Anything but Normal

by Melody Carlson

  Sophie continued to spend some time in the pregnancy center for group therapy sessions and personal counseling, and she signed up for Mrs. Vincent’s childbirth class. Sometimes she went there just to visit.

  “Leah had her baby last night,” Natasha told Sophie in late January. “A boy. Seven pounds, six ounces. Healthy.”

  “She’s still planning to keep him?”

  Natasha shrugged. “That’s what she’s been saying.”

  “Do you think it’s because she hopes her boyfriend will come back to her?”

  “She still thinks he’ll change his mind in time. But I think he’s just like the rest of the guys—making his fast break.”

  Sophie sighed. “Not all guys are like that.”

  “No.” Natasha made a face. “Your Wes is perfect. He wants to marry you and be a daddy to your kid.” She lowered her voice. “But then he’s not really the daddy. The real daddy bowed out a long time ago.”

  “Point taken.”

  “What is it with guys anyway?”

  Sophie chuckled. “You mean besides the fact that most teen guys think with a part of their anatomy that’s not even connected to their brain?”

  Natasha laughed. “Why don’t you write an editorial about that?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “I heard that your school paper is more widely read than ever this year.” Natasha grinned. “That’s because you write about things related to sex.”

  “You mean like pregnancy?”

  “Yeah, that’s related to sex. But you’ve written about birth control and abortion too. What about adoption? Why haven’t you done that yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m working on an adoption article right now.”

  “You can use my story, if you keep it anonymous.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sophie knew that Natasha had made her final decision. Going against her mother’s wishes, Natasha was working on an open adoption. Not so much so that she could be involved in the child’s life, but because her mother wanted to leave that door open. It was a compromise. The baby was due in early March, and after recovering, Natasha would return to her high school to finish out her junior year. She told Sophie that she might even go to the prom if she was asked. Natasha was so pretty, Sophie thought there was a good chance.

  There was no chance that Sophie would attend her prom in early May. Despite Wes’s invitation, she had decided that being full-term pregnant in a prom dress was just too much for her. There was only so much humiliation a girl could handle.

  Sophie hadn’t told anyone, including Wes, that it was her birthday. But on February 12, she turned eighteen. Old enough to vote, be in the armed forces, and have a baby. Oh yeah, a girl could have a baby at thirteen too. She knew this for a fact since a thirteen-year-old had just been admitted to the pregnancy center—the youngest girl there.

  On her way to the cafeteria, Sophie felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She thought it was Wes, but to her surprise, it was Carrie Anne. “Happy birthday,” she said quietly.

  “Hey, thanks.” Sophie smiled at her.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Okay.”

  “Sophie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” Carrie Anne looked like she was close to tears.

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “For treating you the way I have. For being such a pathetic best friend.”

  “It’s okay.” Sophie put her hand on Carrie Anne’s arm. “I know it’s not easy being friends with a knocked-up girl.”

  “Well, God really convicted me,” Carrie Anne said. “I know I was wrong. But the truth was, it wasn’t just you being pregnant.”

  Sophie nodded. “I kind of ruined your illusions about Dylan, right?”

  “Yeah . . . but you’re right. They were illusions.” She lowered her voice. “And have you heard?”

  “What?”

  “He got another girl pregnant.”

  Sophie blinked. “No way!”

  Carrie Anne nodded. “I overheard my parents talking about it. I’m not supposed to know. Can you believe it?”

  Sophie sighed. “Unfortunately I can.”

  As the weather got warmer, Sophie got bigger. By late April, it seemed that every part of her body was screaming. Her ankles were swollen, her back hurt, her bladder was always too full, her breasts were bigger than ever, and the skin on her stomach resembled a road map with the new stretch marks that seemed to pop out daily.

  “I wish you could just induce me,” she told Dr. Phillips.

  “Don’t worry, Sophie, it shouldn’t be long now.”

  “That depends on how you define long.” Sophie struggled to sit up. “Every day feels like it’s about seventy-two hours long now. And I haven’t slept a night in weeks.”

  “Some people say that’s nature’s way of getting a mother ready for nightly feedings.”

  “Well, that won’t be a problem for me,” Sophie assured her.

  “So you’ve made up your mind.”

  Sophie felt the baby kicking and rubbed her belly. “I was pretty sure all along,” she admitted. “But it’s still hard. Especially as the baby got bigger. Like she has a personality of her own and everything. Sometimes I can imagine being a mom, and I think I’ll be a good one—someday.”

  “I think you will too.”

  “But I think the kindest thing for the baby is to be in a loving home with two parents. I’ve been working with a good attorney, and I know the couple getting my baby is as good as it gets.”

  “And how do you define that?”

