When I get home, Mama is still worried about me. “I panic when you are sick, Tumi. Shall I take you to the doctor, my angel?”

But I tell her that I am feeling way, way better. Then I ask her to help me with my assignment. That way she’ll forget her idea of taking me to the doctor. Because I am sure the doctor will easily guess what is wrong with me.

So we sit at the table and Mama shows me how to draw designs of the baby clothes I want to sell. She gets out a book with traditional outfits from various cultures. I love spending time like that with my mom. And all the while, I am imagining how it will be with baby Beyonce here too. She will be sitting on my lap, cuddled up in a pretty pink babygro, making cute baby noises, resting her tiny head against my chest. How lovely that will be! For a moment I long so much for her that I wish she was here right now. Right this minute! And that I don’t have to wait months and months for her to arrive. Nine months, right? Well nine months minus two weeks.

Mama says, “Have you thought about a name yet?”

For one crazy moment I think Mama is talking about the baby. But of course she is talking about my business.

“I’ll need time for that,” I say. “It has to be something really special.”

And in bed that night, just as I am falling asleep, the best name just comes into my mind. Boom! Just like that! ‘Rad and Trad’. Yes, ‘Rad and Trad’. Rad for radical and Trad for traditional.

I go to sleep with my hands spread across my stomach, whispering, “Goodnight, my little Beyonce. Good night, Mommy’s brightest angel.”

And next morning at breakfast, I get sick in my stomach again. I understand about morning sickness. Your body is busy making space for a whole new little human being. How amazing is that?

But my mom is really worried now. “No, Tumi. Now we must get you to a doctor. I don’t like this at all. As soon as you come home from school, alright my angel?”

I try to argue. I try to tell her that now I feel much better. But she will not listen.

So when I get to school today, I am not smiling.

My best friend Victoria is also worried. “What is it, Tumi? What’s happened? Have you and Vincent broken up or something?”

For a moment I am tempted to tell her that in a few months time, she will be an auntie. The thought cheers me up at once. See? Just like a rollercoaster. Up and down and up again. No wonder my stomach is upset!

Because: imagine that! What could be more perfect than my baby having my best friend for her auntie? Or his auntie! I must be careful, I tell myself. If it is a little boy, I don’t want him to feel like he was second best. Maybe I must start thinking about a boy’s name too.

I am going to be the best mother in the world, I tell myself with a smile. Yes, I will get it just right. I will look up on the Internet for everything I need to know.

But then I remember about the doctor’s visit this evening and I feel awful all over again.

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Tell us what you think: Is it possible for a sixteen-year-old to be a good mother?