How do you tell your parents that you are pregnant when you've just turned 18 years old? "These things are never accurate," said my best friend Jena, matter-of-factly, after positive test number 5. I wanted so badly to believe her. "Maybe you just have highly acidic urine?" That's it! Bingo. I just have highly acidic urine. Problem solved.
I guess it was after positive test number 7 that I finally started facing reality. I had to tell Maureen and Keith the news. But what in the world was I going to say? My parents are very strict people. Though not huge on positive reinforcement, they're pretty big on negative reinforcement. Considering the last time I got grounded was four years prior, after an 8th grade dance when I was waiting for my parents to pick me up at Wendy's instead of Pizza Hut, I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.
I started walking down the hall to my parents' room. Whew. Deep breath. Count to three, and exhale. Got it. No, I don't got it! Retreat, retreat! Back to home base! This series of events happened a few times, until I finally figured it was now or never. I was going to try the "immaculate conception" excuse, but that only worked for Mary. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, right? I walked into my mom's room with a guilty look plastered on my face. "What's wrong?" she asked casually as she folded the last of the laundry. I tried to answer back in the same casual tone. "Oh, nothing. Well, actually, um....well, you see....I..." Not working."Something kind of bad happened, and I don't want you to be mad at me." Mom: "Don't tell me you are pregnant..." Silence....
There's quite nothing like an awkward silence. And the look on her face when I said, "kind of?" You would have thought I just told her that I killed a man, robbed a bank, and had the get-away car waiting for us outside. She was mad. Really mad. Super mad. Incredibly (okay, you get it). But the worst part wasn't the mad part. I could deal with that. It was the part about letting my parents down and the disappointment I saw on their faces. And on top of that, my hopes of earning a swimming scholarship at a Division I school were ruined. Everything I had worked for, all of my athletic achievements, down the drain in one foul swoop.
Good job, Amy Hutton. Good job.
My mom made me go to the doctor to confirm the previous 7 tests (I hope that made you laugh). My primary care physician wasn't exactly chipper either. "And how old are you?" she asked in a scolding tone. "18" I answered sheepishly. She treated me like I was inferior. Gosh, I know that I was only 18 years old, but I didn't kill anyone and I wasn't going to jail. Why was everyone acting like this? I was going to have a baby! Of course I didn't do it on purpose, but I saw first-hand the negative stigma that teenage pregnancy carries. Isn't having a baby supposed to be the happiest time of a person's life? At that moment, while sitting alone in the doctor's office, it was the worst.
Someone recently told me that my blog was "too sad." I'm not putting myself out there and sharing my story because I want people to feel bad for me. On the contrary. I just want to be honest. I also want people to realize the reality of teenage pregnancy and the how negatively it is perceived by our culture. It's no wonder that young women think they have to run off and get an abortion when they experience an unplanned pregnancy. Instead of shunning young mothers for being with-child, we should embrace it, celebrate it, and help these women cope with it by promoting viable resources like adoption. Most people don't even know that open adoption is an option. I am happy to share my successful open adoption story with others, and I can only hope that it changes at least one woman's mind who is considering abortion.
During a recent meeting, we started talking about personality types. I vaguely remembered taking the Myers-Briggs personality test last spring, so I went home and found my old report. As I began reading the 2 page summary of my "type," I was astounded that I never really paid much attention to it until this point. I remember receiving it last year, glancing over it briefly, and then placing it in a binder to collect dust.
But this time was different. I was searching for answers. How could four letters, ESFJ, categorize me into such a perfect nutshell. Could four letters really describe Amy Marie Hutton? I began reading. "ESFJ's are sociable," yes, true. "They have good communication skills and are usually quite tactful," good so far, but knew that already. Suddenly, I did a double-take when I got to the middle of the report. "ESFJ's strive to develop harmony in their relationships, and it is essential to their well-being. ESFJ's want harmony in their relationships, but they also want above all else to do the right thing, two goals which are not always compatible. ESFJ's can have too many "shoulds," which may lead to excessive amounts of guilt..." Well slap my knee and call me Charlie!
I couldn't have said it better myself. The first thing I thought about was my struggle with deciding whether or not to place Deanna with her adoptive family. Maybe this is why I had such a hard time with my decision? Since I could not satisfy the desires of my family (who wanted me to keep Deanna), my well-being was diminished. Robbie's family, who already established a relationship with Deanna's prospective adopters, thought it would be best to allow them to raise Deanna, since Robbie and I were so young and unprepared for parenthood. I was stuck in the middle of two families, both who wanted the best for Deanna and myself, but by taking two completely different courses of action. i.e."two goals which are not always compatible."
