raise her voice, nor did she shift her gaze from the road.

She stayed calm as I broke down once again.

I began to weep, no sob, from the backseat. “Mom…don‟t…be…mad ah…me.”

I pleaded through broken breaths and a stream of tears.

“Being mad won‟t change the fact that you‟re pregnant,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm and caring as she kept the car driving towards home. She always was the strong one. How can a mom, one who had dedicated the better part of her life to teaching her kids right from wrong, accept her daughter‟s, and possibly her own, failure with such composure?

I wonder if she was mad at Levi and me but was able to keep herself calm, because I was unable to. It is amazing how the human species‟ outward appearance can mask their inward emotions. My mom was not a teen mom nor was her mom, so how did she handle the situation so well?

In my head, I was worried that I would become nothing more than a pregnant high school dropout with a future of poverty and pain. For her, it is quite possible, that her head was spinning so quickly, that she had to put forth all the effort she could to think about making it home safely on that ironically beautiful, blue skied afternoon. 97

During the whole ordeal I would never see my mom cry. I had seen my mom cry at many sappy movies and extremely emotional times but not when she was dealing with my pregnancy. I wonder if she cried behind her ominous bedroom door. Did she cry because she felt like a failure? Did she cry because she was worried about my future?

Maybe she was so busy comprehending the fact that I was pregnant and then busy preparing with me that she didn‟t need to cry. No matter the questions I have, they may never be answered unless I pry into my mom‟s past.

#

Some families are extravagant story tellers, but I often have to pry stories out of my parents. It is like trying to pull off a pair of size six pants after taking twenty minutes to shimmy my size ten ass into them: painful and disheartening. For whatever reason, my family doesn‟t value or hasn‟t handed down many of their stories, their history, the insight to know where I came from, or how I‟m linked to a series of mysterious people.

Most people wouldn‟t be too concerned with this, but it is hard to tell my story, or for that matter, be who I am, where I am, without knowing how my mom stood by me and supported me through what would be one of the toughest times in both of our lives.

A few years after the torturous car ride, I decided it was time to ask my mom how she stayed so calm the day she found out her daughter had been having sex and was pregnant. I figured that she and I would talk more openly on the phone than in person, so

I called her.

Through the earpiece of the phone all I hear is the ringing of the phone, but at the other end, I can imagine my mom feverishly searching through her purse to find the 98 elusive red phone with the clashing blue, Hawaiian flower phone case that my oldest picked out the day my mom bought the phone.

“Yellow banana.” My mom‟s voice resonates in my ear. Caller ID is one of the most intriguing aspects of the cell phone for her, because she loves to have off the wall answers when she knows who is calling.

“Hey mom, what‟s up?” My mom and I talk daily in person and on the phone, so our banter is always very informal.

“Not much. What are you up to?” Her tone and voice combine to offer the listener a feeling of comfort that would make a criminal confess to all the crimes he had ever committed and never been charged with.

“Once again I am plugging away at my book, and well, I was wondering if you had a minute?” Really I am just wondering if she is in a private place to answer private questions. I have picked her brain throughout my writing process, and most of the conversations have been very personal and at times uncomfortable. Although I love writing, asking questions, especially of my parents, can be the hardest part of the job.

“Yeah. I just got home.”

“So…when Levi told you I was pregnant…why did you…well…react the way you did?” I know that there is no need to refresh my mom‟s memory, because the moment my mom found out I was pregnant will forever be emblazoned on her mind, and will be a great source of worry when her grandchildren become teenagers.

I thought she would need a minute, but she doesn‟t even hesitate. “When I was in my early twenties, I was living in Washington with your dad. I think our relationship was getting too serious for him, so he decided he wanted to travel the states. Shortly after he 99 left, I received a note from my grandmother, your great-grandma. In that letter, she told me that I shouldn‟t be alone during such a difficult time, and if I wanted to move back to

California and stay in her back house, she would not tell my parents. She also said she would help support me and not pass judgment on me in any way.”

My heart skips a beat. I had never thought of my mom this way. Was my mom pregnant? She couldn‟t have been. Well, unless she had a miscarriage or an abortion.

Could my mom have kept this from me for twenty-five years?

I picture my mom‟s tan and freckle covered hands holding a small piece of paper as she sits at her rustic, wood table for two fighting back the tears: tears from the pain of my dad jetting out of town, and tears because she feels all the love and compassion my great-grandma was sending in one simple letter.

I imagine my mom trying to get comfortable in her goldilocks size kitchen chair in her tiny shack by the river, which only a few years later would be washed away in a flood. She stares at the paper while trying to keep her composure long enough to be able to read the neatly written cursive words that spread across the page. I wonder if she set the letter down gently on the table and broke into tears, or did she dramatically, like in the movies, allow the letter to drift to the floor, and then allow her body to collapse onto the wood floor?

“Mom, were you pregnant?” Am I wrong to assume that my sister and I were the only babies who ever knew the comfort of her womb?

“No, but your great-grandma thought I was. She was such a wonderful person.

She never judged anyone.” Her voice begins to crack, and I know her eyes are welling with tears at the love and loss she holds in her heart for her grandma. “Did you know she 100 had two kids before she was married? That was unheard of in her time. She lived in a small farming community, and her and your great-grandpa didn‟t see the need to get married. I guess they must have thought they were together in God‟s eyes, or they would have gotten married sooner. Your great-grandma‟s understanding, and the fact that she never passed judgment on anyone, made me the person I am. To be honest, Katie, her support of me is, probably, the main reason I was able to be there for you and not throw you out like some people in the family said I should.”

She pauses to compose herself, and her short break gives me a chance to let it sink in and reply. “Mom, don‟t cry. Damn it, you‟re making me cry. Geeze, stop.”

My mom and I can‟t help but chuckle, because she and I find it easier to laugh about things than to cry.

“Did you go live with her?” I am trying to wrap my head around the fact that my mom could have been in the same situation as Levi and I once were.

“No, but I did move back to California to live with my parents for a while. And the fact that my grandma would offer up not only a part of her property, but that she would also keep it a secret, if I wanted or needed her to, has always stuck with me.” Why has my mom never shared this story with me? It is so compelling, and it would have been nice to hear when I was pregnant. At various times, I felt like I was the only unwed mother-to-be.

My mom continues. “Well, Katie, I think that if I could be like anyone I would want to be like my grandma. I wish you could have met her.”

“Thank you.” I hope she knows I am not only thankful for the story but for her acceptance of my situation from the second Levi was able to gather the courage to tell her 101 he‟d gotten her daughter “in trouble.” Someday I hope I get the chance to tell my mom that to me, from how she has described my great-grandma, she is just like her.

My mom and I said our salutations, and I was back to work, writing.

#

In the car, as my shame and embarrassment washed over me, I waited to see who would talk next. Before my mom said anything else, Levi said, “We‟re keeping the baby.

We‟re gonna make this right.” He didn‟t falter. He found the confidence he needed to convince my mom that things would turn out okay. I think he already knew that we could be good parents, but he also knew it would be a struggle to convince other people.

“Good.” When my mom said that one word, I knew she would be there to support us.

The rest of the drive home was quiet, either because we were all in shock or simply couldn‟t find the words to explain what would come next. She never asked when or how. Maybe she didn‟t want to pry or maybe finding out the truth about our sexual history would shock her even more than my pregnancy. She‟s not the type of person who lives in the past. She seems okay with the fact that she can‟t change the past. She doesn‟t hold grudges. She doesn‟t dwell about the past. She always makes the best of things and is happy that way. On the day we broke the news, she just seemed to move on to the present task at hand, dealing with us. We made it through telling her, but this was easy compared to what we would go though in the upcoming months and years. We were kids who were having a kid.

102

Trying to Grow Up

After the car ride, it took a while for my nerves to calm. When we got home, we talked to my mom about how I had taken the test the night before, and I should only be about five weeks along. She didn‟t ask about us having sex. Instead, she just stated something to the effect that she wasn‟t happy to know that we had had sex and probably in her house. Little did she know just how long we had been having sex!

Levi had been staying with us for most of the summer. He was in college and working, and his parents were being too controlling. He was nineteen, an adult, but under their roof, they wanted him to abide by curfews and rules that they hadn‟t implemented or enforced when he was in high school, including not seeing me every day.

After being apart for the few months that Levi was in Lassen, we didn‟t want to be apart anymore. We begged my parents to let Levi stay at our house. They knew how much Levi and I cared for each other. Plus, my mom has always told me that I was an old soul, very mature, so I think she often forgot how old I really was, seventeen. My parents loved Levi, and they believed the best of the two of us. Levi and I knew that we were meant for each other, and maybe they did too. No matter their reasoning, they agreed to let Levi stay with us.

Staying the night together didn‟t change our sex life. Levi and I had been having sex for almost three years, often unprotected, and at various places. I don‟t know. I kind of think that my getting pregnant a few months after he moved in was coincidental. I will say that I was foolish to think that since I hadn‟t gotten pregnant it wouldn‟t happen. If my parents really didn‟t think that we had had sex, they were trying to pull the wool over their eyes. 103

My mom is the type of person who expects the best out of everyone. It may have been her fatal flaw as a mother of teenagers, but as a human, it makes her compassionate and someone I look up to. To this day, I can‟t figure out why my parents never saw Levi or me as hormonal, sexual teenagers. They knew we were in love, but somehow they didn‟t equate love with sex.

As a teenager, I never really saw my parents as sexual beings. I assumed they loved each other, but they were never affectionate in front of me or my sister. I knew that they had sex, because in elementary school, much to my dismay, I walked in on them (I didn‟t know what they were doing until I was older). “I‟m just straightening the covers,” my dad told the young, innocent me.

Their relationship was different from mine and Levi‟s. They weren‟t much for public displays of affection. If they kissed in front of my sister or me, it was a peck on the lips. Holding hands was not their style. I know people are different in their displays of affection, but Levi and I couldn‟t control ourselves from being affectionate. When we were together, we felt like we had to be touching.

While working on writing this book I read a book by Dr. Ruth in which she explains that parents are models for their children, including affection. My role models stored sex and sexuality somewhere behind their bedroom door. Don‟t get me wrong, I don‟t really want to see my parents make out, but I wish we all could have been more open about sex. I guess in the end it didn‟t matter. I was pregnant and none of us could go back in time and change things. My mom‟s way of dealing with the situation was by not overacting. Her next step was to make sure Levi and I weren‟t wrong about my pee- stick test results. “Your cousin Joe drove to Tahoe this weekend all the way from 104

California. Your dad and I are going to go visit him. While we are gone, why don‟t the two of you go to see a doctor to confirm your test results. Let‟s wait to tell your dad until you‟re a hundred percent sure that you‟re pregnant.”

We trusted my mom and respected her decisions. She was always the decision maker in the family. My dad was always the easygoing one. Levi and I didn‟t waste time. That afternoon, we headed to the doctor.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since I found out I was pregnant, and I was already going to find out some of the difficulties of being a pregnant teen. I was covered under my parents‟ insurance, so we went to an urgent care walk-in clinic that took my insurance. Upon arrival, the check-in clerk informed me that I needed a parent or guardian‟s permission to see the doctor. Until I was eighteen, I would need to be accompanied by, or have the consent of, one of my parents to see a doctor. At check-in, I was glad that I had already told my mom. I called her cell phone, and she told the receptionist it was okay if I saw the doctor.

After my mom‟s approval, the receptionist asked me why I was seeing the doctor.

This visit was before the new strict privacy laws. “I need a pregnancy test,” I said, as quietly as possible.

She looked up at me, took a second, and jotted down something on the paper in front of her.

“Also, my nose has been stuffed up for like a couple weeks now. It‟s not terrible, but since I‟m here, maybe the doctor could check it out.”

The receptionist wrote another note. “Please, take a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly.” 105

Levi had already found us chairs to sit in, so I joined him. I told Levi about the phone call I had to make. He put his hand on my knee. “We‟ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” I replied, as I bent over to pick up a magazine. I flipped through the magazine. I was trying to get my mind off my worries. It didn‟t work, so I tossed the magazine back on the table. After a short wait, my name was called.

Levi was with me as I went through the usual doctor procedures, but he had to wait while I peed in a little Dixie cup the nurse had given me. The peeing thing was becoming too common, but I was getting a better aim. Finally, I returned to the exam room to wait for the doctor.

As the doctor walked in, I clutched Levi‟s hand. After introducing ourselves, the doctor said, “Home pregnancy tests are usually right, and yes, you are pregnant. As for your nose, it‟s what we refer to as pregnancy nose. Some women can be congested due to their pregnancy. It sounds like your congestion is probably is.”

Looking back, I don‟t remember much more of the visit, but I do remember that he gave me a list of obstetricians/gynecologists that were covered by my insurance. I had never been to an obgyn before, which probably wasn‟t a good thing, since sexually active girls are supposed to go annually.

Levi and I left the doctor and got in the car. As we sat in the parking lot, we talked about what we should do next. We decided to go to the mall to look at rings. We had talked about getting married a few times in the last couple years, but we had both thought it would be best to wait until after I was done with college. Being pregnant changed many of our plans. I wasn‟t even done with high school, and we were talking about marriage. 106

At the mall, Levi and I headed for the jewelry store. After being greeted, Levi said, “We are looking for an engagement ring.”

“Not too expensive,” I added.

I removed the promise ring that Levi had given me exactly eight months before on

Christmas Eve. I placed it on my right hand ring finger and started trying on rings. I looked at the price tag of each ring I was handed. After trying on a few rings, I was handed the ring that I would choose to represent our love. The ring was white gold with a small marquis diamond that was held down by six gold prongs. On either side of the center diamond was a row of five very small diamonds that were sunk into the plain, white gold band. “This is it. I really like this one, and it‟s not as expensive as the other ones.”

“I don‟t care if it‟s not as expensive. Do you like it? Are you sure it‟s the one you want?” Levi asked, while looking at my hand as it shimmered in the lights of the store.

“Yes, I love it.” Levi and I had never picked out something so important together, something so expensive.

“Here is the wedding band that goes with that ring,” the sales clerk said, as she handed it to me. It was simple. It had twelve diamonds that were the same size as the small ones on the engagement ring. The price was just right.

After Levi picked out a simple white gold band, he signed up for their credit card that was interest free for six months. Our total was $556, just less than Levi made in two weeks. It was more than we had, but well worth it. It seemed to put us a little more at ease with the fact that I was pregnant, in high school, and not married. 107

Levi held onto the ring. He wanted it to be special when he asked me to marry him. We were both hungry, so we went to grab some Mexican food. As we sat next to each other at dinner, we held hands and started talking about baby names. Everything was moving quickly, but I had always been a planner and wasn‟t going to change, not at such an important time.

“I‟ve always liked Brady for a boy‟s name. It was my mom‟s maiden name, and if she had a boy, she wanted to name him Brady. What do you think?” I asked, over the bowl of chips we were sharing.

“I like it. What about girls‟ names?”

We both sat silently for a few moments. Then we went back and forth about names. Somehow my great aunt and uncle popped into my head. They had combined their names to get their daughter‟s name.

“How about Kalie? For Katie and Levi,” I asked.

“Wow, I like it.” Levi grabbed my hand, leaned in and kissed my lips.

We had eight months left, and we had already picked out baby names. I knew we still had a ways to go, and I knew we were going to be judged by people, but I couldn‟t help feeling excited. We were going to be parents. We were trying to be mature adults, even though, legally, I was not an adult yet.

We finished our meals and decided to return to where our love began, the

Riverwalk. The night was warm. The breeze from the rushing water was refreshing. I clutched Levi‟s arm as we walked along. I felt myself smiling. I can‟t be sure, but this might have been my first smile since Friday night, the night of the pregnancy test. 108

Walking along the upper level of the Riverwalk, we stopped as we reached the final, raised, flower bed. Levi grabbed both my hands and dropped to one knee. “I have loved you since I met you. I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you please make me the happiest man and marry me?” Levi was a hopeless romantic, and I loved this about him. He was sweet and gentle with me and rough and tough when it came to protecting me. I knew if I took his hand in marriage I would have a great husband and father.

I felt a smile spread across my face until my mouth couldn‟t stretch any further.

My eyes welled with tears, ready to overflow. “Of course I will.” Levi pushed the ring onto my swollen finger and rose to his feet.

We kissed, and then we stood there holding one another. At that point, I didn‟t know exactly what lay ahead, but I knew we were in it together. I was lucky to have someone who was willing to stick around and support me and eventually a baby.

Our lives were moving fast. A week before, I would have never imagined that I would be pregnant and getting engaged. It was all so surreal.

No one plan of attack works for everyone. This was ours, and we were hoping it worked. I think the engagement gave us a feeling of taking responsibility. It would help us the next day when we sat at the kitchen table for Sunday dinner and told my dad we were engaged, and I was pregnant. Although my dad sat quietly until he stated that he was disappointed in us, we were still able to show him that we were at least trying to make the best out of the worst—or at least most complicated—thing we had ever experienced.

109

An Unexpected Beginning to My Senior Year

The first day of my senior year was two days after Levi and I got engaged. I never expected to start my last year of high school pregnant. I couldn‟t keep my mind on school. All I could think was, “How am I going to make it through this year, through this pregnancy?”

My first class of the day was English. I sat in the back of the room. The eccentric teacher adorned in Native American jewelry seemed excited to start another year. As he was going over the syllabus and pointing out how much he loved teaching Old English

(one of the year‟s main focuses), his recently dyed, Donald Trump-esque hair kept bouncing around.

