I was nervous. Didn’t have a clue what to say. “Um… well, I already have most of the big things like a pram and cot and stuff…” I mumbled and stuttered, my cheeks burned – I’ve never been good at being the centre of attention. To be honest, I’d thought she would just give David a number and that would be it.

“Okay, well, what you should do is get a list together, and then we can work from there…” I nodded earnestly, trying not to look like the complete ignoramus that I was.

“Hang on…” David’s mother had something to say. All eyes swivelled to her, David’s face all thunder. He knew what was coming.

“How do we know it’s even his child? We don’t know that for sure”, she said.

Oh my Gawd! Bloody gobsmacked, I was. My flabbers were utterly gasted. Was this woman serious? Why had she never brought this up before? Did she really think I’d been sleeping around? Or was she just trying to find a way out of the money issue?

David snorted in disgust and shook his head. He mumbled something about “being ridiculous”. They’d been through this before, I was sure.

My father may have jumped up and said something like “Now see here lady…”

I just sat there, my mouth hanging open, my cheeks threatening to spontaneously combust. I wanted to cry. I wanted to smack her. But no, I just sat. Maintenance Lady quickly tried to bring some calm and rationality to the situation, to defuse the coming apocalypse before things got too heated and she missed her tea break. I swear, I saw her look at the clock.

“Now, I really don’t think that’s an issue. I mean, we’re talking about a fourteen-year-old girl here,” she said in a reasonable tone of voice. I could have kissed her – I forgave the indiscreet clockwatching, she was, of course, legally entitled to her tea break and I wouldn’t dream of keeping her from it. Suddenly she was my new best friend. She turned to me.

“Tracy, is it David’s child? Are you sure about that?” I guess she had to ask.

“Yes, I’m sure. Of course I’m sure.”

She seemed to accept that and no more was said about it. David’s mother wasn’t happy. She didn’t believe me – okay, not entirely accurate. She didn’t want to believe me, but yes, she knew. Just like David knew, and had tried to convince her. That meant something to me. He didn’t have to speak up against his mother that day. He could have kept quiet and forced me into a paternity test and more complications. But he didn’t. I should remember that more often. It should count for something.

The rest of the meeting passed by in a blur. I went home and made my list of expenses (lists being my thing, as you know), but we never handed it in and ended up not claiming maintenance from David at all.

***

Well, there you have it. My pregnancy in a nutshell. Physically, it was just an ordinary pregnancy like any other. Emotionally, it was more complicated. But I got through it. Once out of school, I enjoyed being pregnant. I loved my belly. I loved feeling my baby move. I loved learning about pregnancy, birth and parenthood. I threw myself into it, I embraced it all, and I think I did a good job.

My studying was going well and as a family we were finding our equilibrium, a new way of being with each other. And I was finding out who I really was. It was a special time for me, and I’ll always be grateful for it. Of course, I had moments of doubt, but every mother does. Maybe my doubts were more justifiable, maybe more amplified, given my youth, but I never once said I’d changed my mind. As afraid as I was, I knew I was doing the right thing. Although I worried and obsessed that I’d be a terrible mother, somewhere deep down I knew we’d be fine. That little voice that had first spoken to me on the day I found out I was pregnant was positively chatty now – it felt like the voice of my child, coming from a different time and place. A time and place of before – the place he’d been waiting for me, until I was ready for him.

The voice reassured me, comforted me, encouraged me to be brave. I so wanted to meet him. But first, my biggest challenge. The birth. Of course, I was convinced I’d never be able to do it. I’ve since learnt that everybody feels that way. Knowing that wouldn’t have helped at all, though. I was scared shitless (although that’s not entirely correct, given the whole enema debacle. Had I been truly scared shitless, I may have been spared that humiliation.)