The summer going into my seventh grade year, I was having a normal day in July. Nothing felt out of place. Everything was the same. We were eating at a new pizza place that I wanted to try out, and I was enjoying that extra crispy margherita pizza.
As I stuffed my second slice into my mouth, my parents said something that made my heart drop – “We’re having a baby.”
My brain started buzzing. I wanted to cry. The air conditioning was ringing in my ears.
I was burnt out trying my best to be the perfect daughter, trying to hold it together, trying to keep everything the same. I wasn’t prepared for this change. I didn’t have time to help with a baby. I already had two younger siblings. I was barely keeping myself alive and they wanted a baby.
All my worry turned to anger, even hatred. I could feel my skin start to burn up. How could they do this to me? How selfish can they be? I felt so unloved and so ignored. They couldn’t see I was struggling but they wanted a whole new human being to care for.
“Delete it, I don’t have time to look after another kid,” I told them.
The look of joy on their faces started to downturn into frowns and a hurt expression appeared. I wanted them to agree with me – to see how I felt and how I was feeling. To see the effect this baby would have on everyone.
They stared at me with cold faces and said, “No.”
My heart dropped. This meant even more stress to go on top of my two clubs, three UIL Academic Team events, jujitsu and sports. Perfect. I was so overwhelmed.
My eyes started to swell up with tears. You could hear the hurt in my breathing. I thought I was going to have a panic attack.
I made my stance clear. Made my boundaries known. “I’m not going to take care of this baby at all,” I told my parents.
The next few months, I was the worst. I would not leave my room. From the time I got home until the next morning, I stayed there.
No talk of new siblings could follow me. I didn’t want to share my parents’ love. It had already been divided enough. I couldn’t stand the thought of them loving me less or loving the baby more.
Anxiety turned into my best friend, every night without fail it would creep up on me and keep me awake all hours through the night. I would think about the awful stuff I said or all the work I had to do. I would think about what I should wear tomorrow or if everyone secretly hates me. Like a guinea pig on a wheel, my mind would race like that for hours on end – the butterflies of anxiety in my stomach never dying.
I think the first time I started to actually feel happy again was when I felt my sister kick. The anger slowly faded away and the reality of the situation got a little clearer. A touch to my mom’s belly and a gentle kick to my hand, I felt the warmth of the baby and my mom looked so happy. This made me feel even worse about not wanting the baby but I couldn’t go back on my decision of not liking the child.
I had to hold my ground. I had to be angry. If I wasn’t the angry one, who would be? Who could I blame my unhappiness for?
When my mom was in the hospital I got a message and an image attached. It was an ugly thing with a big head but it made me want to sob. “Daisy Mae Jackson.” My dad was holding her all suited up in hospital gear. It made me laugh but everyone looked so happy.
I got sad imagining the joy there while I sat grumpy at school.
When Daisy came home, I couldn’t help but want to hold her. I was scared to break her. She couldn’t hold her head up and was barely aware of reality. But whenever I held her, I knew I couldn’t hate her anymore.
She was so warm, so nice. Without knowing any words, she said everything I wanted to hear. Every time I held her from then on out, I felt so loved.
Now she’s 3, and I couldn’t imagine life without her. Everyday she shows me I’m worth more than I think. When I get home, she hugs me and tells me about her day. At night, she comes into my room with a pillow and blanket ready to spend the night in my bed.
Whenever I feel sad or lonely, Daisy is always there to tell me I’m her favorite and she loves me so much.