Looking around the room and listening to the intermittent whispers, I felt different. Some students seemed worried about trying to read Beowulf. Others were worried about whether or not they had chosen the right outfit to start the last year of their high school education. Others were worried about which teachers they would have and which of their friends would be in their classes. My worries were much different.

As I sat in the hard blue plastic chair connected to my desk, I began to wonder how my stomach would fit in the confines of the desk in the months to come. Did people notice the engagement ring on my finger? Would people ask why I was engaged so young? Would I feel compelled to tell people I would be ending my senior year, not with a trip, but with a baby?

McQueen High School was known for its prominence in football and its excellent academics. It wasn‟t like some of the other schools in Reno that people talked about for negative reasons. It had a very low rate of teen pregnancy. I wouldn‟t be able to blend in 110 with a sea of students fighting their way through the halls. I would be noticed, judged, and talked about. Being pregnant was hard enough. I didn‟t need the added stress of high school gossip.

For the first week of school, I went to my classes until lunch, and then I went to work. I had half days at school, because I only needed two and half classes to graduate in the spring. Throughout high school, I had taken summer school classes and swimming after school, so before my senior year, I had earned twenty of the twenty-two and a half credits I needed to graduate.

Going to school for a half day prevented me from socializing. I was okay with that, since most of my old friends were in other classes, and I really didn‟t feel like making new friends or small talk with anyone. At work, I stayed busy taking care of the babies. It helped me to keep my mind off myself and my situation for a few hours. I was so relieved when my day was over, and I could go home to Levi and my parents, because they knew.

I didn‟t want to jump into things any quicker than I needed to, but I knew it was in my best interest to handle things in a timely manner. I waited a week before I went to talk to my school counselor. As I sat in the hall, outside the counselors‟ office, on the beige vinyl couch, I could feel my thighs beginning to stick, and my hands began to sweat and shake. I had never talked to a counselor about anything other than my schedule. My nerves had had a week to settle, but right then I felt just like I had a week before, while riding in my mom‟s car.

“Katie, Ms. Smart is ready for you.” The student worker informed me. 111

I peeled myself painfully off the couch and walked the few short paces to Ms.

Smart‟s office. As I entered her office, she smiled warmly at me. Usually, I was a calm person who could easily cope with my worries, but not that day. I had to admit, to an almost total stranger, that I was pregnant. Somehow, I had always thought I would be married and out of college when I got pregnant. I was delusional to think that just because I hadn‟t gotten pregnant before meant I would never get pregnant.

“Hi Katie. Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable,” Ms. Smart said.

“Ok. Thanks,” was all I could manage as I set my backpack on the floor and settled into the garish orange chair.

“What can I help you with today?” Ms. Smart slid away from her keyboard and turned to face me completely.

“Umm…Well, I just found out, well, I‟m pregnant.” My eyes burned with tears.

I shifted my glance to the ceiling as I tried to wish away the tears and avoid looking at

Ms. Smart.

#

Typing this scene makes me recall a very similar yet much more recent event.

About five years after I confided in Ms. Smart, I found myself back at McQueen. I was doing my practicum for college. My practicum was similar to a brief internship; I had to put in thirty hours of my time in an English classroom. One day, when I was helping in an English class, my mind was running wild.

That morning I had heard from a young friend of mine that a girl we both knew was pregnant and not telling anyone. I had known the supposedly pregnant girl for a long time, and I was not only worried for her, but my compassion for her overwhelmed me. I 112 asked Mrs. M., my practicum teacher, if I could have a brief moment to handle some business.

I couldn‟t function because I was so worried about this young girl. I left the class, and after a brisk walk down a couple halls, I arrived at an area where I hadn‟t been in years. It looked exactly the same. Luckily, I knew one of the counselors, because I knew her daughter.

“Is there any way I can speak with Ms. Matson?” I asked the young student worker.

“Let me check.”

A few minutes passed. “Ms. Matson is ready to see you.”

I entered her office, hugged her, and took a seat.

“Katie, how are you?”

“I‟m good. I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

“Of course. What‟s on your mind?” she said, as she scooted slightly closer to me and leaned in.

“Well, there‟s a girl who goes to school here, and I heard from one of her friends that she‟s pregnant. I am not trying to spread gossip. I am simply worried, because I heard the girl is not telling anyone that she‟s pregnant.” Saying this was almost as hard as telling a counselor, years before, that I was pregnant.

“Can you tell me who the girl is?” Ms. Matson asked, in her sweet voice that always reminded me of her daughter.

I couldn‟t help the tears that began to well up in my eyes. “Yeah, it‟s Sarah

Mason.” I knew that Ms. Matson would know who I was talking about, because she 113 knew this young girl‟s family. The tears began streaming down my cheeks. I grabbed a tissue off the table next to me and dabbed at my face.

“Well, I can‟t tell you much. I will say, don‟t worry.”

I didn‟t press the issue, because I knew Ms. Matson could only say so much.

“I‟m always sad to hear about young girls getting pregnant. I don‟t think badly of them.

It‟s just I know how rough the road ahead is,” I said, as the tears stopped momentarily. I always get emotional when I‟m passionate about something. At that moment, I realized there was nothing else I could do. I thanked Ms. Matson and returned to my practicum class.

#

Ms. Smart reached for the box of tissues on her desk and handed them to me,

“Okay. Have you told anyone else?”

The ball in my stomach seemed to be trying to escape through my throat. I choked out my words. “Yes, Levi, my fiancé, knows, and we told my parents and his parents.” I said fiancé as if I thought Ms. Smart would judge me a little less.

“All right, that‟s good. Do you know when you are due?” Her tone was unfaltering in compassion and understanding, not what I‟d expected.

“I think around April or May, but I don‟t know what to do about school.” I grabbed a tissue and blotted at my eyes.

Ms. Smart seemed to be formulating what she was going to say, in her head.

Then she spoke. “School is important. I know you are very dedicated to school, and you are a good student. You have some options. One is that you can stay here at McQueen as long as you want, or wish, and then you can do what is called correspondence classes. 114

For these classes, you do your homework at home and then mail in your work. Another option is to stay here, and when you cannot be at school you would simply need to make up your work. With this option, you have to be careful to not miss too many days of school. Another option is Washoe Adult Program. This is a way to earn the credits you need to graduate. It is not a traditional high school. If you go with this program, you will have no senior prom or high school reunion. Another option is Cyesis. It is a school for teen moms and teen parents. If there‟s an opening, you can go there and eventually take the baby to their daycare. This school doesn‟t have prom either. I know there is a lot to consider.” With that, she was done talking

I felt extremely overwhelmed. I took a moment to let all the information sink in.

“If I did correspondence, when would I be done?”

“You would finish by the time graduation rolls around,” she replied.

“With any of these options, would I lose the Millennium Scholarship that I should be getting when I go to college?” The Millennium Scholarship was a scholarship that

Nevada high school graduates could received if they had over a 3.0 GPA. I had earned it.

My GPA was a 3.7.

“With all of these options, you would still qualify for the Millennium.”

I stayed more composed than I thought I would. “Where is the Adult Program located, and when would I finish?”

“In the Adult Program, you work at your own pace. You would finish whenever your work for the classes you need is done. I believe it is usually located at Hug High.”

I didn‟t ask about Cyesis, because I didn‟t want to be with other teen moms. I didn‟t feel like other teen moms I had heard about. I was good at school. Looking back I 115 realize that I, myself, had a vision of teen parents as failures. This isn‟t, and doesn‟t have to be, true. Sitting in the counselor‟s office that day was my way of taking my life into my own hands and not allowing my pregnancy to make me become a failure.

“Katie, you need to think about whether you would mind giving up the things associated with high school, like your prom. Also, you need to think how you will feel as you begin to show.” Ms. Smart wasn‟t being mean. She was being honest. Her honesty helped me make up my mind.

“I think I like the idea of the Adult Program,” I said, after mentally weighing all of my choices.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

I felt like I was on “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire.” “Is this your final answer?” “Yes, Regis, this is my final answer.”

“Yes, I‟m sure. I‟m not really into the social scene in high school; I don‟t like all the gossiping that goes on. Plus, I like the idea of possibly finishing school early.”

“All right, now, I need to give you a form to enroll in the Adult Program. You must go down to Washoe High School with a parent and enroll. Then you can come back to McQueen and un-enroll from McQueen.”

Ms. Smart searched her drawer and found the form I needed. She handed it to me, and I tucked it in my backpack. I grabbed my backpack and stood up. As I stood up,

Ms. Smart stood up with me. She stepped close to me and gave me a hug.

As she squeezed me, she said, “Good luck, Katie. I know you can do this.”

I thought to myself. Yes, yes, I can. 116

I was an honors student with above average grades, and it seemed surreal to be enrolling in a school for students who lacked motivation or had failed in some way.

Some of the students had dropped out of school. Others had been kicked out of schools, and some just didn‟t want to go to the high school they were zoned for.

I knew I had to make sacrifices, because I needed to finish my schoolwork before the end of April, when I was due. There would be no senior prom. Forget about a high school reunion. Staying in touch with friends was unlikely, because I had so many other responsibilities. I worked at the preschool during the day and went to school in the evening. It would have been so much easier to drop out, but I‟m not sure what good that would have done me.

My first day of class arrived a week after my meeting with Ms. Smart. I worked at St. Albert‟s from nine in the morning until four. I would be going to school from 4:30 p.m. until seven on Mondays and Wednesdays. This didn‟t seem too bad. I was also taking a Tuesday night class at the local community college, Truckee Meadows

Community College.

I drove up to Hug High for the Adult Program and felt a wave of nervousness flow over me. The first thing I noticed was that the entrance into the parking lot had a rolled back chain link fence. I felt like I was driving into a high security lot. McQueen had no security barriers on its lots. Should I worry? I parked my car in the almost desolate lot, found the building I needed, and walked down the hall to find my new classroom.

I was the first student to arrive. There was a clean-cut, grey haired man reading the newspaper at the teacher‟s desk. As I entered, he looked up. 117

“Hi there,” he said, in a soft voice.

“Hi. I‟m Katie Tharaldson. I‟m new.” I walked closer to his desk.

“I‟m Mr. Shau. All right, let‟s find you on my list.” He paused to find my name.

“Here you are. It looks like you need to complete English Literature and U.S.

Government. Does this sound right?”

“Yeah, those are the last two credits I need to graduate, besides an elective, which

I‟m taking at TMCC.” My nerves seemed to be dissipating. I was taking my first steps towards what I hoped would be success.

“So, the way this works is you show up on Monday and Wednesday. Then you grab your assigned book. Read a chapter and complete the questions throughout the book and at the end of the chapters. I would like you to work on English, and once you finish

English, you can start on Government. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Actually, it sounded boring, but easy.

Mr. Shau rose from his desk, found the book I needed, and handed me paper and a pencil. “You‟re all set.”

“Thanks,” I responded, as I sat down in a desk. I opened my book and noticed it was four thirty, and I was still the only student in the class. This seemed a bit odd. Was I the only one in this class?

A few minutes passed and other students began to arrive. There were a few people who looked like they were in their thirties or forties. Then there were about ten other students who were around my age or a little bit older. Most of them were Hispanic.

Besides one older lady, I was the only white student. For the first time in my education, I 118 felt like an outcast. I didn‟t know anyone, and I no longer belonged at the high school where I had spent three years of my life.

Some students picked up work from Mr. Shau. Others grabbed books from the back shelf. Some of the students worked. Other students talked as if class hadn‟t started.

I didn‟t let their talking distract me. My goal was to get through two chapters a night; therefore, I couldn‟t afford to waste time caring about what they were doing or talking about.

Mr. Shau was like our overseer. He didn‟t teach us, but he kept most of the students on task. He encouraged students to work, but I knew he didn‟t expect much.

When I turned in my literature work he always seemed impressed that I actually did my work.

#

I don‟t regret going through the Washoe Adult Program, but when people ask me where I graduated from, or if I fill out something that asks me where I went to high school, I feel like I need to explain why I graduated from an alternative high school. I feel like people are thinking, “What did she do to have to go to an alternative school?”

It has taken me years to realize that going to a non-traditional high school didn‟t matter, as long as I got my diploma. My education is important no matter what I have had to do to accomplish it.

119

The Time of Our Lives

Besides spending September through December busting my butt on my school work, I was also preoccupied with doctor appointments, working at the daycare, and planning our December wedding.

When I was younger, maybe thirteen, or even fifteen, I had thought about getting married and having kids. Back then, I didn‟t have any set plans, but I knew I wanted to have a big wedding in a church. Then after a honeymoon spent in some sunny location, I would think about having kids. When I found out I was pregnant, I didn‟t want to give up hope that I would get married in a church, unlike the hope I slowly gave up at the possibility of finding a pair of pants that would fit comfortably.

By going to an alternative school and planning a wedding, I felt older. I felt more mature. I almost felt normal. It was rough, because I didn‟t know how to be normal since by society‟s standards, I wasn‟t. If I listened to society, I was too young to get married and have a baby and too irresponsible to be successful at being a mom and wife.

Looking back on things, I now realize that it didn‟t matter what society thought about me and my abilities. All that mattered was that I tried my hardest to accomplish my goals and dreams. Every life story is different and that is what makes human race so interesting. I wasn‟t ready to allow my age and my pregnancy to define me or my life.

After telling our families that I was pregnant, Levi and I both tried to maintain some normalcy in our lives. Monday through Friday, I woke up at seven to be at work by nine. On Mondays and Wednesdays I would get home from school about 7:30. Then

Tuesdays I had class from seven to nine fifty at Truckee Meadows Community College. 120

On Thursdays and Fridays I would return home about 6:30. Normally, this schedule wouldn‟t have bothered me, but being pregnant made me tired and often stressed out.

Also, I knew that becoming a mom was going to intensify my home duties, so I didn‟t go home to relax and be waited on. Even though I was still living with my parents,

I didn‟t expect them to take care of me or Levi. I was trying to be responsible inside and outside my home. A few nights a week, I would cook dinner, and since we didn‟t have to pay to live with my parents, Levi and I kept the whole house clean. My mom wouldn‟t relinquish laundry duties, though. “I don‟t want anyone else touching my machines.”

Laundry had never interested me, so I didn‟t complain.

I wasn‟t the only busy one. Levi continued to work and go to school. He had enrolled at TMCC again in the fall. Also, he had been working at Winco for about nine months, and weekly his schedule would change. But for the most part, he worked swing shift, three to midnight, with various days off.

I don‟t remember exactly what day it was, but I do know it had been a busy day of work and school for me. I don‟t remember if Levi worked that day. I just remember being tired and knowing I had to get up the next day for work. As Levi and I lay in bed, I twisted my engagement ring back and forth on my pudgy fingers. We had bought it a little big, knowing that my fingers would probably expand over the upcoming months. It still felt so foreign on my hand. It was wider and protruded more than the promise ring that had found itself right at home on my right ring finger. Levi‟s arms were wrapped around me as his breathing started to slow. He began to relax, and I began to think about getting married. 121

We hadn‟t really talked about it for a few weeks. School, work, and getting settled were our top priorities. Now that I was as settled in as a pregnant teen could be, it was time, “Levi?”

“Huh.” I felt bad waking him.

“I want to get married before the baby is born. It would make me happy for all of us to have the same name. Plus, I think that people might think we‟re more mature if we‟re married. I know we both want to get married; it‟s just a question of when.” I knew at some point I would have to tell other people about being pregnant, but I thought maybe it would look better if we were at least getting married.

“I agree. When?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “I dunno. My parents said they would pay for the wedding, so maybe we should talk to my mom tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Sounds good. I‟m glad your parents have been so supportive,” Levi said, as he drew his hand from my back and laid it to rest on my arm. As he rubbed it back and forth, I felt my nerves begin to calm. My eyes closed.

The next day we talked with my mom. We discussed the dates that we thought would work. First, we talked about Thanksgiving break, close to my birthday, but in the end, we thought the week after Christmas would work the best. I would be off of work and school, and maybe other people would too. Levi had vacation time available from

Winco, and he would be off school too. December 28th was set; it was time to start telling people.

Levi and I called the friends we wanted to be our bridesmaids and groomsmen to ask them to be in the wedding. We also told them I was pregnant. We wouldn‟t have felt 122 right not telling our closest friends. My mom called my grandparents and all of my aunts and uncles to tell them that Levi and I were getting married, oh yeah, and having a baby.

All of my extended family was shocked, but most of them were supportive. They knew my dedication to school, and they all thought of Levi as part of the family since we had been dating for so long.

Having more support was a relief. I was able to worry less about what people were going to say, but those who didn‟t support us are still etched in my memory like the scarlet letter. One of my aunts told my mom that my mom should wait five years, and if

Levi and I were still together, then she should pay for our wedding. My mom replied, “If

I didn‟t think they would be together in five years, I wouldn‟t be paying for their wedding.” I wasn‟t with my mom when she had this phone conversation, but I imagine her keeping her composure, until she hung up and marched straight to my dad to vent about the ignorance and lack of support from some family members. Down the road, when I talked to this aunt, I would want to do a little victory dance. “I did it. You said I couldn‟t. Now, who was wrong?”

My grandparents were old fashioned; sex was supposed to happen after vows were spoken. After a few tears from my grandma, she said they were going to support us in any way possible. My grandpa told my grandma that things happen, and at least I was being responsible. My mom ended the conversation by asking them to please not tell anyone.

