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Pregnant at Thirteen

Some Call It "Innocent" and Others Call It "Mentally Challenged"

By Jas•ManPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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It was midnight when my mother and I were watching Look Who’s Talking, snuggled up on our living room floor. I was three years old at the time and my mother was nineteen. Although I cannot remember the entire evening, I remember seeing little Mikey’s first spark of life in the womb of his mother just after she and her boss were kissing up a storm. The baby’s conception was played out through a hilarious dialogue, and just like that, at three years old I had an idea of how babies were made! Notice idea.

The first time I thought I was pregnant, I was just thirteen years old, and quite frankly—a virgin! We all know that virgins—apart from virgin Mary—cannot possibly be pregnant! It is impossible. I did not know that—even at thirteen. It all began a month after I got my first period. My mother made me read tons of books about the body of a woman. I learned a lot of interesting things, and literally never had half a clue what I was reading about. Some call it “innocent” and some call it “mentally challenged”! The nerve, right?

However, what I did learn from all the books is that women who are not planning to give the “eggos”—as I call them—in their fallopian tubes the gift of life, are typically very happy when they get their period every month. A monthly period means that they are not pregnant. Unfortunately—and I mean very unfortunately—I skimmed over the part of most or all the books that stated how irregular a thirteen year old’s periods could be. It is common for a girl just beginning her period to have an irregular cycle! That means, you may skip a period, but that does not mean you are pregnant.

I was convinced that I was very much pregnant. In fact, I knew that my “baby” was moving inside me, when really it was probably my dinner digesting. I was distraught! I played with baby dolls all the time, but I was getting ready to have a real baby. What on Earth would I tell my mother? All these thoughts were racing through my thirteen year old mind. Mind you, I had never even kissed a boy.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. On movies, when women were so distressed about being pregnant, I saw them tearfully go and get an abortion. I knew that word, go figure! I knew the word but had no idea how it worked. I was still under the impression that when a woman birthed a baby, the baby came out of her urethra. So, I lay in my bed one night and whispered to my “baby” that I was so sorry and could not keep it. I was too young, and my mother and father would be so upset with me. I wrapped my arms around my belly and squeezed as tights as I could until I thought it was enough. I was devastated.

The next morning, I felt like a normal thirteen year old again. I still had not gotten my period, but I was no longer feeling “pregnant”. All was blissful until my “baby”—again, probably my breakfast—moved inside me! I thought back to the movies I had seen and could not remember this happening to any of the women. I realized then that they go to hospitals to get the procedure done, and for me, that was not an option. I panicked and truly believed that I was the newest virgin mother. That night I mustered up enough strength—which honestly looked like pure distraught vulnerability—and told my mother the news. “I’m pregnant mommy. My period is late.”

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