Fear no. 1: Babies
“Shit-fuck shit-fuck shit-fuck ...” I thought as I rushed to grab the baby. “Shit-fuck,” I said as she began to wail. Her piercing cries carried across the house and did nothing to array my panic. I was afraid I would drop her again so I placed her on the sofa and paced around wondering what it is that I was supposed to do.
All I could think of was the fact that I had just dropped the baby... that and a couple of ‘shit-fucks’. Her incessant wailing prompted me to pick her up and rock her as I felt tears threatening to fall from my eyes. What kind of shit mom was I? Not only had I dropped the baby but now I was on the verge of tears instead of finding a way to help my daughter.
Somehow I was able to find my phone and the cab driver’s number. He said he would be at my place in a jiffy. I smiled at that despite everything. Kimani was the only person I knew who actually used the word ‘jiffy’. The baby continued to cry all the while and I willed Kimani to hurry.
True to his word, he was there in a ‘jiffy’. “Where to, Madam?” he asked. All that had been going on in my mind was ‘shit-fuck’ so I said, “Shhh... Children’s Hospital.”
That, was an epiphany that I just had. You see, since a few months ago when my cousin and his wife got pregnant and had the most adorable baby boy I have been thinking that having a baby is not such a bad idea. My thoughts wouldn’t be so crazy were it not for the fact that I am 19, and barely in my second year of college.
Watching Juno didn’t help much. Anyone who has watched it has to agree with me that Emily Paige ought to be the official Patron Saint of teenage moms. But today, all those dreams have been shattered.
What was I thinking? I would make a shit mom. I would be one of those drop-the-baby-or-burn-it-with-hot-water kinds of moms. Nature must have been having a laugh at my fantasies. I would look ridiculous pregnant and with my luck, mine would probably be one of those bad-skin-and-flat-chests kind of pregnancy as opposed to a glossy-skin-full-chest-and-ass one.
I have no maternal instinct and most babies can sense that. I can’t hold one for even a minute before it starts howling. I suppose now that I have seen the light, I will leave teenage pregnancy to those who are better equipped for it... preferably someone with a wider pelvic girdle than mine.
Don’t get it twisted, I adore babies and maybe I will have my own litter some day. Supposing that one day when I think about it, the vision of a panic stricken me shouting ‘shit-fuck’ won’t have such power over me. For now, though, feel free to invite me for your baby showers. I can’t promise to agree to hold the baby though...