I later found out that my grandma really struggled to accept my situation because of my mom‟s request of silence. My grandma felt like the pregnancy was a bad thing 123 since she had to keep it a secret. My pregnancy affected more than just my immediate family. As my body grew bigger, I started to hate my vow of silence.

After telling our family about the wedding and the pregnancy, my mom arranged for Levi and me to meet with the priest at our church. For years she had planted the seed that I should get married in the Catholic Church. Now that the time had arrived, I agreed.

Being right with God over our “wrong doings” seemed to be the best decision.

When we met with the priest my mom had already told him that I was pregnant. I think she hoped that this would prepare him, and possibly, soften the blow. The priest had known us both for a few years, and during the meeting, he explained that he understood that we were serious about getting married. Then he agreed to marry us as long as we didn‟t tell people I was pregnant. If it got back to him that others knew I was pregnant, he wouldn‟t be able to marry us in the church, because he would essentially be condoning premarital sex. Ironically, other people who live together are allowed to get married in the church with few to no questions asked about their sex life.

Working and going to church in the same location was difficult because of our vow of silence. But I wasn‟t willing to give up my church wedding, so we didn‟t tell people, especially those I worked with, that I was pregnant.

I understood my grandma‟s feelings of frustration and conflicting emotions. I hated trying to hide my pregnancy. It made me feel ashamed, ashamed of being pregnant, and really ashamed I was becoming happy about becoming a mom. Finally, my mom and I talked and decided that if my grandma told her friends in Southern

California that I was pregnant it would be highly unlikely that people in Reno would find out. 124

When my grandma was able to tell her friends that I was pregnant, and that was why Levi and I were getting married so quickly, she felt better. I think she was relieved when her friends were still happy for Levi and me, and didn‟t condemn us. Her close friends RSVPed, “Yes, the two of us will joyously be coming to your wedding.”

Once the task of telling friends and family about the wedding and the pregnancy was done, it was time to start planning. I had always thought I was going to get married in the summer, but since I found out that I was pregnant, I‟d gotten used to making choices about what was important and what wasn‟t as important. Getting married before the baby arrived was more important than celebrating our matrimony in the sun.

I had Levi‟s approval to plan the wedding with my mom. Levi was excited to get married, but the planning process was not something that intrigued him in the slightest.

The chain of command for the plans was: Katie knows best and has final say. Margaret makes suggestions but has the power of persuasion. Levi has room to agree or nay say, but for the most part, he just liked to know what was going on and when. He wasn‟t picky, and he knew I was.

I spent most weekends between the end of September and the middle of

November planning the wedding. We talked about wedding plans. Then we would research online, in magazines, and by word of mouth what we had talked about. Finally, we went around town picking things out: dresses, tuxes, shoes, flowers, invitations. Levi helped with most of these tasks. Then we started collecting necessary items: decorations, eating utensils, drinks, favors, or anything that we deemed important for the best party of

2002. 125

I kept a notebook with all of my completed and upcoming deeds. I flipped through my notebook and I made changes almost every day at work during the babies‟ naptime. That little, bound book became a day-to-day source of worries. What next?

Oh, when do I need to do that? Don‟t forget to ask mom about… Has she paid for that yet? Who will be in charge of those duties the day of the wedding? What was I going to do this upcoming weekend? The baby plans were pushed to the furthest reaches of my mind.

In mid-November, most of the wedding plans were set. Luckily, my mom knew a lot of people who were willing to give us deals. Although I was picky, I knew our wedding was on a budget, so I was flexible.

The cake was only $100. It wasn‟t the elaborate dream cake I had in mind, but it was good enough. Its three tiers of white cake with raspberry filling, decorated with white flowers (the red I wanted would have run), would taste just fine. We got our flowers and food at cost. Also, the guy who did our flowers let us borrow decorations for free. He let us borrow mirrors to put on the center of the reception tables, vases for our single rose centerpieces, and six fifteen-foot tall, lighted, chiffon columns that we would place around the church gym to add a glow to our reception. All-in-all the wedding ended up costing about $3000. Not too bad for a one hundred fifty guest party.

A big chunk of our costs was my dress, it was most expensive piece of the wedding. My wedding dress was exactly what I dreamed of. It had long, lacey sleeves and a beautiful train of lace and beads. The only thing that wasn‟t so perfect was trying to fit my swelling body into the dress. I ordered the dress in the end of September, and I ordered it big, but not big enough. 126

In November, I went in for a routine checkup at my OB. At the visit, the scale revealed that I had put on thirty pounds since I had found out I was pregnant. My doctor,

Dr. Harry, made it clear that I needed to watch my weight and what I ate. Gaining all of my baby weight in the first trimester was not okay and could lead to health problems. As

I sat on the paper covered bed, I worked hard and succeeded at holding back my tears.

Dr. Harry was right. I needed to be aware of gestational diabetes and the health impact I was having on my baby. How had I allowed myself to lose control and think of pregnancy as a license to eat unhealthy? I had worked over the last few years to lose weight and keep it off. At my three month checkup, I weighed more than I ever did before.

Weight is such a complicated matter. I wanted to be healthy, but I also wanted to be thin. A goal that the BMI showed I had never attained. Healthy and thin never went hand-in-hand for me. To be thin I would often under eat and exercise a lot, both of which strained my body. In the future, I would pay dearly for my habits. From a young age, I was creating a body that required very few calories to maintain, and this would be damaging for me, someone who loves food and wants to lose weight.

My grandpa used to tell me, “Your just big boned. Don‟t worry about it.” To a teenage girl this was not comforting. The appointment added to my weight obsession.

After that appointment, I cut back on the immense amount of food I had been consuming daily and began to eat smaller, more balanced meals. I also did light exercise daily. I didn‟t treat my body as harshly as I had at other times in my life, but I did obsess about food and working out. Well, for what it‟s worth, I thought my hard work paid off 127 in the end, because I would only end up putting on thirty-five pounds before I gave birth.

Sadly, none of my hard work mattered when it came to fitting into my wedding dress.

I went in for a fitting in the beginning of December, three weeks before the wedding. The dress wouldn‟t zip. As my nose started to tingle, I could tell my tears were on their way. The seamstress tried to reassure me that everything would be fine.

Sadly, for my mom, my expensive dress kept getting more expensive. The seamstress had to add a panel to each side of my dress so it would fit.

I had struggled with my weight for a long time, and having two large panels added to the sides of my dream dress was not comforting. No, in fact, it was unnerving to know that, after all my tireless work to lose weight and get in shape over the last few years, I couldn‟t control my expanding waist. Every inch of my body was growing so quickly that I felt like a squishy, round ball. When I sat, my arms puffed out over my sides and my breasts, stomach, and thighs all seemed to become one entity. When I walked, my thighs smushed together, while my arms worked to find a comfortable hanging position that didn‟t make me feel like they were searching and examining the mounds of fat that gathered around my sides. The stretchy pants and sweatshirts that had never been my style didn‟t help. I felt frumpy, to say the least.

I often wondered: how can it take so much work to lose weight, yet be so little to put it back on? After my November doctor‟s appointment, I didn‟t want to put it on. It was like I was being forced to try out someone else‟s body, someone who didn‟t care about being skinny. I couldn‟t complain too much—at least my parents were willing to pay for the dress and the alterations—but it wasn‟t about the money. It was about the price my body was paying. 128

Around the same time I was worrying about my dress, I had something new to worry about. At St. Albert‟s, I had waited to put myself on the baby-room waiting list. I was worried that if I told my boss I was pregnant people would find out and my hopes of getting married at St. Albert‟s would become fruitless. The fact was I couldn‟t wait any longer. A parent of one of our current students had just found out she was pregnant, and I knew she would be vying for one of the four baby room spots around the same time as I would be.

Once again, my mom did the hard work. She has always given my sister and me responsibilities, but she was also always willing to be a mom and help her children out. I don‟t know if she blamed herself for my pregnancy. All I know is that she was willing to help out in any way she could. She still expected me to work, go to school, and handle appointments as needed, but we were both trying to make sense of how to handle the fact that I was pregnant. I have always been outgoing and talkative, but anytime I had to find the words to tell people I was pregnant, I couldn‟t.

One morning, before I arrived at work, my mom told my boss that I needed to be on the waiting list. My boss added me to the list and agreed to not tell anyone about my pregnancy. Things were all kind of falling in to place. Well, they were being pushed, dragged, and maneuvered into place.

Christmas is my favorite holiday, but because I was so busy preparing to walk down the aisle, I don‟t remember Christmas of 2002. I know my grandparents were there, but other than that, all I remember is making plans, cookies, and finalizing arrangements. My godmother is Italian and wanted to have a table with cookies and 129 coffee, an Italian tradition, I guess. After one recent Christmas, my mom asked, “How did we have a wedding this time of year?”

My response, “I dunno. We must have been a little crazy.”

Besides preparing for the wedding, we were also preparing to have the rest of the wedding party come in from out of town. Of our six bridesmaids and groomsmen, my sister was the only one who lived in Reno. My other two bridesmaids were from

Washington, and Levi‟s three groomsmen were from California. We both had friends in

Reno, but we were not as close to them as we were to our friends from out of town.

Partially, I think that we weren‟t very close to any friends in town because we didn‟t have, or didn‟t make, time for them. We were busy with each other and our life goals.

I try not to regret losing touch with certain friends from high school. To me, things happen for a reason, and there is probably a good reason I wasn‟t influenced by my single friends who didn‟t have too many, or any, responsibilities. Levi was my best friend, and my world would have crumbled without him. As an adult, I now realize the potential danger this holds. Young love often isn‟t forever, and what would I have done if that was our case?

Most of our wedding party and family, from out of town, arrived on the Thursday and Friday before the wedding. Thursday, we decorated the church hall/gym and then went out to eat at a buffet. Friday during the day, I got my nails done and spent time making sure everything was in place for Saturday, the big day. Friday night was rehearsal and then rehearsal dinner. Both went off without too much ado. After dinner,

Levi and I went our separate ways. 130

My three bridesmaids and I went back to my mom and dad‟s house. We basically hung out, laughed, and went to bed. For a few laughs, I did try on a piece of stretchy, red lingerie that I had had for awhile. I pulled it on over my engorged body, and we all laughed at how I looked like a red, ripe apple. As I laughed, I couldn‟t help but hope that

Levi wouldn‟t find the sight as amusing when I showed him.

Levi and his three groomsmen stayed at the hotel in the room my mom rented for them. It was the same room that Levi and I would take our honeymoon in. Due to our lack of extra funds, we wouldn‟t have an out of town honeymoon. We would end up staying in town, at the hotel, enjoying two days alone. By the time our honeymoon was over, all of our out of town guests would be gone, and it would be time for Levi and me to open gifts, spend or save gift cards, add my name to his bank account, and change my name on my social security card, license, and car registration. We would have a week after the wedding before we both went back to work and I went back to school.

After hearing horror stories about weddings, I was happy that ours went off without a hitch. My mom, my bridesmaids, and I got our hair and makeup done. Then we went back to my parents‟ house for pictures. Things took a little longer than we expected. I was supposed to be at the church by twelve thirty for our one o‟clock wedding, but I would end up getting there about twelve fifty. The Reno wind wasn‟t much help.

My family and wedding party had left my parents‟ house. The only people who remained were my mom, Julie (one of my bridesmaids), and me. My mom pulled her

Santa Fe sideways into her driveway. She tried to make as much room as possible in her back seat for me and my dress. As I left the house, the wind whooshed around me, 131 seemingly determined to knock me off track, while Julie and my mom battled the wind and my oversized dress. Julie held a towel against the door hinge, so it wouldn‟t dirty my dress, while my mom worked to gently push and squeeze my dress into the car. During this amusing event—for onlookers, not me—my parents‟ mail lady saved the day. She helped hold the towel, so Julie could help from inside the car. Finally, we beat the wind and the dress. I was in, and we were on our way.

I made it to the church, took a couple breaths, and was ready. As Pachelbel

Canon in D major played, my dad walked me down the aisle. I didn‟t notice who had showed up and who hadn‟t. All I saw was the young man I would soon be married to.

Thank God, he came. Did I have any doubt he wouldn‟t? Maybe a little. How many nineteen year old men would stick around for a pregnant eighteen year old? Statistics say not many.

My parents gave me away to Levi to be his wife. I held it together; I think from my nerves. Levi teared up, and his hands shook as he placed my wedding band on my finger.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

It was done. We were married. The rest of the day flew by. We ate, cut the cake—I had warned Levi, “If you mess up my makeup or dress, I will kill you,” but it ended up in our mouths only—threw the garter and the flowers, danced, didn‟t drink (too young and too pregnant), and were exhausted.

Before the final song, “(I‟ve Had) The Time of My Life,” Levi went on stage and thanked everyone for coming. In his final gesture of love for me, and his knowledge that

Dirty Dancing was my favorite movie, he leapt off the stage like Patrick Swayze and slid 132 across the floor. After some laughter and applause, almost everyone left their seat and joined us on the dance floor. It made my night.

After Levi‟s rendition of the Dirty Dancing dance, I changed my clothes and we were ready to go to the hotel. We said our final goodbyes and made our exit, to our dismay, out into the snow. By the time we reached the hotel, all of our car decorations had been turned to mush, just like the snow. As we entered the room, we both collapsed onto the bed. We decided to make love, with the lights on, before we fell asleep. I think we felt like it wouldn‟t be a true wedding night without having sex at least one time. The deed was done, and so were we. Still naked, we fell asleep in each other‟s arms as husband and wife.

Before I knew it, December had flown by and our wedding was over. It had been four months since I found out I was going to be a mom. It had been four months since I started thinking about our wedding. It had been four long months of working, going to school, and planning a wedding. It had been four long months, besides doctor appointments, that I had put off planning for the baby.

133

How Do You Prepare For the Unknown?

Our wedding was over, and we had four months until I was due. I had finished school in the middle of January and was able to focus on working, going to doctor appointments and preparing to have our baby.

If you say, “I‟m preparing to lose weight,” I think, “Oh, she must be cleaning the junk food out of the house and buying health food.”

If you say, “I‟m preparing to buy a house,” I think, “Maybe you‟re saving money and checking your credit score.”

If I say, “I‟m preparing to have a baby,” you think, “You are? How will you manage? Aren‟t you too young?”

Preparing to have a baby should be a joyous event. It should be a time of congratulations. It should be an opportunity to buy miniature clothes that the squirming buddle will quickly grow out of. But having a baby is not nearly that simple.

Pregnancy is a time when a woman‟s body is stretched to its limits. It‟s a time when a woman‟s emotions run as wild as a child at a birthday party, excited and happy, but able to cry at a moment‟s notice.

When a married couple begins to tell their friends and family that they are expecting, most of the listening ears will respond with a jovial, “congratulations,” and a possible, “When are you due?” The same can rarely be said for teen girls.

If a pregnant teen tells people that she is pregnant, people often respond, “Are you going to keep the baby?” or possibly, “How?” I find it peculiar that people ask how. I think they know “how,” but for some reason they believe that people under a certain age aren‟t fit to be parents, and therefore, it‟s flabbergasting, or even unfathomable, when a 134 teenager ends up pregnant. And, as a teen parent, I find it insulting that people have the nerve to ask, “Are you going to keep the baby?” If a girl is trying to make this decision, it is a personal decision. I think asking this is equivalent to, “Are you getting a divorce?”

The proper response to both is, “None of your damn business.”

There seems to be a stigma that if a teenager has a baby then she shouldn‟t be happy; she should be chastised for her wrong doings. Two wrongs don‟t make a right, and if it is wrong to get pregnant as a teenager, it is also wrong to look down on the pregnant teen. Having a baby can be a joyous event for a teen, just as it can be for an adult. On the other hand, it can be depressing both for teens and adults.

#

I‟ve been doing Writers‟ Workshops with pregnant teens in Reno. It fills me with hope and happiness to encourage them to write and have their voices be heard, even if they only write for themselves. The girls I work with often have nowhere to turn. They often lack support at home, to say the least. Many are very young, fourteen and fifteen, and for the most part, they are full of hope that they will make the right choice or choices for their baby. The place they live, where I go for the workshops, offers them assistance to get on their feet and take care of their baby. This is important for pregnant teens, especially those with nowhere to turn.

During one of my workshops, the girls wrote and discussed the stages of finding out that they were pregnant and the emotions and decisions that followed. One of the main points we discussed was whether or not it was okay to be happy about having a baby. Many of the girls felt like their family didn‟t want them or a baby, but they were still determined to do what they thought was right. They expressed anger towards people 135 who judged them, and quite frankly, I didn‟t blame them. Doing the workshops allowed me to recall and share experiences I had when I was pregnant.

#

Finding out I was pregnant at the age of seventeen was a shock. It was not what I had planned. At the time, I wished that I was older, living on my own, married, and possibly done with college. Even though none of these things were the case, I made the decision to take responsibility for my actions and eventually for my baby. Don‟t get me wrong: in the beginning, my life was stressful. I didn‟t have the money to live on my own. I was too young to legally see a doctor by myself. I had school and work to worry about, and my expanding belly was a constant reminder that I was soon going to be put the test as a mom. Trying to get my life in order, so I could be a successful mom, wasn‟t easy.

