I was only fifteen-years-old when I got the news. I’d been lying in my room obsessing over fashion magazines—how I’d most likely never look like any of the girls in them and debating over whether I even wanted to.
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She told me we needed to talk and asked me to meet her down in the dining room.
No teen ever wants to hear those words. They’re usually followed by, “you did X wrong” or “I found out X, and I don’t approve.” Substitute any of the latest mishaps you’ve had for X, and you’ve got an equation that always seems to work out to you being grounded.
Fifteen-years-old and I already knew the deal. Or I thought I did.
I tossed the magazine aside and stood in front of the mirror, trying to figure what I had done wrong and putting on my bravest face. Did I forget to take the dog out while she was at work? No, I had fed and walked Trixie. Did I leave a mess after dinner? No, I had even offered to clean up the kitchen. What then?
I couldn’t think of a single thing. Resigned to my doom, I headed downstairs to receive my punishment.
When I walked into the dining room, she was sitting at the table with a serious look on her face.
Oh man, whatever I did had to be bad.
She didn’t look angry, so that was a plus. Still, I didn’t recognize the look she had.
She said, “Tonya, go ahead and sit down.”
I did what she said and immediately blurted out, “Okay, whatever I did, I don’t know, but I’m sure I’m sorry for it.”
She started laughing. “You didn’t do anything, honey. This is something I did.”
“Oh?” A wave of relief instantly hit me. Then my whole stomach clenched in. What could be this serious? “Wh-what happened?”
“It’s nothing bad, but it’s going to take some getting used to…” My mom took a deep breath. She looked so guilty; I didn’t know what to do.
Finally she said, “Tonya, I’m pregnant.”
The words totally came out of left field. Here I was thinking she’d say something like, “I accidentally bleached your favorite outfit” or “I dropped your mp3 player.” Nope, not quite.
I didn’t know what to think. All I could manage to say was, “What? How long?”
“I just found last week, and I met with the doctor this morning. I’m a little over two months so far.”
“But that means… Oh, no… It’s Kevin’s baby, isn’t it?”
She hung her head in shame and muttered a yes.
My mom had been with Kevin for two years. It was just before Mother’s Day when he finally left. He had been verbally and emotionally abusive for a while. My mom had spent the last year trying to get away from him. Now, she really had. She hadn’t even seen him since she met with him over coffee to give him a few of his things she’d found around the house.
“Please, mom. You’re not going back to him, right? Please.”
“No! Absolutely not! I have to do what is right for you and this baby. I want to get us on the right track. You’re… not mad at me, are you?”
I was nervous. I had been an only child up until that point. I knew things would change, but I felt up to it.
I leaned over and hugged my mom. “Of course, I’m not mad. I’m… actually kind of excited. I just don’t want Kevin back!”
She laughed.
I knew it’d be hard. My mom already worked way too many hours at the nursing home as it was. I knew she’d need my help.
And she did.
We spent the next few months getting ready for the baby. My mom kept working and I eventually got a job bagging groceries at the shop down the road.
To be honest, I hated it. The people I worked for weren’t the kindest, but a job was a job.
I worked from when I got out of school until the shop closed at ten. We desperately needed to save up money because my mom wouldn’t be able to work for a couple months.
As much as I dreaded work and wanted to see my mom more between our busy schedules, I was happy. Kevin hadn’t come around for months. He knew about the baby but didn’t care. I know that’s messed up, and yeah it sucks that he can’t be a good father, but I didn’t want him around. I knew the baby would be better off for it.
I was even more excited when the doctor told my mom it was a girl. I had always wanted a little sister when I was younger. I considered her to be a gift long overdue!
I can remember every detail of the night she was born. It happened just a few days before the due date. I had fallen asleep watching horror movies—terrible idea—and woke up to my mom.
She yelled, “Tonya, come here! Come here!”
My first thought: psychotic killer clowns had broken in!
That had to be it. Why else would my mom be yelling my name in the middle of the night?
Oh wait…
It finally dawned on me. The baby!
I ran downstairs as fast as I could. My mom was standing in the middle of the kitchen standing over what I thought was water. She glanced at me and then back at the puddle.
“My water broke,” she said, sounding strained.
What a thing to wake up to!
By that point, I’d gotten my driver’s permit. I was able to rush her to the hospital, although my driving wasn’t the best. You certainly couldn’t call me the fastest or most experienced driver out there, especially with the jittery butterflies in my stomach.
We made it to the hospital where the aides got her checked in pretty quickly. Then it was all a matter of the waiting game. It was eight more hours before my mom gave birth.
Four in the morning, which made it February 14th.
We named her Charlie. She came out weighing just a bit more than eight pounds, just bursting with cuteness and such clear blue eyes, too. I wished they would stay that way, even though I knew she’d probably have brown eyes like my mom and Kevin.
I stayed with my mom in the hospital for a couple days before we headed home.
Charlie was a blessing for Mom and me. She really helped to bring us closer, becoming was the center of our shared world.
It wasn’t always easy. My mom had stopped working a month before she gave birth, and stayed at home for another month afterwards. Because of financial problems, she had to go back to her job as soon as possible.
This meant that she started working the evening shift. She would watch Charlie during the day until I came home from school. We were like ships passing in the night as she went off to work and left me to babysit.
By the time Mom was home from work, Charlie and I were asleep.
I barely got to see my mom; the rest of most of my teenage years were spent caring for my little sister. I wasn’t resentful. I didn’t hate my mom or my sister for that. I didn’t regret my mom having Charlie or anything like that. I loved them both to death.
I just wish things had been different somehow. I wish Charlie’s father had been a good person who could’ve helped us out. That’s not how life works though, and dwelling on thoughts like that only made me depressed. Besides, I know that Charlie’s birth only strengthened my character.
Before Charlie came along, I had no idea how to change a diaper. I liked children but wow, did they get on my nerves. If I saw a child throwing a tantrum in the store, I’d walk the opposite way. Now I know how to handle it. Now I’m prepared for any children I might have in the future.
And you know what? Having a younger sister showed me just how much work it is to have a kid. I love her but I’m going to wait awhile before I have any babies of my own.
I also understand the importance of having a baby with someone who is caring and responsible. I know how much my mom has suffered as a single parent. She gave us love and worked her hands raw to provide for the family, but her suffering would’ve been lessened if Kevin had been a good guy in the first place. At the same time, if Kevin weren’t the way he is, Charlie might not be the little sister I have now.
I will never forget when Charlie first learned how to write when she was five. One of the first things she wrote, in her jagged kindergartener handwriting, was, “I love my big sister.”
I love my mom and the rest of my family, but there is just something between me and Charlie that nothing else can compare to. Sisterhood is one of the greatest feelings.
I’m twenty-five now, and Charlie just turned nine. My mom remarried a nice man two years back, so he helps out a lot. She doesn’t have to work nearly as much, especially since I’m out on my own… though I still visit almost every day.
My mom and I still call my baby sister our “Valentine’s Day Miracle.” She’s a gift much better than any box of chocolates or roses.