Read Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum Online
Authors: Vi Grim
Tags: #coming of age, #pregnancy, #emily taylor, #pregnancy and childbirth, #vi grim, #age 14 to adult, #the teenage mum, #young mum
Emily Taylor - The Teenage Mum (9 page)
I discuss the concert with
Jesus because I think he'd like to do something. He suggests
inviting Bob Marley and his reggae band and Janice. We all like
Janice. Jesus and Azziz will invite their friends who normally hang
out at the cafe. They're really laid back and cool.
Janice arrives a few days early
and comes to stay with me. We sing, we paint wonderful abstract
paintings and hang them on the walls, then paint ourselves bright
yellow and chill out and chat.
We do the grisly job of killing
a sheep, and on the day of the reggae concert we catch fresh fish
and prepare the food. It's really simple; spit roasted lamb with
potatoes and corn and fish wrapped in tin foil cooked in the
embers. No messing around with salads, or puddings. The afternoon
passes in a flash; well it does for me anyway. Having been up since
dawn helping set things up, I have a sudden unexpected weary, and
curl up on a sofa in the shade of a coconut palm, surfacing
occasionally to listen to the reggae beat but not opening my eyes
until the sun has slipped behind the hills and our guests have
departed.
She struts around the house buzzing, then opens her mouth and out
flies a cicada. She toys with them until they buzz no more, then
lightly roasts them and swallows them whole. She's caught so many,
it's surprising that there's any left on the asteroid. As the end
of August approaches and the sun starts to lose its hard edge, the
few surviving cicadas run out of puff and their song falters and
dies.
all summer, it's been my lightweight summer dresses. They float
about me like I'm hardly wearing anything. Now the weather's
cooler, I need clothes, but nothing fits except my XXXL jumper. I
wrap myself up in a sheet and walk around the house being
Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of fertility. What can I wear? I need
fat people's clothes.
'You could go to Zwingly and
see Coco?' suggests Jesus.
'No,' I say abruptly, 'I'm not
going to Zwingly.'
'You did get your fingers
burnt, didn't you?'
'Yes, it hurt. I don't want to
see James again and everyone else there will think I'm a
tart.'
'Do you really think they're
that interested in your life?'
'Well no, but I'm not
going.'
friends. I make them tea and fresh melting moments and we walk up
to the bluff and all sit on the very edge throwing bits of banana
to the seagulls. They all have different ideas about what I should
be wearing, so ask me what I would like.
'I need more than one
outfit, so why don't you each of you make something,' I
suggest.
Back at the cottage I model for
them in my green knickers and they make sketches of me. Then they
dress me up. It's so amazing to watch them work. They pick weird
and wacky outfits out of thin air and sketch me wearing them. They
even draw some in my diary for me.
They measure me up and
disappear, arriving back a few days later for fitting. I'm a bit of
a moving target cos my bump keeps growing, but their outfits have
ample space for growth. Coco has made me a flowing burgundy dress
with a matching cashmere cardigan. Ozzie' creation is a bright
yellow jump suit. It's made out of fine velvet, with stretchy stuff
around the middle to support the baby, and has big zips and pockets
all over the place. Vidal has gone for a more casual look with a
pair of faded jeans that are stretchy at the waist and a loose
shirt and sweatshirt. Now I'm sorted. I like the yellow jump suit
most; it's so happy and bright.
It's so neat having all these
wonderful people turn up when I need something. I must do something
for Zeus one day to thank him for saving me. I thank Coco and
friends and they head off up the beach towards Azziz's cafe,
splashing in the waves as they go.
plenty, and there's lots to do in the garden. Jesus and a pack of
zinodes arrive and we work all day picking and pulling and
harvesting. The zinodes store the potatoes, onions and big orange
pumpkins in a shed built into the bank behind my house. It's nice
and cool in there and they'll last for ages. The rest they freeze
and preserve so I'll have plenty to see me through the winter.
I sing to my baby, I talk to
him, and play music to him. When he's in a playful mood he fights
back when I poke him. He plays football all night and sleeps all
day. I call him Zinzan, which quickly becomes Zinny.
When the first cold snap of
winter arrives, dusting the mountain with snow, Jesus and Azziz
come around and chop firewood, filling up the wood shed, then
piling the rest up against the wall of my living room, so it dries
out quickly.
I wonder if this is what it is like to be a fat person. It must be
such hard work. Every movement is hard work and you can't see your
knees. My tummy button, which has always been an inny becomes an
outy. I push it back in but the baby pushes it out again. If I want
it to stay in, I have to walk around with my finger on
it.