As things slowly came together, telling people, figuring out how to finish school, getting married, and finishing school, I started to feel excited about having a baby. I wanted to start buying things for the baby. I wanted to make a birth plan. I wanted to have a baby shower. I wanted to do all the things that I thought were “normal” for expectant moms. The only problem I had was that every person who looked at me funny, every person who looked at my obviously pregnant stomach and looked the other way, every person who questioned my ability to be a good mom, made me feel inadequate and undeserving to hold the title of Mom.

I was lucky to have my parents and Levi by my side ready to defend me. Even my quiet, go-with-the-flow dad defended me to his sister when she questioned my ability 136 to be a good mom. “Katie is smart. She will do what is right. We should at least give her a chance.”

It took me some time to realize that if I worried about everyone‟s opinions and judgments, then I would amount to nothing more than what they expected, a failure. I ignored the questioning looks of people in the doctor‟s office, the store, and any other public place. My happiness and my success were my choice.

Since I had found out that I was pregnant, most of the decisions I made were working out for the best. The wedding went well. Levi and I were happy together. Also, deciding to go to Washoe Adult Program worked out. I wouldn‟t have to worry about going back to school, finishing finals, or catching up on homework. I would end up walking at the graduation ceremony with the Washoe High students on June seventh, the day before my baby would be baptized. I checked school off my mental list and moved on to my next priority, Lamaze.

My mom had both my sister and me without any pain meds, and I wanted to do the same. I wanted to show people that I was just as tough as my mom, even though she was thirty when she had me, not eighteen.

To help us prepare, Levi and I registered for our Lamaze class; my parents had taken one when my mom was pregnant. Before starting our classes, my mom jokingly told me, “You know what they told us at my Lamaze classes? They said, „When you go shopping, place a jar of pickles in your cart first. That way if your water breaks, you just drop them and leave.‟” My mom‟s humor made me snicker, but it also made me start to worry about my water breaking. I thought, “Maybe I should start wearing depends.”

Why is something so natural so disturbing and scary? 137

Our Lamaze classes would last for six weeks, mid-February to the end of March, on Tuesdays from six thirty to nine. When we began Lamaze, it was easy to see that we were the youngest pregnant couple there. One of the pregnant couples brought their daughter with them. Their daughter was only a couple years younger than me. We didn‟t make any new friends at class, but we did gain some new skills.

I liked the relaxation skills that Lamaze taught. Even people who aren‟t expecting a baby should consider taking Lamaze. It could probably help with high blood pressure.

I learned how to breathe and relax, along with baby care information. It also helped Levi learn and understand how to support me, how to be there for me during stressful and painful times. I‟m not sure if it is meant to extend into a couple‟s personal life beyond labor and birth, but it could. Although Lamaze was long and late, it was worth attending.

It made us think about other ways to prepare for our baby: necessary items to buy, decisions that would need to be made pertaining to shots, circumcision, and breast feeding, and how to handle common problems that may arise, such as mastitis (an infection of the breast tissue).

Shortly after our Lamaze classes ended, my mom and my sister planned my baby shower. They provided a nice salad bar and cake. They chose salad because it was my favorite, and since I was still watching my weight, per my doctor, I thought the salad bar was a great idea.

I didn‟t expect to have a very large shower since only five months before, my mom and my sister had invited the same people to my bridal shower. About twenty people showed up, pretty much the same group. Looking back I realize how much I was lacking in the friend department. Out of the twenty people, two were friends of mine 138 from high school, and the rest were friends of the family, co-workers, and family. At the time, I was too busy to care, but down the road, I would struggle when I didn‟t have a friend to talk to.

I don‟t remember what games we played, but I assume we did. I do remember all of the bear items and the green and yellow clothes I received, because my one and only sonogram showed a seventy percent chance it was a girl. To me, that is a C-, almost failing. I was not going to buy all pink or decorate our room—where the baby would be staying—until we were a hundred percent sure it was a girl.

We had received some money from people who came to our baby shower, so we decided to use it towards the big items we needed. At Lamaze I learned that after a baby is born most hospitals won‟t let the parents leave with the baby until the car seat has been checked out. Since we wanted to take care of this before the baby was born, we decided to pick out our stroller and car seat. We didn‟t want a used car seat for safety reasons.

We found a blue checkered stroller that we thought could be used for a boy or a girl. In the beginning of April, Levi installed the car seat into the back seat of my Santa

Fe. We were not going to take our chances that the hospital would keep our baby. Could they even do that?

The doctor‟s appointments grew closer together, as did my thighs. I knew the end was getting closer. At work, I had acquired about forty hours of vacation and about the same amount in sick leave. Although I only had about two weeks saved up, I would be taking six weeks leave so that I could return to work with my baby.

My boss worked with me to save my leave. In order to cover my doctor‟s appointments and any other appointment related to the baby, I could stay late or come 139 early to work. This was very helpful since I usually had at least one appointment every other week, none of which were ever quick. Wait in the waiting room. Wait in the patient room. Wait for results. Wait to check out.

I had standard checkups at the OB. Then there were the various blood draws to make sure everything was fine. Finally, there were the miscellaneous appointments, like sonograms and the RhoGAM shot.

The RhoGAM shot is a two part shot I needed because my blood type is B negative and Levi has a positive blood type. If I didn‟t receive the shot and any of the baby‟s red blood cells got into my system, there would be a chance that my blood would produce antibodies against the red blood cells. If my blood had formed antibodies, there would have been a chance that the baby would be born with mental retardation, jaundice, or a heart defect. This is also known as hemolytic disease of the newborn, or HDN1.

I was more than happy to get this shot to make sure that I didn‟t expose my baby to any unnecessary harm. In the doctor‟s office, I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt. “Uh, sorry. It has to go in your bottom. Just pull your pants and underwear down a little.”

Ughh…well, at least I have plenty of cushion.

I received the second shot after the baby was born. The second shot made it possible to get pregnant again without any added complications from my or Levi‟s blood types.

April was drawing to a close, and I felt like Santa. I checked my list once, twice, maybe a third and fourth time.

Inside my journal was scrawled:

1 RohGAM Ultra-Filtered Plus. 13 March, 2009. www.rhogam.com. 140

Baby List

Stroller 

Car seat installed

Time off arranged for me and Levi

My and the baby‟s bags are packed

Lamaze complete

Baby‟s stuff—set up in our room

Pre-registered at the hospital 

Paid deductible 

I finally felt ready for the baby. It was time to relax, celebrate Easter with my family, and wait. Easter was on April twentieth. I couldn‟t wait. If the baby wanted to come over Easter weekend, I wouldn‟t complain.

141

Another Curve Ball

Life throws curve balls at the worst times. After my unexpected teen pregnancy, I thought I was in the home stretch, until a curve ball hit on Easter Sunday.

The phone rang Easter morning. In all of my Easter excitement, I bounded to the phone. “Hello.”

The familiar voice at the other end seemed distorted. “Katie, is your mom there?”

My look of confusion met with my mom‟s questioning face. “Yeah, Grandma, hold on a sec.”

My mom rose from the couch, adjusted her clinging nightgown, gently took the phone from my grasp, and placed it to her ear. “Mom?”

Only moments later, my mom leaned against the wall next to the phone and slid her back down the wall until she was balled up with her knees to her chest.

“No, no, no!” she repeated. Her tears and sobs were almost instantaneous, and her face reddened as her tears flowed. How had we gone from preparing for The Great

Easter Egg Hunt of 2003 to my mom looking and acting like a toddler who had not learned how to control her emotions?

By this point, my sister and I were standing side by side in front of my mom.

Maddy was silent. I, on the other hand, was practically shouting. “What is it? Mom, what‟s wrong?”

I know that it could have only been moments, but it seemed as if, since I handed my mom the phone, enough time had passed for my favorite TV episode to start and roll credits. With the little composure my mom could manage, she said, “Let me call you right back.” 142

The beep of my mom ending the call jolted me to the reality that what was about to come was worse than bad. This was Easter. This was supposed to be a happy time.

This was nine days before I was due. This was the last holiday I would have before I became a mom.

My mom inhaled as if it was her final breath. “Your grandpa passed away.”

It was as if I was watching a movie. “No, no, no, no,” my sister said, with each no slower than the first. By her fourth no, she and my mom were holding one another and sobbing.

Where were my tears? Why couldn‟t I react? Why would God take him from me nine days before I was due? I felt familiar hands slide around my waist, and I slowly turned around. Levi‟s eyes were red, and finally, my tears began to crowd each other and push their way out and onto my cheeks. I instinctively wrapped my arms around Levi as he wound his arms around me. He was careful not to squeeze my bulging belly too hard, but he grasped me tightly enough to let me know he felt the pain and loss I was feeling.

Levi had grown close to my grandpa for three and a half years. They had talked baseball inside and out. They were two peas in a pod: hardworking, family men with a passion for sports.

As my tears continued to fall, my mind continued to question God. Why today?

Why couldn‟t he wait until he met his first great-grandchild? He had been sick for so long with emphysema and a bad heart. Would he really have minded being sick a little while longer? 143

He was the one who helped my grandma get excited about Levi and me having a baby. He never talked badly about either of us, and over the past few months, all he could talk about was meeting his first great-grandchild.

After a few minutes, the shoulder of Levi‟s grey t-shirt was soaked. My face was puffy and wet, and my brain seemed content to stop the memories from playing over and over for a few minutes. I stopped crying. I looked around. I realized that my family all seemed to be coming back from our emotional outbursts. What would we do now? Papa was dead.

#

Papa was the name that all seven of the grandkids knew grandpa by. He was a special person. He was someone people wanted to be like. He was the person everyone loved. His stories, and the stories about him, could fill an entire book, an interesting book.

Before my grandparents got married, my grandpa told my grandma that if she couldn‟t have kids, he wanted to adopt. Even after my grandma accidentally lit Papa‟s hair on fire during their honeymoon, he still went on to have four kids with her. My grandpa worked two and sometimes three jobs so my grandma didn‟t have to work and could stay home and raise their kids. Somehow, he still managed to find time to play with his kids and be involved in their sports, especially baseball.

Then came grandkids. It was not unusual for Papa to tell the grandkids how much he loved them all. In various ways, Papa was always a positive influence on the grandkids. In elementary school, one of my cousins did a report about how my grandpa was his hero. One of the main reasons my grandpa was his hero was because in the 144

Navy, my grandpa jumped into San Francisco Bay to save a crashed pilot from the freezing cold water. Papa won the Purple Heart for his courageous act. Then, a few years later, when my grandpa was in his seventies, he coached my cousin‟s high school baseball team. Family was the most important thing to him.

#

After my mom regained some equanimity, she phoned Grandma to say she would be there as soon as possible. The drive to Southern California would have been about eight hours, so my mom planned on flying out of Reno instead of driving. She began looking at bereavement flights. To me, that sounded like grieve-ment-flight, but I later learned that they are discount flights for people who have lost a loved one.

As I was sitting with my mom and sister looking at flights, I realized I couldn‟t go. I was due in eight days. I couldn‟t leave town. I couldn‟t go to say goodbye to the man I wanted to meet and hold my baby.

“Mom, I can‟t go,” I said. Maybe saying it out loud would make it more real, or maybe my mom would say, “Of course you can.”

“I know, and you can‟t go into labor.” Her motherly tone shook me back to reality. I needed my mom home when I went into labor. She was part of the birth plan.

She was the only one who had given birth before. Levi couldn‟t make it through my labor by himself; he needed my mom. I needed my mom. Levi and I didn‟t know what to do. I was nothing more than a scared teenager. I still needed my parents, especially my mom, during stressful times.

# 145

Looking back, all of the events are clear as day. It‟s weird, because I‟ve heard people say, “The day was a blur,” in reference to death. Not to me. I remember the call.

I remember the rush in which Maddy and my mom got ready and had my dad drive them to the airport. I remember lying on my double bed with Levi in the afternoon while I cried on his chest. I remember making the ham and potatoes, because my mom wasn‟t there to do her job and make the holiday meal. I remember being sad. I remember the pain. I will never remember what he looked like in his coffin. I will never remember how my family reacted at the service. I will never really get to say goodbye.

I didn‟t get to whisper goodbye before Papa went to sleep, one last time. I didn‟t get to hold his hand and tell him that he would feel better soon. Instead, my only goodbye will stay tucked away in my mind until the day I hopefully make it through the pearly gates. Until then, I write my final words to Papa on paper, tuck them in the back corner of my underwear drawer, and hope that placing my words on paper will give me some sort of closure.

#

Dear Papa,

I‟m sorry that last summer, before I was pregnant, I made you mad. I knew you were intently watching your Angels play baseball when I jokingly stood in between you and the TV. Grandma said that it wasn‟t like you to yell. She said the doctor said mood swings can be tied to lack of oxygen to the brain. I know she was right.

We all miss you very much. Your great-grandchildren are happy, healthy, and smart. Sometimes I see you in your oldest great-grandchild, like when I see that funny sideways grin you used to make. They both bring joy to the family, and especially to 146

Grandma. The girls call her Great One, and she thinks it‟s the best name. I still wish you could have been here to see your first great-granddaughter. Sometimes it helps to think that you are always watching over me and the girls. I also picture you in heaven playing baseball with Uncle Michael. I know losing him three years before you died was a constant source of grief for you.

I hope you know that you were the glue that held the family together. When you died we all worked together to mend the pieces that fell apart the morning you didn‟t wake up. We have all worked hard to watch over Grandma, but I can tell she misses you and may be getting ready to come spend eternity with you.

Until We Meet Again,

With Love For Eternity,

Katie

#

No matter the goodbye, or lack thereof, Papa is gone, and nothing will change that. But the memories will last and carry me through the rough times. Goodbyes may never get easier, but I will live each day remembering that I don‟t always get to say goodbye.

147

Section Three

Oh Baby!

"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path." ~Agatha Christie

148

Bundle of Joy

On Sunday, April 27th, my mom made it home from California. We were all thankful I hadn‟t gone into labor while she was gone. Since she was home, I was ready to go into labor.

April 28th, my due date, arrived. Still no sign of a baby. No Braxton Hicks contractions. Nothing. The prior week, I had set up a doctor‟s appointment for my due date just in case jumping jacks, spicy food, sex, and numerous other attempts didn‟t set me into labor. Since nothing happened, I left work and set off for my twelve o‟clock doctor‟s appointment.

As Levi and I sat in the waiting room, I was anxious. I was used to waiting my turn, but the realization that this could be my last prenatal doctor‟s appointment was intoxicating, almost nauseating. The idea that my swollen belly would soon produce a complex little being was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

“Katie Smith,” the nurse called.

I went through the normal rigamarole: get weighed, pee in a cup, have blood pressure taken, and have the baby‟s heart rate checked. After the nurse was done with all her duties, she left. It seemed like the doctor was never going to tap on my door.

Finally, Dr. Harry walked in. He had his usual white lab coat on and stared back at me with his weathered, know-all-tell-all face. He was not overly compassionate, yet I knew that his tough love was because he already knew things Levi and I would find out in our years to come. “So no baby yet, huh?”

Did he really have to ask this? “Nope, not yet,” I responded, as if I thought he wouldn‟t continue with his evaluation of me if I didn‟t answer the question. But my 149 response didn‟t stop there. In tense and high-stress situations, I talk more than usual.

“Oh, I got my senior yearbook last week. I was looking through it, and I didn‟t even realize I went to school with your granddaughter.” I had already figured out that Dr.

Harry was in his late sixties, maybe older.

“That‟s actually my daughter.”

Insert foot in mouth. “Uhhh…” Uncomfortable silence. “Sorry, I didn‟t know.

That‟s cool.” What else could I say?

“So when do you two want to have this baby?” Dr. Harry plopped down on the rolling stool. Thank goodness he had changed the subject. I wondered if the topic of his daughter made him as uncomfortable as it made me.

He‟s the expert. Isn‟t he supposed to know? All I could say was, “When is the soonest we can?”

“I will be at the hospital Tuesday, tomorrow. How‟s tomorrow?” I had heard that he was not the type of doctor to be patient and wait for a baby to make its entrance into the world. I guess what I heard was right.

I turned towards Levi, whose stare left Dr. Harry‟s face for the first time since the doctor had walked in. “What do you think?”

With a slight gleam in his eye, he said, “I‟m ready if you are.”

“Tomorrow sounds good to me,” I said, as if we were all casually agreeing to meet for a friendly tennis match.

“Okay, show up by seven a.m. and get checked into a Labor and Delivery room. I will see you in the morning.” He rose to shake our hands and leave. 150

I thought it was weird that he didn‟t do his usual examination, the internal one. I guess he figured I would either go into labor or see him in the morning.

Levi and I stayed seated for a few moments, allowing the past five minutes to sink in. After that day, our lives would no longer solely revolve around each other.

Tomorrow, we would be parents. Tomorrow, we would begin to worry and care for the life we had created in one of our moments of passion.

“Well, you ready to go? I gotta get to work.” Levi rose from his chair and extended his hand to help me off the exam bed.

“Let‟s go,” I replied, with an uncontrollable smile. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the day we had been waiting for. Oh God, tomorrow.

As I paid my co-pay, I couldn‟t wait to tell someone I was going to be a mom in the next twenty-four hours. The front desk lady, who was taking my credit card, was always friendly and would chit chat when I came for my appointments. “I am being induced tomorrow,” I said, as I stood there waiting for my card to be processed.

“That‟s exciting! Are you ready?”

