I sure hope my baby don’t come out all fucked-up and shit. ‘Cause I know I’m gonna be a good mother, and I’m totally ready, no matter what anybody say, but I don’t think I could deal with that. I mean, like, if something was wrong with it, that would suck so fuckin’ bad.
I’m a little worried because of some stuff Erin told me. She was saying how, like, if you party a lot, it can make the baby’s face all fucked-up. Like, if you drink too much, it could have these weird eyes that look kinda Chinese. That’s what she said.
It ain’t like I was surprised. I know how you gotta watch what you do when you’re having a baby. Like, you gotta make sure to eat, and you gotta not be running around and smoking three packs a day. I ain’t stupid. Now that I’m expecting on having a baby, I’ve cut down to just one pack, and I ain’t drinking except for weekends and paydays.
So, like, I’m being all healthy and shit now. But the problem is, I didn’t even know I was pregnant until this month. Back when I must of got pregnant, I wasn’t keeping track of things too good. It must have happened around when I got fired from Burger King—all because that bitch manager Denise searched my locker—and I was training at the Stop-N-Go. But then I missed nine days of work in a row, so I was like, fuck it, and I quit. I wasn’t seeing Gary or D’Shawn anymore because I was getting all serious with Troy from The Gift Box factory. (I was a seasonal there before I started at the Golden Corral two weeks ago, which is around when I moved back into my mom’s apartment, ’cause her old boyfriend Don took a trucking job, and she didn’t like living all alone over in that neighborhood because it ain’t too safe.) So, anyway, like I said, I wasn’t keeping track of things too good.
It’s kind of funny that I’m pregnant, ’cause when I was working on the assembly line at The Gift Box, I kept having to put these little ceramic-statue things in with the cheese and sausage and the other shit that went out in the orders we packed up. The statues were of little baby angels and kids in pajamas who were praying and doing other cute shit. As I was packing up the little statues, I remember thinking how nice it would be to have a baby to keep me company.
Well, shit, as it turned out, the whole time I was packing those kid statues into the boxes, thinking about how I’d love to have a little girl like the one on the “I’m Yours” statue that’s holding out the flowers, I was already pregnant. Isn’t that fucking crazy?
Now, don’t think I was trying to get knocked up or nothing. ‘Cause I wasn’t. But my best friend Tina had her first one when she was 15, and here I am 18 already, so it’s not bad that I didn’t get pregnant by accident until now. My mom always told me I should wait until I was living with someone, but I ain’t going for that corny-ass, old-fashioned shit.
But here’s why I’m buggin’ a little on the whole thing: Like I said, that’s when I was with Troy, and him and me, we were doing a lot of drinking around then, ’cause that’s when we was first getting to know each other. We did a lot of other shit, too, which I won’t go into detail about because even though I’m not with Troy anymore, we’re still friends, and I ain’t about to get him in trouble his P.O.
That’s why I’ve been thinking about how I hope the baby’s all right. I ain’t worried that it’s dead, because if it wasn’t still alive, I know it would come out, because that’s what happened to Tina once. I’m not even talking about that. I’m talking about, like, its brain and everything. A lot of people don’t know this, but a baby has a brain even before it’s born, and it’s the same brain it has when it grows up, so if something happens, the kid can come out like a retard.
You might think that ain’t a big deal, but it is, ’cause I want my baby to have a better life. My child is gonna get a education. She’s gonna get a good job and make lots of money, and we’re gonna go on vacations to the Bahamas together. She’ll have so much cash, I’ll be able to retire early and never have to work another shitty-ass job.
That’s why I hope she comes out okay. I want her to have a good life and everything, and that’s hard if you’re funny-looking and talk weird and drool all the time, ’cause then no one wants to talk to you. And then you’ll get depression and not even care about hanging out or partying or nothing.
So I been really thinking lately, because even though I ain’t seen no doctor yet, I know for sure I’m pregnant. It sure ain’t fat on my stomach, ’cause I’ve been on a diet since July. But I still gotta go in to the hospital and have them tell me if it’s a boy or a girl. I’ll do that just as soon as I tell my mom, even though I’m pretty sure she knows and just ain’t been saying nothing. And when I see a doctor, I’ll ask him about if he thinks the baby will come out okay.
Until then, I guess there ain’t nothing else I can do.