I get a call from President
Obama. While I'm worrying about innies and outies, he has bigger
worries. He has an election on his hands and can't reach God.
'Sorry,' I say, 'God's not
talking, can I help?'
'It'll be the same as last
election; I just need a little divine intervention.'
'Get off,' I say,
'Oh please, my ratings at the
polls are down,' pleads the President.
'Why,' I ask.
'The health care reform, the
war I inherited and the missile attack that killed Azziz, Son of
God and that girl Emily,'
'That girl Emily, that's
me!'
The President is silent for a
moment, then says, 'Oops, sorry Emily!'
'I should think so!'
'I know it's a big ask but
could you just do a little something to help, a major natural
disaster like a hurricane strike on New York would be perfect.
Sandy is forming in the Caribbean right now.'
'You're not getting any help
from me. That's cheating!'
'All is fair in love and
politics. I'll ask the other guys, just thought I'll try you
first.'
get up courage to ask Dr Florence along. The baby may arrive early
and we need to be prepared.
I'm scared to ask her to come.
She probably won't approve. I'm not married and not even fifteen.
Just thinking about it, I can feel her vibes. She'll probably wash
my mouth out with soap and scrub me with a scrubbing brush until
I'm pink all over and cleansed of my sins.
'What do you think?' I ask
Castor.
'Hmmm,' he answers, obviously
thinking the same as me.
'Is there anyone else?'
'Not really, there's a quack
and a witch doctor on Zwingly, but Florence is your best bet.'
I'm tempted to just have the
baby. It would probably be okay but I'd never forgive myself if
something went wrong, like the baby lived and I died. Then it would
have no mum or dad.
'I'll tell her it was an
immaculate conception, she'll understand that.'
'She just might,' says Castor,
'and it's not too far from the truth.'
'Only about a mile,' I say,
giving him a wink.
After all the worry, she's
surprisingly cool about me being pregas.
'Children are a gift from God,'
she says, and looking at my tummy adds, 'God is obviously smiling
on you.'
It's a bit of a contrast from
having Janice stay. We wash the whole house down with vinegar, eat
gruel for breakfast and say prayers three times a day. I can't
swear, not even a proxy or a piffle, and have to watch my Ps and
Qs. How badly do I want a midwife?
Luckily my baby arrives early,
he wasn't expected until after Jesus's birthday but he's dead keen
to get out and start his footballing career.
much, he has no space to move. The only direction to go is out, and
out he comes. I won't go into all the details expect to say that
it's like giving birth to a glasshouse. I need a lot of stitches
and have to sit on a donut shaped cushion for a couple of weeks.
It's a conspiracy; they keep it secret how bad it is. No one would
have any babies otherwise. It's very messy, very painful, and very
noisy and I'm not doing it again! When he comes out, he's all
covered with white stuff.
I think he's dead, then
he cries. It must be such a shock for him to be out in the big wide
world after being cocooned in my warm, cosy insides. He's probably
half sloshed after the triple whiskey Jesus gave me when I
threatened him with death if he didn't give me painkillers. Zinny's
lovely, his head is all distorted, sort of squished.
At first I think he does but it's just the umbilical cord. I was
right; he’s a she!
I'm sure she'll be a great
footballer with all the practice she's had!
I put her against my breast.
She searches around until she finds a nipple and latches on.
Jesus says that the natural way
of doing things is to chew through the umbilical cord and eat the
placenta. I leave things to Dr Florence who clamps and neatly snips
the cord.
easy bit done, what do I do now?
had thought of a few boys’ names but I was waiting until I saw him
to make my mind up. Daisy, no; Jennifer, no; Louise, no; Caroline,
yes, that will do nicely, and I will call her a Tuareg name for her
middle name, Nwella after Zula's mum, perfect. Caroline Nwella
Taylor.
'How do we get a birth
certificate?' I ask.
'Birth certificate, why?' says
Jesus.
'Everyone needs a birth
certificate; it means they can get a passport.'
'It's all a load of rubbish.
The only sensible reason for having a birth certificate would be if
you get banged on the head and forgot who you are. If your mum
wrote you name on the inside of your jumper, you'd be just fine.
Teroids love control. Papers mean control, they use them to make
sure you pay tax. It would be a lot easier if they just branded you
or implanted a microchip when you were born.'
'But I want one.'