Why do people keep asking me if I am ready? I have had eight months of knowing I was pregnant to prepare for giving birth. Are people wondering if I‟m ready to give birth or to be a mom? Both are utterly terrifying. Who is ever ready to push something the width of a football out of a hole the size of a golf ball? Is anyone ever completely prepared to be a parent? At that moment, I was truly unsure of either of those two things.

“Yeah, I think so.” I didn‟t want to make Levi worry any more than he already did. 151

Levi and I walked to our cars in the parking garage. We hugged, kissed, and said our goodbyes.

“I will be home by two a.m. or so. If anything happens before then, call me at work. You have my numbers.” Of course I had his numbers. He had given me his work numbers months before, “just in case.” He leaned in and gently kissed my lips before opening my car door. Such a gentleman. What a sweet husband who was almost a father. Would he be as good a father as he was a husband? I was sure he would.

“I love you. I will be home in bed waiting for you,” I told Levi.

“I love you, too. Bye, sweetie.” Levi closed my door, turned, and walked away.

As I arrived back at work, my mom was waiting in the baby room for me. The nice thing about working at the same place as my mom was that she knew what went on with me.

“So, what did the doctor tell you?” My mom looked up at me from the floor where she was sitting playing with Chandler and Carry.

“I have to be at Washoe Hospital tomorrow morning by seven.”

“Really? So tomorrow, I will be a grandma?” My mom‟s voice cracked and jumped up to the next octave, revealing her excitement.

“I hope tomorrow. You don‟t think I‟ll be in labor too long, do you?”

Throughout my pregnancy, I was lucky to have my parents‟ support and their knowledge of parenting.

“I wouldn‟t think so. I was only in labor with your sister for two hours and you for forty-five minutes. So, you shouldn‟t be in labor too long. Since Levi is working 152 tonight, do you want to go to dinner, just the two of us, one last time, before you have the baby?”

“That sounds good to me. It‟s like my final meal,” I jokingly responded.

“Where sounds good?”

“How about PF Changs? Maybe if I eat spicy food, I will go into labor. I can keep hoping, right?” My joke made my mom crack a smile.

Chinese food didn‟t work. I woke up about 5:30 a.m. after very little sleep. I am the type of person who can‟t sleep the night before a big trip, and I still struggle to sleep all Christmas Eve. Needless to say, a good night‟s sleep was not something I could look forward to the night before the much awaited day.

I kept the normalcy of my everyday routine. I‟m not sure if I did it to keep my nerves down, or if somehow, subconsciously, I knew that after the baby arrived it would be a while before I was able to spend much time on myself. I showered. Then I applied make-up. Finally, I got dressed and pulled my hair back. I felt like I was preparing for a marathon. I was making sure I was ready for the long haul.

Levi and I left my parents‟ house at 6:15 for the hospital. The drive usually only took about fifteen minutes, but we didn‟t want to be late. Is it possible to show up late to have a baby? Would the nurses or doctor turn me away? “We‟re sorry, but you‟re late.

We will not be able to deliver your baby today.” Anything was possible. I‟d had a dentist turn me away after I arrived late for my appointment. I was worried, maybe too much. 153

My mom followed closely in her car. My plan was to have her and Levi in the delivery room with me the whole time. I needed Levi there, and he needed my mom. It was our chain of support for the day.

As Levi drove, my mind wandered. I couldn‟t believe the day had arrived that might make all the hard work of changing schools and jumping into adulthood worth it.

Over the past eight months, I had worked tirelessly to finish school. I had hardly taken any sick time, and I hadn‟t taken any vacation. I had planned a wedding. I had ignored the sideways glares people gave me. All the people who said I wouldn‟t finish school were wrong, and now, I had to try to show them I would be a good mom.

At that moment, I couldn‟t help but wonder if I was cut out to be a mom. My mom had done a good job, but who was to say I would? Would I want to have a daughter who showed up pregnant at the age of seventeen? Wait, was I having a girl? The ultrasound said 70% chance girl. Levi looked at me and smiled, and for a few seconds, I forgot my fears.

How could such a short drive seem like eternity? Levi usually drove like a

Nascar driver, but the one time I wanted him to step on it, he drove like a geezer. I know he was trying to keep us all safe, but all I could think was that I might die in the next ninety years it would take him to get to the hospital.

We arrived in the Labor and Delivery ward about 6:45 a.m. I was early enough to be admitted shortly after we arrived, and they didn‟t turn me away as I feared. While my room was being prepared, we had to sit in a small waiting room. I sat across from my mom and could almost reach out and touch her. During this time of anxiety, fear, and every complex emotion I had ever felt making me nauseous, I needed my space. The 154 walls seemed to suffocate my engorged body. I could see how tight spaces could easily make a sane person go mad.

“Katie, your room is ready,” the nurse said. She was not very peppy. Maybe her shift was almost over. The three of us rose to follow her. She showed us the ins and outs of the room. I imagined my baby taking its first breath in this room. It all seemed surreal. There was a wooden rocking chair under the bay window. Nothing fancy. It was good enough. It offered another location for my Lamaze breathing as contractions came and went.

I had my own bathroom with a shower and tub combo and, of course, my own bed. The room was an upscale version of the typical hospital room. The wide bay window revealed that the sun was peeking its head up over the mountains.

“Here are your gowns. One for the front and one for the back,” the nurse said.

My excitement obviously had not rubbed off on her. Damn, she gave me two gowns. I can‟t be humorous in my time of pain and walk the halls with a breeze from behind?

Once I was dressed, the nurse came in and put a band around my stomach.

Everything was so new. I didn‟t even have a chance to ask what the band was.

“This is an external fetal monitor. It keeps track of the baby‟s heart rate and contractions to make sure everything goes as planned. If you have any questions, just ask me. We want you to feel comfortable.”

“Thank you. I will.” I was unsure what to ask. I had so many questions, yet none seemed appropriate until my little bundle was in my arms.

“Next, we have to do your IV to make sure you don‟t get dehydrated. What did you have to eat this morning?” 155

“Uh, nothing. I didn‟t think I was supposed to eat before I got here.”

“Oh, honey. You could have eaten this morning. You will probably be here for a while.” Her compassion showed in her eyes, but I was unsure if it was how she was with all expectant mothers, or just the ones who were so young that they didn‟t know to eat before arriving to give birth.

At 7:30, Dr. Harry came in to break my water. The nurse had piled a bunch of towels under me. I assumed it was to catch all the fluid once my water was broken.

“Lie back. This won‟t hurt. Hold very still,” Dr. Harry said.

What would happen if I didn‟t hold still? I didn‟t want to take any chances. I was still. Dr. Harry pulled out a long metal rod with a hook. It looked like he got dressed in the morning and then pulled the hanger from his closet and untangled it. The doctor didn‟t seem concerned to put something shaped like an unwound hanger inside me and pop my amniotic sac. He had my trust.

It didn‟t hurt to have my water broken. But it felt like I peed my pants. There was also a weird feeling of pressure in my lower abdomen.

Dr. Harry informed me that I could get up and move around. As I sat up, I felt a rush of water leave my body and soak the towel that had been placed under me. This was gross. I thought once my water broke I was done leaking? Wrong!

“Now, you will continually lose water from your vagina from time to time. Here, put this on.” The nurse handed me a fancy pair of fishnet panties. One size fits all. Then she handed me a feminine pad that stretched from above my butt crack to the bottom of my pregnant belly, no adhesive necessary. I assumed my upcoming contractions would force me to forget the uncomfortable panty pad combo. “I will be in charge of 156 monitoring your contractions and administering your pitocin. Pitocin is what will help to bring on your labor. It will be administered through your IV.”

I wish I had known then what I know now. Pitocin makes labor come on hard and fast. It can also complicate the birth. Labor sucks, but induced labor, especially since I had never had any pre-labor, really sucks. Having my support team by my side, helping me breathe and move around, only helped so much.

Levi and my mom had waited quietly and patiently to aid in my labor. The nurse left and my mom finally spoke. “We are here for whatever you need. Just let us know.”

“Katie, are you doing okay?” Levi seemed more tense and nervous than I was.

“I‟m okay. I think I want to sit on the big blue ball.” With Levi on one side and my mom on the other, they lowered me. Levi placed his hands on my back as I gently rolled the ball back and forth, trying to alleviate some of the pressure I was feeling.

Nothing was working.

“I think I have to go to the bathroom,” I told my labor team.

“Let me tell the nurse,” my mom replied.

At that point, I was unsure why the nurse needed to know I had to do my morning constitutional.

“Let‟s get you in bed, so I can check you out,” the nurse said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

I lay back in bed as she inserted her hand inside of me. Wow, would this happen all day? 157

Somehow that nurse read my mind. “I will have to check you periodically throughout the day to make sure you are not ready to push. You are at a four. You are good to go the bathroom.” Thank you!

After about two and a half hours of having my pitocin doubled, it was about ten o‟clock, and my labor started hard and heavy. Contractions were strong and occurred about every three minutes. I had never had any Braxton Nicks contractions, which are like practice contractions for pregnant women. I was in full on labor. Relaxing was impossible. Being comfortable was impossible. Labor seemed impossible.

I had no clue how long I would be in labor. All I knew was that this might be only a little bit of the agony I would face. Levi hated seeing me in pain, and I could read it all over his scrunched up face. “I don‟t want to remember labor and our baby‟s birth as pain. I want an epidural.”

“Let me get the nurse.” Levi‟s voice was a little shaky. I don‟t think he knew what to do about seeing me in so much pain, but the thought of helping alleviate my pain probably helped him jump to his feet and get the nurse.

The nurse returned with Levi. “I have to check and make sure you are not dilated too much,” the nurse told me, as she helped me back into bed. “You‟re at a six. You can get an epidural if you want.”

“I do,” I said between contractions.

Within moments the anesthesiologist came in. My mom had to leave the room, because the anesthesiologist thought that five was a crowd. Levi and the nurse stayed to help as best they could. I signed a consent form, and then I was told to sit on the edge of the bed with my legs dangling over the side. 158

The anesthesiologist instantly started setting up his tools behind me. I was nervous. I had heard the risks of receiving an epidural. I didn‟t want to become paralyzed. Let‟s just get it over with. The contractions were getting worse.

“Bring that table over here and put it in front of her,” the anesthesiologist said to the nurse, as he pointed at the roll table that allowed patients to eat in bed with ease.

The nurse no sooner put the table in front of me, as the doctor said to me, “Bend over more.”

Had he ever been pregnant? Did he not see the mass in front of me that hindered my ability to tie my shoes? I tried my best to bend over.

I felt the needle pinch my back and then I felt something being threaded deep into my back. Then I felt it slide out.

“I have to try again.” Again? He hadn‟t gotten it? “Put that stool under her feet,” he said to the nurse.

“I think the table is in the way,” she replied kindly.

“No, it‟s not. You can do it.” His disrespectful tone implied he knew more than the nurse. The tension in the room rose.

After a moment, the nurse and Levi succeeded in wrestling the stool under my feet and over the legs of the table. Was this the time to complete a Chinese torture puzzle?

My nerves rose with the doctor‟s anxiety. A second time. A third time. A fourth time. Would the doctor ever get the epidural in? From the look on Levi‟s face, I should have been even more worried than I was. I had never heard anyone say the fifth time is 159 the charm, but in my case, it was. Not only was I in pain, but the doctor was mean to all three of us. Looking back, I am pretty sure it was his error that made him so irritated.

I could no longer get out of bed, because the epidural was meant to numb the lower half of my body. About a half hour after I‟d had the epidural, Dr. Harry came in for the first time since breaking my water. He didn‟t say anything as he quickly walked in. The concern on his face didn‟t register with me right away.

After looking at the fetal monitor printout, he informed me, “I am going to have to do an internal fetal monitor. The external one seems to be having some problems.”

Dr. Harry held up a thin wire with a small spiral at the end, ironically, the size of a pubic hair. “I have to put this into the baby‟s scalp. They don‟t have much feeling at this age, so it won‟t hurt the baby.”

“Okay,” was all I could manage as I lay on my back. Within moments the monitor was in place, and Dr. Harry informed me he would be back shortly.

After about fifteen minutes, Dr. Harry returned with a couple of nurses. “There seems to be a problem. Don‟t be alarmed. During contractions a baby‟s heart rate slows, and then after the contractions it is supposed to come back up. Your baby‟s heart rate is not coming back up as much as it should be. We‟re going to try a few things. I‟m going to get you on your side, and I‟m going to place a tube into your uterus. It will put fluid into your uterus in case the cord is pinched or wrapped around the baby.”

His voice was very calm, but I didn‟t know if he was really calm or simply trying to stay calm. I had never done this before. Was this normal? Should I worry? My mind raced, my heart skipped a beat, and Levi was as white as a ghost. How could I have such 160 an easy pregnancy and such a complicated delivery? The last nine months hadn‟t seemed this scary. Cord…wrapped? When would this end?

Dr. Harry installed the tube. Then he and the nurse got me on one side and then the other. They were moving me so quickly I was in a daze. The next thing I knew, there was a second doctor in the room, a doctor I had met in case Dr. Harry was busy when I went into labor, and three more nurses. From the bed, the room seemed a bit crowded.

We waited. I don‟t know how long, but it couldn‟t have been more than a minute, maybe two.

“Well, that didn‟t work, so now I‟m going to have the nurse stop your contractions. She will place a shot in your IV. This shot may make you shake.”

After giving me the shot, the nurse placed an oxygen mask on my face. For the first time that day, I couldn‟t stop the tears. They streamed down my face. My baby was in trouble, and my body was shaking uncontrollably like I was sobbing or possibly freezing. It was that feeling people have when they are upset and their adrenalin kicks in.

At this point, Levi had to leave the room to keep it together. I can‟t say that I blamed him. I had an IV, an internal and external fetal monitor, a tube pumping fluid back into my uterus, a tube for my epidural coming from my back, and finally, an oxygen mask. I was not only an emotional mess, but I looked like bionic woman.

Dr. Harry looked at my mom, who was holding my hand and her composure the best she could. “We are going to have to go in the other room.”

“You‟re not going anywhere until she is fine. You can‟t leave her.” My mom was not afraid to stand up to the doctor. 161

“No, we are taking her in the other room to give her a c-section,” Dr. Harry replied in his mature, calm voice.

As I lay on my back on the gurney, tears fell in a pool on the pillow under my head. My mom left to call my dad, and Levi was with a nurse suiting up to come in for the delivery. Within moments I was in an astoundingly bright operating room, alone.

My birth plan flew out the window. I hadn‟t wanted to get an epidural, and definitely didn‟t think that I would have a c-section. Nor did I think my baby‟s life would be in distress.

#

Sometime later, Levi recalled the events. He tried so hard to be a man, my man, my baby‟s dad, but outside the operating room, he fell to his knees like a child. He was no longer thinking about his fears of fatherhood, but instead about losing his young love and unborn child. My mom, his support, was not there. She had run off to call my dad to fill him in. At the time, she didn‟t know that Levi was not allowed to join me. Outside the operating room, he wept.

#

In the operating room the nurse was hurriedly shaving my upper pubic area while the doctor poked my legs and questioned, “Can you feel this?”

“Yes,” I groggily responded through the oxygen mask.

“We will have to put you under,” the doctor answered in a matter-of-fact voice.

The next thing I knew, I woke up with a nurse, one I did not know, and no one else. “Is it okay,” I mumbled in a drug induced stupor.

“Yes,” she sweetly answered. 162

“What is it?” I said, not knowing exactly how bad I sounded. The morphine made me a little less than sensitive.

“It‟s a girl.” For the first time that day, a nurse actually seemed happy for me. I was a mom, a teenage mom.

Shortly after I woke, my mom walked in. “I‟m sorry. I thought Levi was with you. I didn‟t realize he went with baby Kalie to the nursery. I would have been here when you woke up.”

“I just kinda did.” Baby Kalie. It‟s a girl. My little girl. “When do I get to see her?” I asked the nurse.

“Well, once you recover a little longer in here, you will be taken to your room, and she should be in shortly after that,” the nurse replied.

#

Kalie was born at 1:15 pm and weighed in at six pounds nine ounces and twenty inches long, a little peanut. At four o‟clock, I finally got to meet my baby for the first time. As I lay in the hospital room talking to my mom, Levi walked in pushing a small cart with a clear bin placed on top. Hospital policy was that all babies had to be in a roll cart in the halls. A few months before my stay at the hospital, a baby had been kidnapped, so security was stepped up.

Kalie was swaddled and sleeping in the plastic bin. As Levi approached my bed, all I noticed was that my tiny baby had an abundance of black hair. Without saying a word, Levi lifted Kalie from her bin and into my arms.

“Here, mom.” Mom. He was talking to me. 163

She smelled so sweet and clean. How can something that has been growing in a gooey environment for nine months smell better than any flower, any perfume, anything?

From her jet black hair, my eyes drifted down her face. She had little white dots and a red line on her forehead. The line looked like a birthmark in the shape of the scar Levi had on his forehead from a car accident he was in as a child. The line would fade as she grew older. It would only be visible when she cried. I had read about the white dots somewhere. They were a form of baby acne. I didn‟t care. She was still the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. All my worries of would I love her, would I think she was ugly, would I be a good mom flew out the window. She was perfect, and I knew, at that moment, I would be the best mom I could.

Her little nose was as tiny as the tip of my finger. Hidden under all of her hair I noticed her cute little ears. They were identical to Levi‟s ears. Except one of her ears was folded over more than the other. I wondered if overtime it would straighten out like the other one. Her perfection made me forget about everything around me. I didn‟t notice the pain from my c-section. All I noticed was my angel cradled in my arms.