I really wanted to be that young mom who took my daughter everywhere, dressed her in adorable clothes, and proved everyone wrong who doubted my ability to raise this little girl. I know that I could have done it. But I also knew (deep down inside, and my stubbornness did not allow me admit this until now) that Deanna deserved a real family--a loving couple who were married, had great jobs, a home, a big yard, a dog, and a perfect life. A family who had everything they could have ever wanted--except a child. I almost felt selfish for wanting to keep Deanna. Here I was, a scared 18-year-old who had absolutely no intention of getting pregnant, knowing that this family had tried so long to have children and had prayed for nothing more than a healthy baby. It just didn't make sense.
I'm not sure why people often say to me, "I never could have done what you did!" Is that a compliment? I'm not really sure. I understand now, more than ever, why people say parents will do anything for their children. I don't think you can really judge somebody else's decisions until you are in their shoes. I just hope Deanna looks back and realizes that I gave her more on the day she was born than I could have ever given her today.
As Deanna gets older, I can't help but wonder if our personality types will be similar. I know that she is already showing signs of having the Type-A, go-get-em personality (compliments of Amy Hutton, yes?) and that she is just as mischievous as I was as a three and a half year old (example: the day she bit Hank's tail and blatantly denied it while spitting out a mouth full of fur). Only time will tell, but no matter what her "four letters" will be someday, if she turns out to be anything like the people I chose to raise her, I think she'll be in
very good shape...
How do you tell your parents that you are pregnant when you've just turned 18 years old? "These things are never accurate," said my best friend Jena, matter-of-factly, after positive test number 5. I wanted so badly to believe her. "Maybe you just have highly acidic urine?" That's it! Bingo. I just have highly acidic urine. Problem solved.
I guess it was after positive test number 7 that I finally started facing reality. I had to tell Maureen and Keith the news. But what in the world was I going to say? My parents are very strict people. Though not huge on positive reinforcement, they're pretty big on negative reinforcement. Considering the last time I got grounded was four years prior, after an 8th grade dance when I was waiting for my parents to pick me up at Wendy's instead of Pizza Hut, I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.
I started walking down the hall to my parents' room. Whew. Deep breath. Count to three, and exhale. Got it. No, I don't got it! Retreat, retreat! Back to home base! This series of events happened a few times, until I finally figured it was now or never. I was going to try the "immaculate conception" excuse, but that only worked for Mary. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, right? I walked into my mom's room with a guilty look plastered on my face. "What's wrong?" she asked casually as she folded the last of the laundry. I tried to answer back in the same casual tone. "Oh, nothing. Well, actually, um....well, you see....I..." Not working."Something kind of bad happened, and I don't want you to be mad at me." Mom: "Don't tell me you are pregnant..." Silence....
There's quite nothing like an awkward silence. And the look on her face when I said, "kind of?" You would have thought I just told her that I killed a man, robbed a bank, and had the get-away car waiting for us outside. She was mad. Really mad. Super mad. Incredibly (okay, you get it). But the worst part wasn't the mad part. I could deal with that. It was the part about letting my parents down and the disappointment I saw on their faces. And on top of that, my hopes of earning a swimming scholarship at a Division I school were ruined. Everything I had worked for, all of my athletic achievements, down the drain in one foul swoop.
Good job, Amy Hutton. Good job.
My mom made me go to the doctor to confirm the previous 7 tests (I hope that made you laugh). My primary care physician wasn't exactly chipper either. "And how old are you?" she asked in a scolding tone. "18" I answered sheepishly. She treated me like I was inferior. Gosh, I know that I was only 18 years old, but I didn't kill anyone and I wasn't going to jail. Why was everyone acting like this? I was going to have a baby! Of course I didn't do it on purpose, but I saw first-hand the negative stigma that teenage pregnancy carries. Isn't having a baby supposed to be the happiest time of a person's life? At that moment, while sitting alone in the doctor's office, it was the worst.
Someone recently told me that my blog was "too sad." I'm not putting myself out there and sharing my story because I want people to feel bad for me. On the contrary. I just want to be honest. I also want people to realize the reality of teenage pregnancy and the how negatively it is perceived by our culture. It's no wonder that young women think they have to run off and get an abortion when they experience an unplanned pregnancy. Instead of shunning young mothers for being with-child, we should embrace it, celebrate it, and help these women cope with it by promoting viable resources like adoption. Most people don't even know that open adoption is an option. I am happy to share my successful open adoption story with others, and I can only hope that it changes at least one woman's mind who is considering abortion.