Jesus gives in, 'Okay, I'll
make you up a nice little certificate; Caroline Nwella Taylor was
born on Camillo at 11 minutes past 11 on the morning of 17th
December 2012.'
to keep her warm and put her back against my boob. I'm still
shaking from the effort of squishing her out. I'm going to need
clothes for her. I don't want designer stuff. I want simple clothes
like Mum uses for her baby. Just for the winter, when it's warm in
the summer, she can run around naked.
'We can sort that out when you
come and visit,' says Castor.
I must be thinking loudly.
her?'
'She's already feeding; the
milk won't come right away but should be on tap in a day or two.
Your milk is all she needs. We'll just need to make sure you eat
well and stay healthy. I'll stay and help for a few days, there'll
be lots of little things that need sorting out.'
'And what about her going to
the toilet?'
'Good question,' says Florence.
'She'll go, there's no problem there. It's just a question of how
you clean up the mess. I recommend starched cotton nappies.'
They sound a bit stiff and
Victorian to me. Personally I like the idea of disposable ones but
when I was in the desert I didn't see babies wearing anything at
all. I'll check things out when we're up visiting the moons.
She wants attention. I've been
too busy talking and worrying about things and not looking after
her. I give her a little kiss and hold her tight. She's all covered
with blood and gunge; we'll have to clean her up.
Suddenly I have another
contraction and the placenta pops out.
Yuck!
Florence inspects it closely
and when she's happy it's all there, she sends Jesus out to bury it
amongst my roses. I'm glad to see it go, I don't want it sitting in
the fridge or cooked up with Bolognese sauce.
I sit back against the pillow
and look in wonder at my little baby.
Jesus brings me a cup of sweet,
milky tea and a couple of biscuits. Just what the doctor
ordered!
mum. I've had quite a challenge looking after myself these last few
years and now I have someone else to look after too. Her fragile
life is in my clumsy hands.
here. She's quite severe and a little scary but her no-nonsense
approach to motherhood is just what is needed. We'll start off
doing things her way. I can always change later.
I'll like to go and visit
Castor and Pollux but I'd better wait until Florence has gone. She
would freak if she saw me teleport, that's something for gods and
aliens.
'Emily, I really must go, my patients need me. Take care and don't
hesitate to call if you need help. If you need a governess I could
ask that Poppins woman. Let me know.'
Jesus because I think he'd like to do something. He suggests
inviting Bob Marley and his reggae band and Janice. We all like
Janice. Jesus and Azziz will invite their friends who normally hang
out at the cafe. They're really laid back and cool.
Janice arrives a few days early
and comes to stay with me. We sing, we paint wonderful abstract
paintings and hang them on the walls, then paint ourselves bright
yellow and chill out and chat.
We do the grisly job of killing
a sheep, and on the day of the reggae concert we catch fresh fish
and prepare the food. It's really simple; spit roasted lamb with
potatoes and corn and fish wrapped in tin foil cooked in the
embers. No messing around with salads, or puddings. The afternoon
passes in a flash; well it does for me anyway. Having been up since
dawn helping set things up, I have a sudden unexpected weary, and
curl up on a sofa in the shade of a coconut palm, surfacing
occasionally to listen to the reggae beat but not opening my eyes
until the sun has slipped behind the hills and our guests have
departed.
She struts around the house buzzing, then opens her mouth and out
flies a cicada. She toys with them until they buzz no more, then
lightly roasts them and swallows them whole. She's caught so many,
it's surprising that there's any left on the asteroid. As the end
of August approaches and the sun starts to lose its hard edge, the
few surviving cicadas run out of puff and their song falters and
dies.
all summer, it's been my lightweight summer dresses. They float
about me like I'm hardly wearing anything. Now the weather's
cooler, I need clothes, but nothing fits except my XXXL jumper. I
wrap myself up in a sheet and walk around the house being
Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of fertility. What can I wear? I need
fat people's clothes.
'You could go to Zwingly and
see Coco?' suggests Jesus.
'No,' I say abruptly, 'I'm not
going to Zwingly.'
'You did get your fingers
burnt, didn't you?'
'Yes, it hurt. I don't want to
see James again and everyone else there will think I'm a
tart.'
'Do you really think they're
that interested in your life?'
'Well no, but I'm not
going.'
friends. I make them tea and fresh melting moments and we walk up
to the bluff and all sit on the very edge throwing bits of banana
to the seagulls. They all have different ideas about what I should
be wearing, so ask me what I would like.
'I need more than one
outfit, so why don't you each of you make something,' I
suggest.