“Isn‟t she beautiful?” I said to Levi.

“She is the most beautiful baby ever. She looks just like her mama,” Levi replied, with a twinkle in his eye. All of the worries and anguish he had suffered earlier in the day were whisked away by his new little girl.

164

Settling In

After being in the hospital for two days, I was ready to go home. Because I‟d had a c-section, I could have stayed longer, but I pleaded with Dr. Harry to discharge me.

From Tuesday afternoon until Thursday afternoon, I had only had about eight hours of sleep.

It was not all due to a crying baby. Actually, almost none of my lack of sleep was due to Kalie. She was a good sleeper. There were a few times in her first few days of life that we had to try to wake her up. Sit her up. Burp her. Rub her back. Call in the nurse to give it a shot. Try anything to get her to wake up and eat.

My lack of sleep was due in part to the excitement of being able to hold my tiny bundle. On night one, Levi and I stayed awake almost all night talking and watching our precious girl breathe in and out and nuzzle whoever was holding her. Then on day two, I tried to rest when Kalie was sleeping.

People had told me to take advantage of the times when my baby was sleeping.

“You‟ll need sleep, so sleep when your baby does. Mark my words, or you‟ll regret it.”

Okay, if you say so. You must know better than me.

My only trouble with trying to sleep when Kalie did was that people would come in to check on me, give me a shot, fill out paper work, and if it wasn‟t someone in charge of handling business, then it was an excited mom, dad, or other random person shouting or at least talking loudly as they walked past my hospital room. All of these things went on throughout the day and the night.

My final trouble sleeping was not being in my own bed, especially with the pain I was in from having a c-section. My lower back throbbed. From what I was told, it was 165 due to my stomach muscles being so disrupted that my back was trying to compensate.

Sneezing, laughing, bending, walking, adjusting, and just plain moving were all struggles. I didn‟t complain too much. I was happy to have a healthy baby with the most perfect little round nose, tiny lips (like me and my grandma), and miniature ears with detached lobes, all of which were smooth and easy to run my fingers gently across.

Every mini part of her reminded me of someone in my life. She was my main concern— my pain wasn‟t.

My discharge time rolled around, and I was dependent on Levi. He had already put Kalie into her yellow and green zip-up pajamas, adorned with a little brown bear face on the chest. We had brought her another two piece outfit that we really liked, but she was so little that she could only wear one piece outfits or preemie clothes. He also put my sweatpants over my feet and legs as I sat on the edge of the bed. Then he helped put on my bra and sweatshirt. I was ready, no, we were ready.

After we were all loaded in the car, it was time to start our journey. Levi drove slowly down the freeway as I sat in back staring at Kalie with one of my hands placed on her belly. I was making sure she was safe and breathing. Every moment I took my eyes off of her, I was worried about her. I had never felt this way. I had loved Levi for a long time, and I had had moments of concern, but never like I felt about Kalie. I had taken care of babies for over a year, for almost forty hours every week, but when they left my care they rarely popped up in my mind. My heart raced every moment I took my eyes off

Kalie, and it could only be calmed by the knowledge that she was fine. I had never felt such a conglomerate of worries until April 29, 2003 and every day thereafter. 166

I was excited to go home and get settled in with Kalie. I was going to be off work until Kalie‟s six week well check, because then she would be able to come to work with me in the baby room.

Before I had Kalie, I thought I would be more than ready to be a mom and take care of her. I mean, if I could take care of four babies at my job, how hard could one baby really be? What I failed to realize was that the babies from my work would leave, and I would go home and not have to care for anyone other than myself.

When we arrived home, I was really tired and ready to go snuggle with Kalie in my bed. Levi carried Kalie up to the second floor of my parents‟ house. He looked down and carefully climbed each step, placing both feet on the step before he would move onto the next. It was as if he was trying to sneak up on someone. Cautious was an understatement.

The three of us reached the room. As I slowly removed my pants, Levi quietly talked to Kalie about all the things in the room that were just for her.

“This little cradle is for you to sleep in. Don‟t worry, you‟ll be right by mommy and daddy‟s bed. Here‟s where I‟ll change your diaper.” He lifted her to see the vinyl pad placed on top of our dresser. Then he sat down in the blue rocking chair and placed both of his feet on the matching ottoman. “Do you care if I rock with her for a little?”

“No, of course not. I‟m gonna lie down. Wake me when she‟s hungry, okay?”

Our bed was low enough that I was able to climb in without any help.

“Okay, you know I will,” he said, without removing his stare from Kalie. I watched him shift in the chair before snuggling Kalie in close to his chest and his cheek. 167

I watched them gently rock back and forth in the chair as my eyes grew heavy and drew shut.

#

As I‟m writing this piece, I myself am rocking back and forth in the same blue chair. Levi is not a fan of blue and has often tried to convince me to sell the chair or even give it away. But for me, it‟s more than a piece of furniture that doesn‟t match anything else in our house. For me, it‟s the chair that was used to soothe Kalie on nights when she was hungry, sick, cutting a tooth, or just plain wouldn‟t sleep. It‟s also the only piece of bedroom furniture that we got for Kalie that was brand new. My mom won it at our church‟s auction and gave it to us.

Levi and I were trying to make ends meet, and we were trying to save so we could move out. We found a lot of nice used items for Kalie. We were okay using used items, because we knew she would eventually grow out of things like her cradle and, later, her crib. Besides, does it really matter if a child‟s furniture doesn‟t match? Heck, we still have mix-matched furniture throughout the rooms in our house. What matters is that we take care of Kalie. We keep her fed, clothed, safe, and happy.

I have worked to take care of the blue chair for almost eight years now. It‟s held up pretty well. It has a few stains and lint balls, but all of its faults are superficial.

Whenever we move or rearrange a room the chair finds a new resting place. I am so sentimental about the rocking chair that the original pillow and blanket that festooned it still manage to travel around with it.

The blanket has the three bears on it. My sister picked it up in California when she went to my grandpa‟s funeral in California. She thought it would be perfect for 168

Kalie, since our theme was bears. The pillow has red and blue checkers. The blue checkers contain baseballs and bats. Levi made it in his Home Ec. class before we met.

It‟s the only thing he has ever used a needle and thread on.

I don‟t know if I will ever be able to part with the blue chair. When Levi questions me about it, I tell him, “We have to keep it. What will our friends with babies use when they come over?” He rolls his eyes and doesn‟t say anything else.

#

On Friday, day two at home, we decided to give Kalie her first bath. I quickly realized that the baby room did not prepare me for baby hygiene. I had never given a baby a bath, cut a baby‟s nails, cleaned a baby‟s ears, or done a baby‟s laundry.

My mom turned up the heater, because her open kitchen was chilly on most spring days. “No Granddaughter of mine will be cold during her very special bath time!”

Levi placed the plastic tub on the counter, filled it with a few inches of warm water, and consulted my mom and me about the water‟s temperature. We should have bought one of those over-priced floating ducky thermometers.

Levi placed Kalie in the tub as I quickly washed her hair and body. My mom was in charge of taking pictures. Levi quickly held Kalie up, smiled, and helped me finish the bath. The picture would later hang in my hall, so I could smile and see how young we were.

It was the quickest bath I had ever managed in my life. Within a few minutes,

Kalie was cleaned and swaddled in a towel in Levi‟s arms. 169

Because Kalie had so much hair covering her head, I had grabbed the hair dryer and plugged it in before the bath. As I dried Kalie‟s hair, she fell asleep. I didn‟t realize how lucky I was that my first child was my easy child.

Kalie‟s first bath was over. I think it was pretty successful; well, as successful as cleaning a baby could be. She didn‟t pee or poop in her bath. She didn‟t slide out of our hands. She didn‟t cry. She didn‟t splash water all over. She didn‟t do any of the things that she would eventually do during at least one of her many baths.

The next battle I faced as a real mom, not a baby room surrogate mom, was getting to spend time on myself. I have always been known for the time I spend in the bathroom getting ready. I hadn‟t showered in two days, and I really wanted to shower, put on a little makeup, and do my hair. This routine would usually take me about forty- five minutes, but since I was still healing from my surgery, it may have taken me a little longer. I decided to get ready on Saturday, because Levi and my mom were both home and willing to watch Kalie.

I made it through the shower and part of my makeup when Levi stood in the bathroom doorway and informed me that Kalie was getting hungry.

“Okay, I‟ll hurry.” I turned on the hair dryer as he left the room.

“It‟s been five minutes. Are you done?” He was back.

“Almost. I promise I‟m hurrying.” I was, but I could only move so fast. Sudden moves that jolted my body in any way took my breath away and caused me to pause momentarily. 170

I was finally done getting ready, and I hustled down to feed Kalie. I realized that day I only needed to get ready when I actually had something to do or somewhere to go.

Also, I would need to feed Kalie right before I got in the shower.

Another thing I struggled with was breastfeeding. Although I enjoyed the feeling of closeness I had with Kalie when I was feeding her, I had a few problems. If it‟s natural, shouldn‟t it be easy?

I tried to pump so that Levi could feed Kalie if I wasn‟t with them. Pumping was so irritating. I would pump for an hour, and after a lot of work and two sore nipples (like something from the Discovery channel), I would have about one ounce. I started to question whether pumping and breastfeeding were really worth my time.

Kalie didn‟t eat a whole lot during the day, but in the evenings, she wanted to eat from five until eight o‟clock. She would eat almost the entire time. She was like a bear preparing to hibernate. After filling up on her evening supper, she would fall asleep and sleep anywhere from four to eight hours. I am not complaining that she slept. Trust me,

I was ecstatic that she was such a good sleeper, but when she finally awoke my breasts would be hard and my sports bra would be soaked from the milk I had released. All of these struggles, and my modesty about feeding in public or around other people, were why I only breast fed Kalie for about five weeks.

I stopped feeding her just in time to go back to work. Bottle feeding doesn‟t work for everyone, but it worked for us. Levi was able to keep Kalie at home if he was off during my work week, and I was able to take care of the other babies in the baby room with a bit more ease. 171

Questions continued to arise: What do I do about constipation? How do I know if

Kalie is sick enough to take to the doctor? What health hazards should I be aware of?

These were only a few of my many questions. Some were about things I had never experienced at my job, and others were about things I had experienced but never fretted quite as much about.

I think I was smart not to trust only one person with all of my important questions. I depended on people I trusted and respected. I asked doctors, my parents, my coworkers, my boss, and anyone else I thought would be helpful. I repeated all of my questions to any of my go-to people who were willing to listen. If my mom gave me advice and I asked my boss the same question, it wasn‟t that I didn‟t trust my mom; it was that I needed to make sure I was making a well-informed decision. That saying, “It takes a village to raise a child,” is completely and utterly true. Society needs to be willing to help moms, especially young moms, by giving them advice, skills, and confidence to be a successful parent.

I was willing to take advice, yet I made all of the final decisions. This didn‟t make me incompetent; it made me informed and a better mom. I was lucky to have the support system I did, but they didn‟t just appear out of thin air. My support system was created by me seeking answers and information.

I realize that not all teen moms have a mom like mine or a significant other like mine, but they can still have a support system. My hope is that all moms, no matter their age, seek advice and support from doctors, co-workers, friends, childcare professionals, people from support/play groups—local hospitals have a list of groups and their meeting times—possibly parents of a friend, and the list goes on. 172

When seeking support, I turned to people I trusted. I asked my mom, other moms at the daycare, my boss, co-workers, the doctor, and the list goes on. Also it didn‟t hurt that I became educated. I read parenting books and magazines and took early childhood classes. I felt like the saying, “God helps those who help themselves,” was true, but I also needed adults who were willing to help me with my multitude of questions and problems.

I could have used a role model somewhere along the way, besides my mom. I respected my mom, but she didn‟t know what it was like to be a teen mom. The trials she had in her life were different than mine. I hope that I can make a difference in a teens life.

Levi and I continued to develop our skills as parents and adults. After a couple short months of settling in as a family in my parents‟ house, we would be packing our belongings to try and make it on our own for the first time.

173

Do Expenses Ever End?

Moving is a touchy subject for Levi. Before we got married, I had moved twice, once from Washington to Reno and then once from our rental in Reno to the house my parents bought, one street away. Levi, on the other hand, had moved countless times. He couldn‟t recall all of the houses, trailers, or other dwellings he had lived in. He had moved five times before we were married. His final move was from his parents‟ house to my parents‟ house. I think that counts; his address changed.

To me, moving was exciting. It led to something new, something different. To

Levi, it was a form of torture, punishment, and the possibility of failure. But our first move together was much needed. We wanted to buy a house, but we weren‟t willing to settle for a shithole. All we could afford were houses in areas where I would be scared to go home alone. We decided if we were going to be parents and married, then we needed to try and make it on our own. It wasn‟t horrible living with my parents; it was just crowded.

It was the Fourth of July in 2003. Kalie was just over two months old, and we were moving. We moved into an apartment about two miles from my parents‟ house, far enough and close enough. It had two bedrooms. This meant that when we were ready to move Kalie from her cradle to her crib, she would have her own room, and we would have some privacy again.

I was so excited to move, because I would finally be able to open all the boxes that held the gifts from my bridal shower and our wedding. We had received so many nice things, but my parents‟ house was already set up, and they didn‟t need any of our things. Also, our room at my parents‟ house was pretty big (the designer of the house 174 meant for it to be a game room), but it was housing a family of three and it doubled as an office.

I don‟t remember who helped us move, but I do remember that within the day all of our belongings were unpacked and organized. We were unpacked in time to take

Kalie to a Fourth of July party to watch the fireworks.

It felt weird to move out on our own. It was that feeling of stepping to the edge of the high dive. I knew it was going to be okay, but making the decision to leap was the hardest part. Once I leapt, my adrenaline coursed through my veins, until, the final splash let me know that everything was okay.

On our own, we didn‟t have to worry about anyone but ourselves and our baby.

We could watch whatever we wanted on TV. I could take my time getting ready—or as long as Kalie permitted. I cooked dinner for two instead of four, and one, or both, of us needed to keep track of our bills, bank account, and purchases. I liked my responsibilities; life was good. Living on our own wasn‟t as scary as I thought it would be, but at times I did have questions.

What exactly do I do with these white boxes? Oh, the washer and dryer. We picked our apartment for a few reasons, one being that it had a laundry room in the apartment. My mom had to give me a laundry tutorial. I knew how to sort and fold, but I had never washed a load of laundry, nor had Levi. It didn‟t seem too complicated; I think

I was a quick study. Besides, if I had a question, I could call my mom. We didn‟t depend on anyone for financial support, but we weren‟t afraid to ask questions.

I liked our quaint little apartment, and I really liked that it had a gym I could use.

Shortly after we moved in, I began to work out again; I‟d had to take a break after my c- 175 section. I would wake up an hour early, jog down to the workout room, sweat doing the stair climber, treadmill, or weights, and then walk back to our apartment as my cool down. Most days I would return to find Kalie and Levi still sleeping. Other days they would be lying in bed together, staring at each other, while Kalie cooed and Levi talked back at her. What a start to my day! I felt good trying to shed my baby fat, and I felt even better knowing that both members of my family were content. In those moments, I didn‟t worry about money, work, or anything else. In those moments, my life and decisions were all worth it.

In the fall, I returned to school. Levi decided not to. He wanted to be able to work overtime when possible, and paying for one of us to go to college was a large enough expense. To this day, I appreciate and admire his sacrifices. He is a rare breed.

There isn‟t anything he won‟t do for his family. He puts his needs off, rarely complaining about anything. He‟s happy with the life we chose. We both are.

For college, I received the Millennium Scholarship for school, which helped a lot, but school was not free. The scholarship covered a certain amount towards tuition but not books. I started slow, taking only one class in the fall of 2003 and one in the spring of 2004. I started with night classes, because they allowed me to work all day and then leave Kalie with Levi or my parents when I had class. Most weekends Levi would be working, and I would be home doing homework or chores around the apartment.

Levi liked working at Winco. Their benefits were great: $30 a month for dental, health, and vision for the three of us. Also, he would have the opportunity to move up with the company, but in order to do so, we would have to move to another state. 176

I liked my job, but I knew I didn‟t want to work at the daycare forever. Because I worked there, we received free childcare—$155 a week to be precise—so it was worth it.

My plan was to work there until I graduated with my Bachelors and found a new job.

Life seemed to be working out. We both had jobs, I had been in school for a couple of weeks, and Kalie was a happy, healthy little baby. One Monday in September challenged all of this.

It was September 8th, 2003 and I had tried calling Levi from my work. For some reason, the network was down, and I couldn‟t reach his cell. He was off work that day, and I wanted to see what he and Kalie were up to. An hour, two hours, no word from

Levi. I was concerned but not overly worried. As I sat on the baby room floor at work,

Levi walked in with my mom, who was holding Kalie. My mom worked there, so it wasn‟t unusual to see her. The look on Levi‟s face was the only thing out of the ordinary.

“What‟s wrong?” I asked.

At that moment, Levi‟s red face became a plum color and then an awkward combination of red and white. “I‟m so sorry.”

“About what?” My heart raced. My mind raced. What did he do? What is he so upset about?

“I crashed your car.” He had been driving my car that day, because it was easier to get Kalie in and out of than his two door Honda Civic.