  “I know, it’s tricky,” Sophie said. “My parents are really great. They’ve actually been really great throughout the pregnancy. I mean, we had our moments, but mostly they’re cool. But the parents I picked for my baby have been trying to have kids for years. He’s a public defender, and she’s a freelance editor who works from her home. And they’re Christians.”

  “Sounds like a good choice.”

  “I think so.” Yet Sophie wasn’t sure. What if her child grew up and questioned why her mother had given her up? What if the parents weren’t all they seemed to be? What if their marriage was in trouble? What if, like some couples, they got pregnant after adopting and Sophie’s baby suddenly became like the redheaded stepchild?

  Sophie knew she could ask “what ifs” until her brain burst, but it wouldn’t change anything. Mostly she could simply trust her instincts on this and pray. She was committed to pray for her daughter for the rest of her life. And if her daughter ever wanted to meet her or needed to know about her biological roots, Sophie was willing to go there.

  “Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you take me to the prom?”

  Sophie gasped as Wes drove her to the hospital.

  “Keep breathing,” he told her. “Like your birthing coach told you to do.”

  “I am breathing, silly. I’m just not having a contraction right now.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “But can you imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been if we’d been out on the dance floor and my water had broken?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, we would’ve been the hot topic of the evening.”

  “It was bad enough having to leave the movie theater. I hope they can get that seat clean—” Suddenly her body was gripped by a giant vise that threatened to squeeze the very life out of her, and the next thing she knew, she was screaming.

  “Breathe, Sophie, breathe!”

  “Hee hee hee hee,” she hissed over and over just like Carrie Anne’s mom had taught her to do. She felt like her body was being ripped apart, like someone had taken a hot poker and stabbed her in the back with it. How did women survive this?

  After what seemed hours but was truly just minutes, Sophie was being wheeled into the labor room. And that’s when the real fun began. Everything she’d felt from the beginning only intensified until she really did believe she was going to die.

  “Do your breathing,” Mrs. Vincent told her.
“Stay on top of it, Sophie.”

  “Keep it up, sweetie,” her mom said, “you’re doing great.” Mrs. Vincent squeezed her hand. “This contraction is almost over.”

  On and on it went until finally Sophie was ready for an epidural and a little bit of relief. “I can’t believe women actually choose to do this on purpose,” Sophie said hoarsely. “I swear I’ll never have sex again.”

  “Childbirth,” Mrs. Vincent said, “the best form of birth control.”

  Sophie sighed and closed her eyes.

  “That’s right, honey,” Mom said, “get some rest.”

  “Because you’re going to need it,” Mrs. Vincent added.

  And she did need it. It took a full hour of back labor and pushing until she was certain her eyeballs were going to pop out before she heard Dr. Phillips say that the head was emerging. By then Sophie was in so much pain that even the sound of the baby’s cries went right over her. Apparently that’s when she passed out.

  When Sophie came to, she had been moved to a regular room, and all was quiet. She reached down to touch her stomach and could tell that the baby was gone. Not that her tummy was gone—it still seemed abnormally big, only now it was floppy too. And she could tell that the living, moving life-form that had been with her for nine months was no longer there. To her surprise, she began to cry.

  “These are from Wes,” her mom said as she came in with a bouquet of yellow roses. “And Dad sends his love, but you know how he is about hospitals. Are you okay?”

  “I—I think I’m okay. But I miss her.”

  “You miss her?”

  “The baby.” Sophie clung to her stomach and cried even harder.

  Mom looked shocked. “Do you wish you were still pregnant?”

  “No, of course not.” Sophie firmly shook her head. “It’s just weird. I miss her and I feel sad.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  Originally Sophie had told everyone that she didn’t want to see her baby. She had wanted to have her, sign the papers, and just move on. Now she was unsure. “Maybe so . . .”

  Her mom nodded. “I think that’s wise, sweetie. She’s such a cutie pie too. She looks so much like you did.”

  Within minutes Sophie was holding her very own baby in her arms. The baby was so perfect, so sweet, so complete, that it took Sophie’s breath away. She touched a soft cheek, and the baby turned her head and looked into her eyes. Sophie’s eyes filled with tears, and it felt as if someone had just slid a dull knife into her heart. “Here, Mom,” she said quickly. “Please, just take her.”

  “But, honey, that wasn’t—”

  “Just take her. Now.”

  Her mom took the baby and left the room. Once again Sophie cried. She sobbed so hard that she got the hiccups. Even then she couldn’t stop crying. Why was this so painful? Why wasn’t she just relieved? After all, it was over now. For months that’s all she had wanted—for it to be over. And now that it was over, she was a basket case.

  “Here.” Mom handed her a glass of water. “Drink this.”

  Sophie slowly drank as Mom rubbed her shoulders. “You did good in there, honey. Real good. And it’s only natural that you should feel sad now. You’re only human, sweetie. If you didn’t react like this, I’d wonder where your heart was.”