Back at the cottage I model for
them in my green knickers and they make sketches of me. Then they
dress me up. It's so amazing to watch them work. They pick weird
and wacky outfits out of thin air and sketch me wearing them. They
even draw some in my diary for me.
They measure me up and
disappear, arriving back a few days later for fitting. I'm a bit of
a moving target cos my bump keeps growing, but their outfits have
ample space for growth. Coco has made me a flowing burgundy dress
with a matching cashmere cardigan. Ozzie' creation is a bright
yellow jump suit. It's made out of fine velvet, with stretchy stuff
around the middle to support the baby, and has big zips and pockets
all over the place. Vidal has gone for a more casual look with a
pair of faded jeans that are stretchy at the waist and a loose
shirt and sweatshirt. Now I'm sorted. I like the yellow jump suit
most; it's so happy and bright.
It's so neat having all these
wonderful people turn up when I need something. I must do something
for Zeus one day to thank him for saving me. I thank Coco and
friends and they head off up the beach towards Azziz's cafe,
splashing in the waves as they go.
plenty, and there's lots to do in the garden. Jesus and a pack of
zinodes arrive and we work all day picking and pulling and
harvesting. The zinodes store the potatoes, onions and big orange
pumpkins in a shed built into the bank behind my house. It's nice
and cool in there and they'll last for ages. The rest they freeze
and preserve so I'll have plenty to see me through the winter.
I sing to my baby, I talk to
him, and play music to him. When he's in a playful mood he fights
back when I poke him. He plays football all night and sleeps all
day. I call him Zinzan, which quickly becomes Zinny.
When the first cold snap of
winter arrives, dusting the mountain with snow, Jesus and Azziz
come around and chop firewood, filling up the wood shed, then
piling the rest up against the wall of my living room, so it dries
out quickly.
I wonder if this is what it is like to be a fat person. It must be
such hard work. Every movement is hard work and you can't see your
knees. My tummy button, which has always been an inny becomes an
outy. I push it back in but the baby pushes it out again. If I want
it to stay in, I have to walk around with my finger on
it.
I get a call from President
Obama. While I'm worrying about innies and outies, he has bigger
worries. He has an election on his hands and can't reach God.
'Sorry,' I say, 'God's not
talking, can I help?'
'It'll be the same as last
election; I just need a little divine intervention.'
'Get off,' I say,
'Oh please, my ratings at the
polls are down,' pleads the President.
'Why,' I ask.
'The health care reform, the
war I inherited and the missile attack that killed Azziz, Son of
God and that girl Emily,'
'That girl Emily, that's
me!'
The President is silent for a
moment, then says, 'Oops, sorry Emily!'
'I should think so!'
'I know it's a big ask but
could you just do a little something to help, a major natural
disaster like a hurricane strike on New York would be perfect.
Sandy is forming in the Caribbean right now.'
'You're not getting any help
from me. That's cheating!'
'All is fair in love and
politics. I'll ask the other guys, just thought I'll try you
first.'
'Well, good
luck to you Mr
President,' I
say, and break the connection. The cheek of it!
get up courage to ask Dr Florence along. The baby may arrive early
and we need to be prepared.
I'm scared to ask her to come.
She probably won't approve. I'm not married and not even fifteen.
Just thinking about it, I can feel her vibes. She'll probably wash
my mouth out with soap and scrub me with a scrubbing brush until
I'm pink all over and cleansed of my sins.
'What do you think?' I ask
Castor.
'Hmmm,' he answers, obviously
thinking the same as me.
'Is there anyone else?'
'Not really, there's a quack
and a witch doctor on Zwingly, but Florence is your best bet.'
I'm tempted to just have the
baby. It would probably be okay but I'd never forgive myself if
something went wrong, like the baby lived and I died. Then it would
have no mum or dad.
'I'll tell her it was an
immaculate conception, she'll understand that.'
'She just might,' says Castor,
'and it's not too far from the truth.'
'Only about a mile,' I say,
giving him a wink.
After all the worry, she's
surprisingly cool about me being pregas.
'Children are a gift from God,'
she says, and looking at my tummy adds, 'God is obviously smiling
on you.'
It's a bit of a contrast from
having Janice stay. We wash the whole house down with vinegar, eat
gruel for breakfast and say prayers three times a day. I can't
swear, not even a proxy or a piffle, and have to watch my Ps and
Qs. How badly do I want a midwife?