Was this a joke? “What? How bad is it?” I‟m not sure why I said “what” when I heard him loud and clear. Maybe I hoped that by asking I‟d learn that my ears had deceived me. 177

“It‟s bad. I drove it here, but it will need to go to the shop.” His eyes were red.

He‟d been crying.

I tried to stay calm. I was at work, and I was in front of our baby and other babies. “Wait, you and Kalie are both fine, right?”

“Yeah. But the EMT said that we should probably go to the doctor to be checked out.” He looked at Kalie and his eyes welled up with tears. He was distraught. He ruined my car, but the worst of all was that he put his daughter‟s life in danger.

My heart raced. Thank God, my family was okay. Next, my car.

“Take me to the car, now.” I rose from the floor; my mom stayed in the baby room, and I trailed behind Levi.

My year and a half old car was mangled. The entire front end had to be fixed.

What was with him and ruining cars? “Kalie was with you?”

“Yeah, I think we both need to go to urgent care to be checked out.”

I continued to try and stay calm. I could tell Levi had beaten himself up enough.

“What happened?”

“I was in that construction zone in front of the Nugget on I80. Everyone stopped, and I don‟t know if I was too close or looking down, but I didn‟t stop soon enough. I rear ended a lady and her mom and pushed them into the guy in front of them. He didn‟t have any damage that I could see. I got a ticket.”

I took a few deep breaths before opening my mouth. I can have a nasty mouth.

“So, we have to pay for the ticket and to get the car fixed.” My words were fine, but my tone was full of irritation, anger, and condescension, all of which Levi hated.

“I know I messed up. I will take care of it.” 178

Yeah, you will, I thought. I was happy that my family was safe but all the problems of only having one car started to hit me.

Kalie and Levi both checked out okay that night at urgent care, but my car did not fare as well. Our deductible was a thousand dollars. Before we moved out, we had saved up some money, so the thousand came straight out of our savings, but it was still a hit for us. It was in the shop for two weeks.

The mechanics replaced the two front side panels, the hood, the front end, the radiator, and the air conditioning. We went the two weeks with only one car. Levi would take me to work on his days off, and my dad or mom would take me on the other days. I hated having to depend on someone else.

We paid the ticket and changed our insurance company, because our insurance had sky rocketed to over $400 a month. On top of everything, we had to wait and see if either of the ladies was going to come after us for more money. In the end, they settled for the max amount our insurance would pay, $25,000.

A few months after the car accident, we had another large expense. Do they ever end? Neither of us had ever really had to worry about extra expenses. Our parents usually helped, but once we got married and moved out, it was our job to be responsible for extra expenditures. Levi needed his front tooth replaced and his wisdom teeth removed. Sophomore year he was playing baseball and caught the ball with his front tooth. The dentist was able to do a root canal and save the tooth for at least a little while.

Instead of a bridge, we both decided that an implant would be best. He was only twenty at the time of extraction, and a bridge would ruin his surrounding teeth. After much pleading and begging with our insurance, they agreed to pay the amount of a bridge 179 towards the implant. Out of pocket, we would end up spending just over two thousand dollars. I should say out of savings, not out of pocket. Our savings was slowly disappearing.

Just after Kalie‟s first birthday, we decided to move back in with my parents. We had to pay a small fee for breaking our lease, but it was worth it. We would be able to move back with my parents, save up some money, and then possibly buy a house. We didn‟t shout it from the roof tops that we were moving home. Heck, we really didn‟t tell many people.

We did tell a few close friends and family, explaining that we wanted to save money to buy a house. It sounded better to us than, “Living on our own was more expensive than we thought. We had to use a large chunk of our savings, so we‟re moving back in with my parents.”

Everything we did was to prove we could be responsible parents, even moving home. Kalie was our main concern, and it didn‟t affect her negatively to live with her parents and her grandparents at the same time. It just meant that she would have all the love she wanted and desired in one house.

We would live with my parents for three months before purchasing our very own house. We would live in the little thousand square foot house for a year. After the year was up, when Kalie was two, we would end up moving back in with my parents. This time it wasn‟t because we didn‟t have money. This time it was because we were waiting for the brand new house we had bought to be finished being built. I was pregnant with our second child, Levi was making more money, the market was hot, and we were ready for a bigger house. 180

During Kalie‟s first few years, finances and money weren‟t the only things that we had to worry about. Being parents added the extra strain of worrying about our baby and her health. 181

Pooping, Puking, and Other Baby Ailments

I don‟t remember anyone ever telling me that I had to watch what I ate while I was breast feeding. I took Lamaze. I read parenting magazines and books. I also took advice from parents, young and old. Plain and simple, I didn‟t know there were certain things I should have avoided eating and other things I should have only eaten in moderation.

Kalie was four days old when she started throwing up. Throwing up for an adult is not fun, but throwing up for a child or a baby can quickly lead to dehydration and weight loss. It led Levi and me into a worried frenzy about what to do to make sure our little girl was healthy and okay.

It was about nine o‟clock at night. Kalie had had her final meal before I was going to lay her down to sleep. As I held her in my arms, she squirmed back and forth grumbling, not crying or screaming but grunting. A few minutes passed and I rested her tummy on my shoulder to see if she needed to burp. As I patted the small of her back, she didn‟t let out a burp. Instead, she launched her dinner of breast milk all down my back and all over my parents‟ blue and white checkered couch. The mini explosion startled Kalie first, then Levi and me.

As Kalie‟s throw-up (way more than any spit-up I had ever seen) slid down my back, Levi‟s initial reaction was to gawk at me. I quickly lifted Kalie from my shoulder to check her face to make sure that there wasn‟t anything apparently wrong. Her little green eyes, although misty, looked at me like she felt better. After making sure that

Kalie was not in distress, I wiped her gooey face down with the extra burp rag that had been sitting on the arm of the couch. 182

Levi finally jumped up. “Is she okay? What do we need to do?”

“I‟m not sure.” How could I not know what to do? I had had babies get sick at work before. I thought about what I would do at work, call the parents. Not possible, I was the parent.

We waited to see if Kalie would throw up again. She did. Not as much, but she did.

“Didn‟t we bring home some information from the hospital?” Levi asked.

“I think so. It would be in that plastic bill box in our room.”

After looking at the papers, the two of us came to the conclusion that we should call the emergency hotline. Kalie had thrown up twice within an hour, but she wasn‟t running a fever.

Levi called and was the interpreter while I held Kalie. After he explained the situation, the questions began. “No, she hasn‟t thrown up before. No fever. Katie, are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I‟m just worried.”

“Yes, she‟s fine. Have you eaten anything you shouldn‟t?”

“Uh, I don‟t know. The last thing I ate was a bowl of ice cream.”

“She ate ice cream. Oh, okay. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, thank you.”

“What is it?”

“The lady said that all the dairy and sugar may have upset Kalie‟s stomach. She said to wait a little longer, and if she throws up more in the next couple hours we should take her to the ER. She also said that the next time we go to the doctor we should get a list of the foods to watch and avoid while breastfeeding.” 183

“I didn‟t know.” My eyes and nose began to sting from the onset of tears. I looked down at Kalie sound asleep in my arms. I kissed her forehead as Levi wrapped his arm around me.

“Katie, it‟s okay. She‟ll be fine. At least we know now.”

It was time for Levi and me to join Kalie and go to sleep. I would feed her when she woke up.

We were lucky Kalie was a good sleeper like her dad. She usually only woke up once or twice a night. I had heard of some babies waking every couple hours. Not Kalie, she liked to sleep.

At night when she woke up, Levi would often get up and change her diaper, even if he had to work the next day. I appreciated it, because even though Kalie could sleep for five hours at a time, my body was tired, because I rarely slept straight through the night. Also, breastfeeding was like a workout for my body; it burned a ton of calories.

After Levi changed her, he would bring her to me. I lay in bed feeding her until she fell asleep. Some nights, I would keep her in bed with me, and other nights, I carefully placed her back in her cradle, which was a foot from our bed. The closeness made it easy to rock her when she fussed, and it allowed me to check on her anytime she slept too long or didn‟t fuss. Fussing is a good thing. It lets you know that the baby is still breathing.

A couple days after the ice cream incident, Levi had to return to Winco. He only had a couple of vacation days left, so he was saving them for down the road. His schedule had changed at work, again. He was going to be working five in the morning 184 until one in the afternoon. This meant that Kalie and I would have a significant amount of time alone together.

Each passing day allowed me to get to know Kalie, her moods, and her actions.

She loved her binky and the clicking noise that her swing made. She wasn‟t a huge fan of the bouncy seat, unless it was for a catnap. When she needed to be burped she would start leaking milk from the side of her mouth. Eating all evening soothed her hungry stomach and prepared her for a long night of sleep, even though, my nipples and breasts were not soothed by her evening gorge. Making the choice to switch to bottles was difficult, but it was important.

When we made the switch from my nipple to the silicone nipple, we had to figure out which formula worked for Kalie. I remembered my mom telling me that my sister and I couldn‟t handle any formula other than soy. Since I had a free small can of soy, I thought I should give it a chance. First bottle, throw up down my back. Second bottle, throw up again but this time down my front. Kalie was about five weeks old, so we didn‟t call the emergency hotline, but we did stop using soy formula. At least, we tried.

A week later, during a car ride, Kalie was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her hunger pains were unbearable. I could tell by the pain she was inflicting on my ears.

Levi hopped in the back of the car, mixed her a bottle, fed her a bottle, and finally, yelled at me to pull over. Kalie had thrown up all over. It was all down her clean outfit. It went through the buckle holes of her car seat and onto my car‟s seats. Both the baby and the car seat would need to be cleaned.

After some thought, we came to the conclusion that I had forgotten to remove one small container I had divvied up of soy formula. My unfortunate oversight led to our 185 baby not feeling well. Why does she have to get sick? When she got sick, I worried and felt like it was out of my control and possibly my fault. It‟s a terrible feeling not to know what to do for someone who depends on you, who can‟t tell you what is wrong.

The day after Kalie‟s six week check-up, I returned to work with Kalie. Overall, she was a pretty healthy baby. She did suffer from constipation when she started eating baby cereal at about two months. We tried prunes, Karo Syrup, and apple juice, but most of our remedies failed. Once Kalie became more mobile, she had fewer issues with constipation. We handled the bowel issues, but that wasn‟t all we faced.

When she was five months old, the ear infections accompanied by tonsillitis started. Kalie wasn‟t a fussy baby. I think her pain tolerance was pretty high. She didn‟t cry, pull her ear, or give any other sign that there was something wrong. Her first ear infection was found during a routine check-up. It was joined by tonsillitis, which is usually not found in children under the age of one. We didn‟t start to really worry until the tonsillitis showed up again with her next ear infection at about seven months. Was there something wrong with my little girl? Should I have pushed to have her see a specialist? Should I have kept having her take antibiotics? How many antibiotics were too many? We decided to listen to the doctor and try another round of antibiotics.

A couple weeks after Kalie finished her antibiotics, we noticed that she had spiked a temperature. This had happened two times before, once for each ear infection.

It was back to the doctor for another dose of antibiotics. Once again, Kalie finished her medicine and her fever was back. This time the doctor put her on a two week antibiotic, longer than the others, which were both one week antibiotics. The third round of 186 antibiotics helped for a couple of weeks after Kalie finished her prescription, but her fever came back. It was back to the doctor.

Our frustration began to well up. It was time to see someone else. Maybe Kalie needed tubes put in her ears. My sister had them and so did a baby in the baby room.

The doctor agreed with us, and we were referred to an ear doctor.

Ironically, as soon as we went to see the specialist, Kalie didn‟t have an ear infection for a couple months. He didn‟t want to rush into putting tubes in her ears, so we waited until they started again. At eighteen months, Kalie would go in for the first surgery of her life. Levi had to work, but my mom and I took her in at six in the morning for her seven o‟clock surgery. I was a mess, but held it together for Kalie.

She was so good. She didn‟t cry about being hungry. She was nice to the nurses and played with the anesthesiologist‟s mask when she came in to meet Kalie and me.

Kalie went into surgery, and about twenty minutes later, I was holding her in recovery. The anesthesia made her a little groggy, but we took her home, she took a nap, and she was ready to run and play. Her tubes were over and done. We would go back in for a few check-ups and wait for them to fall out. Kalie‟s ears were finally doing better.

No more going to the doctor every other week. Well, at least for a little while.

Right before Kalie‟s second birthday, there had been a dreaded case of Coxsacki at St. Albert‟s. It‟s a disease that usually only young children get, and when they get it, it is usually contagious for about a week. It is also referred to as hand, foot, and mouth disease because of the prevalence of sores on those specific locations. The disease is also accompanied by a fever and often a loss of appetite. 187

Coxsacki comes from fecal-oral contamination, but it can also be spread through the ingestion of other bodily fluids. In Washoe County, where St. Albert‟s is, the infected child cannot return until there are no more open sores.

Two days before Kalie‟s second birthday, she began to run a fever. Please, not

Coxsacki. I decided to take her to the doctor, because I hadn‟t seen any sores. I clung to my miniscule hope I that maybe she didn‟t have the dreaded disease.

As Kalie sat on the patient bed, I caught an unwanted glimpse of Kalie‟s fate.

There was a spot on her tongue. “Kalie, can you open your mouth for Mama?” I asked.

“Ahhh,” she said, with her tongue stuck out. It was covered in little blisters. She looked like some sort of sci-fi creature. I would take the rest of that Wednesday off.

Then over the next week, Levi, my mom, and I would work out a schedule of taking care of Kalie until she could return to school. We had to skip her birthday party that year, because we didn‟t want anyone to get sick.

The ears, the bumps—what next? One night, I was rubbing Kalie‟s head and neck so that she would fall asleep when my finger bumped across something foreign on her neck: a lump. Kalie was only two and a half. How could she have a lump? I felt around some more. It was the only one, but it was about the size of a dime and slightly raised. I can‟t say how long she had the lump. I don‟t know if I had simply missed it, or if one day it wasn‟t there and the next it was. I needed a second opinion. Since we were living back with my parents waiting for our new house to be built, I picked Kalie up out of her crib and carried her downstairs. 188

Levi was working and I‟m not sure where my mom was, but she wasn‟t home either. Besides Kalie and me, my dad was the only one at the house. My dad quickly confirmed my fear—it was a lump.

The next day, I took Kalie to the doctor. The doctor wasn‟t overly concerned, but she thought it was a good idea to try antibiotics. It was probably a clogged gland. I felt good but not great. Lumps are not normal. Lumps mean bad things, but I would give it a try.

No luck. It didn‟t grow, but it didn‟t shrink either. After about six weeks of antibiotics, it was once again time to go to the ear, nose and throat doctor.

My life was nothing short of stressful. I had a two and a half year old with a lump on her neck, we were moving, I was finishing my semester for school, and I was eight months pregnant with our second child. The ENT decided to remove the lump and make sure it was nothing more than a gland.

The surgery would be similar to the procedure she had for her tubes, but it would take a little longer. Again my mom went with me. The ENT only did surgeries on

Tuesdays, and Levi usually had to work.

We arrived early, prepared Kalie, and kissed her as she was rolled back to surgery. I tried to read while Kalie was back having her procedure. I couldn‟t. I wandered for a little, but not far. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Kalie‟s doctor came out.

“The procedure went well. It took about thirty minutes. The mass doesn‟t look like anything, but I will send it out for testing. Kalie‟s in recovery, and you should be able to go see her shortly.” He went on to explain the cleaning process and antibiotics. 189

Nothing mattered except that the “mass didn‟t look like anything.” My girl was healthy.

Thank God!

While Kalie was young, my sick leave was often pushed to the limits. I tried to never take sick days for me, because sick leave can only stretch so far, especially when it has to be used for the worker and the worker‟s child. I have always been careful not to waste sick days by calling in sick for no reason. For me, another important thing when it comes to sick leave is to try and maintain a job for as long as possible in order to accrue more with every passing year.

Kalie didn‟t usually get colds or coughs, but she had her fair share of odd illnesses. Overall, she was pretty healthy. I don‟t look back and feel like I should have done much different. I think putting her in the baby room early was a good thing for both of us. It helped her begin to socialize and learn to share me, and it helped me and Levi attain goals in our lives, because we didn‟t have to pay for childcare.

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More Than Another Welfare Recipient

The years seemed to leap, jump, and bound past me. It has been almost nine years since I found I was going to become a teen mom. Over the last eight years, I have changed from a scared teenager into a strong, successful woman. I have spent almost all of the last nine years trying to be a good mom, supportive wife, dedicated student, and a diligent worker. My life has rarely been easy. After long days of work and school, I spent many late nights working on homework, only to have the mornings crash into me like unyielding, rolling ocean waves. As tirelessly as I have worked, I know I am not alone.

I don‟t mean that I am not alone because of all the help and support my family has provided. I mean that there are many other teen moms out there who are working endlessly to be the best they know how to be. I‟m not trying to sound like a quote from the U.S. military, “Be all you can be!” Instead, I‟m trying to figure out how teen moms, like me, can succeed without becoming more negative statistics.

#

As a pregnant teen, I felt insecure about my swelling body and about how people looked at me and judged me. One glance would say it all. “Wow, another girl my taxes will go to support,” or “Girls need to stop sleeping around and get an education.”