  “My heart feels like it’s in pieces.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “She’s so pretty, Mom.”

  “She is. The attorney told me that the adoptive parents were practically delirious with joy.” She pointed to the huge bouquet of gorgeous pink tulips. “That’s from them.”

  Sophie looked at the tulips and sighed. “She’ll be in good hands, won’t she, Mom?”

  “You know she will.”

  “How big was she anyway?”

  “She was nine pounds and seven ounces.”

  “Wow.” Sophie shook her head. “No wonder it hurt so much.”

  After a short nap, the attorney came in with the final paperwork. As she signed her name, she felt that dull knife slicing through her heart again. “I’m not sure which hurt more,” she told him as she handed the papers back, “giving birth or giving her away.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” He peered down at her with a creased brow. “Because you don’t have to do this, Sophie. I’ll admit the adoptive parents would be crushed. But it’s your choice, you know that.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “And I know it’s the right thing to do. I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”

  He made a sad smile. “Maybe that’s how God felt.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, when he gave up his Son.”

  She considered this.

  “It’s a huge sacrifice, Sophie. Very unselfish too.”

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “But it’s because I love her that I can do it . . . even if it does hurt.”

  “Unfortunately love hurts sometimes.”

  She nodded. “You got that right.”

  Sophie knew she wasn’t the same person after going through nine months of pregnancy and giving birth. Oh, sure, she could pretend to be the same funny, witty girl as before, but she knew she had changed. And that was okay. Some of the changes had to do with how she looked at life, and even more how she looked at others. She realized this experience had forced her to grow up—as a human and as a Christian.

  Although she felt she’d been forced to grow up a little too quickly, facing questions and decisions that most teens would rather postpone, she still knew that her life as a teenager wasn’t over—not like she’d believed it had been before. Because now she knew for certain that God really did give fresh starts. He really did allow “do-overs.”

  So when Sophie recommitted herself to her purity pledge, she did it in private. And when she felt the reassurance that God was restoring her purity—in his own way—she knew she would keep this moment stashed away deep inside of her. No way was she going to make this a big public show. This time it was a vow between her and God—alone. And this time she knew she would keep that vow. With God’s help, she would keep it.

  Also available from Melody Carlson:

  Just Another Girl

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve been stuck in the middle. Like being dealt a loser’s hand with no more turns to take, my luck seemed to run out even before I was born. My older sister, Rose, got all the good stuff. Not only did she get the looks in the family, but being an energetic and fairly demanding child, she got the best part of my parents’ attention too. I’m pretty sure this is true, because I’ve seen all the photos of young Rose with my parents—happy snapshots of the three of them laughing and having fun, all taken before I came along.

  By the time I was born, only two years later, my mom was already getting a little worn-out by Rose’s antics. And I’ve heard that my dad was severely disappointed that I was not the son he’d been longing for. If I’d been a boy, I would’ve been named Norman Nelson Flynn, after my dad, but because I was just another girl, my dad left the name-assigning task to my mother, a frustrated botanist who never graduated from college. Naturally, she decided to call me Aster. This is the name of a common and insignificant little flower that’s not very pretty—some people even consider it a weed. Of course, my mom swears she loves asters for their simplicity and hardiness, but I’m still not convinced.

  When I was about two, the third baby came along, and if it wasn’t bad enough that she was another girl (my dad had already purchased an expensive baseball mitt for her), she also suffered from birth defects. Fortunately for this baby, she was quiet and good-natured, and so soft and creamy-white-looking that my mother named her Lily.

  My dad hung around for a few more years, but it was easy to see, even for a little kid, that the man was miserable. I remember trying my best to make him happy. And knowing his aversion to his youngest daughter and her special needs, I would try to humor Lily if she ever cried when he was around. I would even try to act like a boy and play ball wi
th Dad in the yard. But, looking back, I can see now that we were steadily losing him. And just before I turned ten, Dad left our house for work one day and never came back. That’s when my mom gave me Lily. “You take care of her,” she said that summer day. “She likes you.”

  That was seven years ago, and it seems like I’ve been taking care of Lily ever since. It’s not that I don’t love Lily. I do. But sometimes I just get tired, or, like my mom likes to say about herself, “I’m totally burned-out.” Of course, I don’t say this back to my mom because that would be like throwing fuel onto the fire. Why go there? But sometimes, and more often lately, I think that I deserve to have a life of my own too.

  Melody Carlson is the award-winning author of around two hundred books, many of them for teens, including the Diary of a Teenage Girl series, the TrueColors series, and the Carter House Girls series. She and her husband met years ago while volunteering as Young Life counselors. They continue to serve on the Young Life adult committee in central Oregon today. Visit Melody’s website at www.melodycarlson.com.

  Aster Flynn Wants a

  Life of Her Own . . .

  But will her family get in her way?

  Available at your local bookstore.