Luckily my baby arrives early,
he wasn't expected until after Jesus's birthday but he's dead keen
to get out and start his footballing career.
much, he has no space to move. The only direction to go is out, and
out he comes. I won't go into all the details expect to say that
it's like giving birth to a glasshouse. I need a lot of stitches
and have to sit on a donut shaped cushion for a couple of weeks.
It's a conspiracy; they keep it secret how bad it is. No one would
have any babies otherwise. It's very messy, very painful, and very
noisy and I'm not doing it again! When he comes out, he's all
covered with white stuff.
I think he's dead, then
he cries. It must be such a shock for him to be out in the big wide
world after being cocooned in my warm, cosy insides. He's probably
half sloshed after the triple whiskey Jesus gave me when I
threatened him with death if he didn't give me painkillers. Zinny's
lovely, his head is all distorted, sort of squished.
At first I think he does but it's just the umbilical cord. I was
right; he’s a she!
I'm sure she'll be a great
footballer with all the practice she's had!
I put her against my breast.
She searches around until she finds a nipple and latches on.
Jesus says that the natural way
of doing things is to chew through the umbilical cord and eat the
placenta. I leave things to Dr Florence who clamps and neatly snips
the cord.
easy bit done, what do I do now?
had thought of a few boys’ names but I was waiting until I saw him
to make my mind up. Daisy, no; Jennifer, no; Louise, no; Caroline,
yes, that will do nicely, and I will call her a Tuareg name for her
middle name, Nwella after Zula's mum, perfect. Caroline Nwella
Taylor.
'How do we get a birth
certificate?' I ask.
'Birth certificate, why?' says
Jesus.
'Everyone needs a birth
certificate; it means they can get a passport.'
'It's all a load of rubbish.
The only sensible reason for having a birth certificate would be if
you get banged on the head and forgot who you are. If your mum
wrote you name on the inside of your jumper, you'd be just fine.
Teroids love control. Papers mean control, they use them to make
sure you pay tax. It would be a lot easier if they just branded you
or implanted a microchip when you were born.'
'But I want one.'
Jesus gives in, 'Okay, I'll
make you up a nice little certificate; Caroline Nwella Taylor was
born on Camillo at 11 minutes past 11 on the morning of 17th
December 2012.'
'It's done,'
says Castor. 'A
nd by the way,
congratulations from Pollux and me. We want to see her soon. Do
come and visit.'
to keep her warm and put her back against my boob. I'm still
shaking from the effort of squishing her out. I'm going to need
clothes for her. I don't want designer stuff. I want simple clothes
like Mum uses for her baby. Just for the winter, when it's warm in
the summer, she can run around naked.
'We can sort that out when you
come and visit,' says Castor.
I must be thinking loudly.
her?'
'She's already feeding; the
milk won't come right away but should be on tap in a day or two.
Your milk is all she needs. We'll just need to make sure you eat
well and stay healthy. I'll stay and help for a few days, there'll
be lots of little things that need sorting out.'
'And what about her going to
the toilet?'
'Good question,' says Florence.
'She'll go, there's no problem there. It's just a question of how
you clean up the mess. I recommend starched cotton nappies.'
They sound a bit stiff and
Victorian to me. Personally I like the idea of disposable ones but
when I was in the desert I didn't see babies wearing anything at
all. I'll check things out when we're up visiting the moons.
She wants attention. I've been
too busy talking and worrying about things and not looking after
her. I give her a little kiss and hold her tight. She's all covered
with blood and gunge; we'll have to clean her up.
Suddenly I have another
contraction and the placenta pops out.
Yuck!
Florence inspects it closely
and when she's happy it's all there, she sends Jesus out to bury it
amongst my roses. I'm glad to see it go, I don't want it sitting in
the fridge or cooked up with Bolognese sauce.
I sit back against the pillow
and look in wonder at my little baby.
Jesus brings me a cup of sweet,
milky tea and a couple of biscuits. Just what the doctor
ordered!
mum. I've had quite a challenge looking after myself these last few
years and now I have someone else to look after too. Her fragile
life is in my clumsy hands.
here. She's quite severe and a little scary but her no-nonsense
approach to motherhood is just what is needed. We'll start off
doing things her way. I can always change later.
I'll like to go and visit
Castor and Pollux but I'd better wait until Florence has gone. She
would freak if she saw me teleport, that's something for gods and
aliens.
'Emily, I really must go, my patients need me. Take care and don't
hesitate to call if you need help. If you need a governess I could
ask that Poppins woman. Let me know.'
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