Unfortunately, I couldn‟t share my worries, fears, and sorrows with other teen moms. In the Lamaze class that Levi and I attended, we were easily five years younger than some of the other parents, and possibly twenty years younger than others. At McQueen I didn‟t know any other teen moms. There was no “teen mom support group.” Age was always on my mind. 191

As I grew older, I received fewer comments about how cute my sister was. “Uh, she‟s my daughter.” As Kalie grew older, I started accomplishing goals such as going to college. Through my college career, I began to realize that there were teen moms out there whom I could encourage or possibly just befriend. When I was pregnant, I would have given my stash of fudgesicles to have a friend who understood what it was like to be a teen mom. I had Levi, but there was nothing about his appearance that told people he was going to be a dad. He didn‟t have to buy new clothes every few months, nor did he have to go to an alternative high school.

College was never easy, and I was often faced with the stereotype that I could be a mom or a student, not both. Both roles require a full-time commitment. It was as if being a mom, not just a teenage mom, meant that I, as a woman, couldn‟t succeed at anything other than being a mom. Throughout college, people of all walks of life would say, “I don‟t know how you do it. Go to college, be a wife, and a mom.” Little did they know I had always done it. At times, it was challenging, but I didn‟t know what college was like without being a wife or a mom.

When Kalie was five, I was faced with the usual college project in one of my classes. I had created and accomplished many college projects. Little did I know that this venture would emblazon a passion in my mind that would push and pull on me to this day. I had to become involved in my community and then come up with a creative work to share with the class.

The first place I thought of was a local house for pregnant teens. These teens were different from me in one major way: they had nowhere to stay. I realized that I 192 would have to find ways to relate to other teen moms. Just because we were all teen moms did not mean that we were intrinsically linked to one another.

Before I met any of the girls, I took a tour of the house. Everything in the house seemed new, maybe at most a few years old. Although there was a lot of traffic through the house, I could close my eyes and smell the new house smell that my house had lost a few years before. The teen refuge had been open for over twenty years, but this particular location had only recently been established. The house was a quiet place, especially considering that eight pregnant teens lived there. At the time of my tour, the teens were either in the basement at the Washoe County extended learning classroom or at work; (going to school or work was a condition of living in the house).

After my tour, class had ended, and I met with one girl I will never forget. She was only fourteen years old and twenty-eight weeks along in her pregnancy. She had been under strict medical care for over three months. The doctor was worried about early labor and complications because of her age and small stature. I will call her Sweeney.

Her story was one of heartbreak and difficulties I may never understand. For starters, her mom was a drug addict and out of the picture, her dad had signed over his parental rights to the state when he found out Sweeney was pregnant, and she was unsure who her baby‟s dad was. On top of everything, Sweeney‟s dad was in litigation with two eighteen year old boys, the two boys who‟d had sex with Sweeney. The dad wanted them to be put in jail for statutory rape. Her dad had kicked her out onto the street, and now, her boyfriend, possibly the father of the baby, might go to jail. Also, Sweeney‟s mom couldn‟t visit her unless she was clean, and it seemed unlikely that that was going to happen. Although Sweeney didn‟t seem to have much going for her, one of the first 193 things she told me was, “I can‟t wait to have my baby. I want to hold her and love her.”

I understood that she was doing something that her parents forgot to do: love someone other than themselves.

Sweeney and I were both on one of the maroon couches in the living room at the shelter. The normalcy of the living room made it easy to forget that I was in a house built to save teens from the pain and hardships that our society so badly wanted to ignore.

The room looked like one from a model home, perfectly chosen and assembled to help remind the teens that they were at “home.” The furniture was very modern, and I assumed new, because there was no visible wear and tear or even the slightest stain.

There was a decent size TV that could have easily been cardboard like the ones in the model homes I had seen so many times while I was looking for a house for my family.

Sitting across from me was one of the optical illusion mirrors at the fair.

Sweeney‟s face was innocent, like that of a porcelain doll, but her body was much different. Her tight, ribbed tank top revealed her swollen breasts and protruding belly.

Above the shoulders, she looked like a child, but below her shoulders showed that she was no longer innocent. This image staring back at me was all too familiar, yet I hadn‟t seen it in over five years.

I didn‟t hesitate to continue talking. “Sweeney, you do realize that it is going to be hard to take care of a baby, go to school, and possibly work?” The mother in me was always popping up, and the teen activist in me could never keep her mouth shut.

“It‟s not that big of a deal. My social worker found me a foster mom who takes teen moms and their babies, so she has to help me. I was thinking about trying to get a job this summer at the water park, because they hire kids under sixteen. If I do get the 194 job, my foster mom will have to help: at least drive me to the bus stop and take care of the baby.” All of this came out as frankly as if she was telling me her shoe size.

“It‟s not that simple. You will have a three and a half year old when you have to move out on your own. What then? Whom will you depend on then?” Somehow, over the previous few years, I had forgotten that at one time I didn‟t think about the future. I didn‟t realize the struggles I would face. On top of this, Sweeney was almost four years younger than I was when I got pregnant. Until this point, she hadn‟t had a parent or a close role model who had encouraged her to think about her future. Maybe I would.

“I dunno. I haven‟t really thought that far ahead. I‟m just excited to have my baby. All I want to do is get her out of me and hold her.” The teenager in Sweeney shined through bright as day as she tried to change the subject. I thought I couldn‟t be her buddy; I thought I had to be the adult, the voice of reason.

“Sweeney, you know that the baby needs more time in your belly. Don‟t you?

You need to think about what is good for the baby. From now on, you have to worry about more than yourself. You have to worry about an innocent baby who needs you to take care of it, protect it, and make the decisions that are best for it.” My plan to make a friend with a teen mom was backfiring. My biting words and the fire spewing from my mouth were forcing the young girl to ignore my advice and peg me as “just another pushy adult”.

“The doctor said that after thirty-two weeks that the baby should be okay. I am just so excited.” The excitement of having a baby can be overwhelming. I felt the same emotion, but I had read the books and researched the facts. I knew that it was best if babies weren‟t born until after thirty-eight weeks. Also, before I had Kalie, I had people 195 in my life who loved me and who had never failed to be there for me. Sweeney didn‟t.

Maybe having a baby would change her life. It didn‟t matter. She was having a baby, no matter what I said, and she would be having it soon.

At that moment, all I could manage to say was, “Oh.” How was it that in only a few moments I was able to change from a “teen activist” into a baffled post-teen mom?

All I wanted was to know that other teen moms would be able to succeed.

I never saw Sweeney again, but I still often wonder how she‟s doing. I wonder if she has grown rough and ragged like an old handbag that has been dragged around, put in places that are hard to fathom, and thrown out when she is no longer of use. Maybe she went to college like I did, or maybe she decided life was better on welfare. I may never have the answers. What I do know is that Sweeney had support from her social worker and hopefully her foster mom, so she stood a chance at success.

#

Around the same time I met Sweeney, another teen mom came into my life.

Sarah Mason, the girl I talked to the counselor about. I had known her and her family about eleven years, since I was in seventh grade. Her story was closer to mine than

Sweeney‟s. After my visit with the counselor, I found out more about Sarah. She got pregnant the end of her sophomore year in high school. Unlike me, she waited to tell her parents until she was showing, and the baby‟s dad was mentally and verbally abusive.

These things could have broken Sarah, but she didn‟t let them.

Sarah had her baby and finished her high school education. She didn‟t simply get her GED (Good Enough Diploma), but instead, she graduated from high school with an honors diploma and college credits. Sarah‟s parents, like mine, were as supportive as 196 they could be. A supportive family definitely makes a difference, but like I said earlier, girls can establish their own support system. Although Sarah faced heartache and financial difficulty, she didn‟t give up.

As I think back to both of these girls, I realize that when I was a teen mom I felt alone, even though, I was far from it. I had a supportive family and a loving partner.

Their support and my dedication forced me to plow forward.

Now, being called a teen mom seems vague. I didn‟t allow the label to define me;

I wanted to define the label. I could have given up, but I knew that if I did, my failure would mean that the chances of Kalie becoming a teen mom would skyrocket. Trying to make ends meet or sort of succeeding was not good enough for me. I was not only the first teen mom in my family, but I also worked to become the first college graduate in my family.

Don‟t get me wrong, there were many times I had to sacrifice. There were days where the only sun I saw was the refractions seeping through my dirty computer room window. On those days it was not unusual for Kalie and Levi to be out at the park or the movies enjoying their time together. I had to keep telling myself that in the end it would all be worth it. In the end, I would be a successful mom, wife, citizen, and hopefully a true teen advocate, one able to help those teens others had discarded at their first sign of strife. If I could do it, why can‟t other girls?

#

In the midst of writing my memoir, I tried to find role models who exemplified what a teen mom should and could be. I struggled, because the media is currently the 197 main information source and is making no attempt to help with any of the emotional, societal, and economic problems that occur in relation to teen pregnancy.

Americans have been intrigued by Bristol Palin and Jamie Lynn Spears, but these two young girls have done little to speak out about their situations. And unlike most teen parents, they have money and fame to fall back on.

Bristol Palin followed in her mom‟s footsteps and became an advocate for abstinence only programs in school. Hmm…if abstinence works, what happened to her?

Then instead of heading off to college, she headed off to Dancing with the Stars. I‟m not trying to be too critical, but I‟m not sure who was taking care of her son, Tripp. She proved that she was a decent dancer, but what about being a mom?

Next in line: Jamie Lynn Spears. She found out at the age of sixteen that she was going to become a mom and has been out of the spotlight ever since. I‟m glad she has taken responsibility as a mom and also, earned her GED. The only thing I see as a problem is that she hasn‟t had to get a job or go to college. She leads a luxurious life compared to most other teen moms. Once Spears admitted she was pregnant, she left the spotlight and left it up to raunchy TV shows to influence teenagers.

Americans have tuned in for Sixteen and Pregnant, an MTV reality show, Juno, a comedic movie about a pregnant teen‟s choice to give up her baby, and The Secret Life of the American Teenager, an ABC series about a “good girl” who ends up pregnant at fifteen. All of the teen pregnancy dramas portray teen pregnancy as something normal and casual and make no attempt at finding a solution. In turn, Americans are forced to tune out the real problem: acknowledging teen pregnancy as a difficult situation not only for the teens but for society, too. 198

I am a prime example to show that teens will continue to get pregnant unless something is done. As long as sex feels good and pregnancy looks glamorous, easy to deal with, funny, and common, teen pregnancy will stay prevalent. If teens start to see that pregnancy is full of emotional, financial, and even physical struggles, they might take precautions (with the right guidance).

The fact of the matter is that I was not a forward thinker when it came to having sex; my brain, like most teens, was not fully developed. My irrational and impulsive behaviors included sex. I needed parents and role models to help me understand the true repercussions of sex, including the difficulties of pregnancy and parenting.

I‟ve heard people say, “You live and learn.” This is true, but sometimes learning a hard lesson, like why to have safe sex, can be the first step towards a dismal future. In my case, I hope the learning that I‟m doing is how to be open about sex and sexuality with my daughters and other teens I come into contact with.

Sex is no longer the dirt on the floor that gets swept under the rug. It needs to be known that the average age at which people become sexually active is seventeen2. About fifty to seventy percent (depending on various factors, including location and social status) of teenagers have had sex by the time they turned eighteen. Also it is important to not ignore the fact that girls and boys can become sexually active at ages younger than seventeen. It‟s still hard to admit (even after writing an entire book) that I was only fourteen when I first had sex. I could have gotten pregnant at the same young age as

Sweeney. Maybe it was just dumb luck. I don‟t know.

2 “Sexual Activity.” Guttmacher. January 2010. 11 January 2011. Web. 199

Hard Work Really Does Pay Off I‟ve heard people say, “Life has a funny way of working out.” In reality, there is some truth to this, but I think the real truth is that life has a way of working out if you work hard at it.

In May of 2007, I graduated with my Associates from Truckee Meadows

Community College. Then in September of that same year I started towards my

Bachelors of the Arts in Secondary Education with an emphasis in English at the

University of Nevada, Reno (UNR). After taking a full load of classes each semester, summer school classes, and even wintermester classes, I graduated in May of 2009 with my degree. In the fall of 2009, I was able to put my degree to work in a few different ways.

I used my degree to apply for a teaching job at TMCC, the first college I attended.

I also used it to apply for the Masters in writing program at UNR. I succeeded at both. I got a job teaching developmental English, and I made it into the Masters program. I was happy with my life.

In May 2011, right after Kalie turned eight, everything went as planned, I wore a cap and gown, processed to Pomp and Circumstance and was handed the folder that would eventually hold my official diploma as a Master of the Arts in Writing. I‟m not going to lie, attaining three degrees was not easy, but I do think that it was worth it. I gained knowledge, friends, skills, and confidence in myself. When I tell people that I am almost done with my Masters degree there is an uncontrollable smile that spreads across my face. I did it for me, but more importantly, I did it for my girls. 200

Levi and I welcomed our second baby into the world on February seventh 2006,

Levi‟s birthday. I had a planned c-section and a tiny little girl all in the same day. Lilly weighed in at five pounds thirteen ounces. She‟s still our petite little girl. Her grammy lovingly calls her a little garden gnome. Lilly‟s large personality makes up for her little size.

I will say that after Kalie, I learned my lesson. Lilly was a planned pregnancy— no more surprises for me. I used the birth control patch until Levi and I were mentally and financially ready to have another baby. About a year before Lilly was born, Levi made a life changing decision. He changed professions.

He decided to hand in his Levi S. clerk badge at Winco for a police badge. Levi had wanted to be a police officer for a long time, but after he got his job at Winco, he thought maybe Winco was a place he could retire from. After two and a half years of stocking shelves, checking groceries, and performing other necessary duties, he decided to follow his dreams. Being a police officer can be stressful for Levi and for me, but he works hard and really enjoys his job. He definitely doesn‟t mind the possibility that he can retire when he turns forty seven.

After Levi had been working as a police officer for about eleven months, we were handed the keys to our new house. In Kalie‟s first two and a half years of life, we lived in our apartment for a year, with my parents for about three months, in a little house we bought for a year, then back in with my parents for about three months. We finally settled into a brand new house we bought in December of 2005. All the moves may not seem ideal, but they allowed us to reach our goal of buying a house big enough for a family of four. 201

I know not everyone‟s goals are the same as mine, but I also know that everyone needs goals in order to have something to work for, and eventually something to fall back on when times get rough. Everyone needs a support system, whomever it may consist of, but more importantly, everyone needs the drive and the confidence that helps them to know that they can attain their goals. I‟m happy with the way my life is turning out, and

I will not stop being an advocate for other teen moms until I know that they are happy with the way their lives turn out. Being labeled a teen mom hasn‟t been a bad thing for me. For me, it means that I worked hard to be a good mom. It means that I am able to multitask by going to school and being a mom at the same time. Being a teen mom was difficult but working towards being successful in every facet of my life was even harder. I‟m not advocating for teen pregnancy, but I‟m bringing awareness to the reality of it and the struggles that accompany it.

This is my shortest chapter, but it took the most work to accomplish everything that is in it. I would often work forty hours a week at work, spend twenty or thirty hours a week on school, and still have to find time for meals, laundry, appointments, and quality time with my daughters and husband. Oh wait, I forgot sleep. I put in my time, because quite frankly, it will all be worth it.

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Teen Pregnancy Resources

The following information is for teens who are concerned about pregnancy, parents who are concerned about their teens, or anyone else who wants some guidance about teen pregnancy.

Pregnancy Help and Information

Pregnancy Resource: http://pregnancy-resources.com/

This website helps to advise and inform women about things like symptoms of pregnancy, pregnancy stages, and child birth.

Option Line: Optionline.org or 1-800-395-4357

This resource helps pregnant women who have questions about pregnancy, abortion, and other options pertaining to expected or unexpected pregnancy.

Planned Parenthood: http://www.plannedparenthood.org/index.htm or call

1-800-230-PLAN

This source offers a range of services at low cost or possibly free. Some of the offered services are pregnancy prevention tools, pregnancy testing, prenatal care, and infertility and miscarriage help.

The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists: http://www.acog.org/

On this site there is information about how to have a healthy body, sex life, and pregnancy. There is an abundance of facts about STDs, safe sex, and giving birth.

Education Programs

Pregnant and Parenting Teens Initiative:

http://www.center-school.org/education/ppt/pptprevent.htm 203

Although this site provides information about specific options in Pennsylvania, it also explains the variety of school options that pregnant teens and parenting teens have across the U.S. Once a pregnant teen‟s options are understood, it is best to google or contact the local school district for more information.

U.S. Department of Health and Human Services: Administration for Children and

Families: http://eclkc.ohs.acf.hhs.gov/hslc or call 1-866-763-6481

The main focus of this source is the Head Start Program. This program helps parents who cannot afford child care. Head Start helps to prepare young children for school.

Housing, Legal Help, and Other Financial Issues

U.S. Department of Health and Human Services: Centers for Medicare and

Medicaid Services: http://www.cms.gov/home/medicaid.asp

Through this resource people who cannot afford health insurance are offered help.

This site also offers suggestions about other sources to look into for added financial help.

Government Benefits: http://www.benefits.gov/

This resource allows people to search by state, agency, and category to easily find various financial help for low income people. There is a wide range benefits that can help people with the cost of food, heating, health, and education. Also there is information about job training and job help for a variety of people.

U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development: Homes and Communities: http://portal.hud.gov/portal/page/portal/HUD or call 1-202-708-1112 204

Also known as HUD, this source can help people of various walks of life afford housing. This site, like the other government sites, is helpful in providing information about other government funded programs that help people in need.