My Teenage Dream Ended (23 page)

Although I knew by this point that I was having a girl, I hadn’t picked a name yet. One night, my mom, my grandparents, and I went out to dinner. I had looked into Italian names because my family is very fond of our Italian heritage, but my top picks were Saychelle, Melania, and Audrina. None of these were very Italian, and when I shared them, my family shot me down with some pretty negative comments.

Since they were all helping me so much with my pregnancy, I thought,
Why not let us all choose the name?
So together we agreed on Sophia Laurent Abraham, after my favorite actress, Sophia Loren.

Now my baby had a name. From that moment on I began to think of her as Sophia.

My original due date was the 28
^th
of February—but I was pretty sure I was going to have Sophia before then. Still, I was I really was hoping to hold her in until February 25
^th
so I could get my finals done. No such luck.

On the night of February 22
^nd
, 2009 I watched the Oscars with my mom
.
We saw Sophia Loren walking the red carpet and she looked beautiful; tan skin, chic make-up, healthy brown hair, and a gorgeous dress. It was a happy reminder that the inspiration for my daughter’s name was a successful, talented, and beautiful role model.

I drank my soda pop, finished watching the awards show, and went to bed. Just as I was falling asleep, I felt warm liquid suddenly leaking from between my legs. It felt like I had peed, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

I realized, with a little panic, that my water had broken. I grabbed my cell phone and called my MTV producer. I had promised that if my water broke in the middle of the night I would call right away. Within minutes, the camerawoman had jetted over from her hotel and was at the door. I was waiting in my bed, with the lights off, and finally my mom came upstairs and turned the lights on. She took one look at me and said, ��Oh yeah. Your water broke. It has that smell.” I had to laugh because all I could think was that the smell reminded me of having Derek’s cum inside me. I couldn’t really share that with my mom, though, so I kept that thought to myself.

So this was it, I was going into labor. I called my sister and told her to meet us at the hospital, but she was sick and we didn’t want to risk her passing anything on to Sophia, so we decided she shouldn’t come to the hospital. My grandparents were out of town and my dad was living an hour away for work at the time. So in the end it was just me, my mom, and the camerawoman.

I went to the bathroom to change my pajamas, which were now completely soaked. There seemed to be an endless supply of fluid running down my legs. There was so much liquid. It wouldn’t quit. I peed, hoping that might make it stop, but it kept right on running down my legs. By the time I got to the hospital, my pants were soaked again. This was not how I pictured going into labor would be. I don’t know what I expected, but it had never occurred to me that it would start out so soggy.

We arrived at the hospital around two
AM
and I was checked in and assigned to a labor room. My mom got comfortable, while I changed and sat down on the bed and tried to take it all in. My doctor had been out of town and wouldn’t be able to get to the hospital until ten
AM
that morning. This was not how I pictured it would go down. I had assumed my doctor would be waiting at the hospital for me and that I would deliver the baby immediately.

At around four
AM
, I finally started having contractions. They were so intense; my head started throbbing with pain. This was not the kind of pain you could shrug off. It was engraved into my brain. I tried to rest until my doctor got there, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand the pain. The contractions became unbearable. The pain took over my head. I didn’t feel it in my stomach or back or crotch or anywhere else—just in my head. It got so bad that I couldn’t stand hearing my mom’s voice anymore, or the nurses, or cell phones ringing, or people talking in the hallway—any sounds at all really.

I was so aggravated I could barely look at anyone, but it was mainly my mom’s voice that I remember driving me crazy because she kept chattering away. At one point, I snapped and I told her I couldn’t stand to hear her voice anymore and to get out. She sat quietly in the corner of the room until I got my sanity back.

By this point I was like,
Okay, it’s go time. Let’s get this baby out!
But the nurse told me I wasn’t ready, besides my doctor wouldn’t be there for another couple of hours. I was losing my mind. The pain was so intense. Everyone trying to sooth and calm me was only aggravating me more. Finally, the nurses suggested I have an epidural and I agreed. The epidural needle went in and for a moment the pain got worse, but then it seamlessly went away.

After that I felt much better and settled down to wait for my doctor to arrive. When he finally got to the hospital, I was ready. With the pain gone, I was able concentrate on breathing and preparing to push. Since I hadn’t taken any birthing classes, I was surprised to find that I was a natural at doing the birthing breathing.

I was praying that I didn’t have to get a C-section. That was my biggest fear. The idea of having my stomach cut open completely freaked me out and, honestly, I was also worried about my body getting back into shape, for modeling. I wanted my six-pack abs and tight butt back again. But I also knew that however the labor needed to be for my daughter, whatever the doctor recommended was best for her, that I would agree with him. I was just praying everything would go smoothly.

Thankfully it did. When it was time to push, the nurse held my left leg and I held my right leg and the doctor helped me get through the pushing. He had to let me know when to breathe because I couldn’t feel anything from the epidural. It was great to not feel pain, but the numbness made it that much harder to push. I heard my doctor say, “Push one last time,” and even though I was exhausted I took a deep breath and pushed as hard as I could.

That did it. On Feb 23
^rd
, at 10:25
AM
, my baby girl was born. My doctor said I did great and while he was sewing me up, since I had torn a little during the delivery, the nurses took Sophia to check her out and clean her up. I watched them weigh her and give her a bath. When I heard her crying, I instantly felt like a protective mom. Just a moment ago she had been in the warmth and safety of my protective womb, now she was being bathed and handled for the first time and she clearly was not happy about it. I couldn’t wait to hold her.

As soon as the nurses were done and Sophia was all swaddled and

clean, they handed her to me. I had never held a baby before. I thought I

would be clumsy and awkward, but she felt so right in my arms. She looked

up at me, all quiet and content now, and I could tell she instinctively knew that she was safe and back with her mom.

Looking down at Sophia for the first time, I instantly saw Derek—the shape of her face, the dimple on her chin, her eyes—all Derek. For the first time in so long, I was happy. I felt like he was there in some form, seeing our baby with me. I have never been so intensely happy and so deeply sad at the same time in my entire life.

My mom was by my side through the whole delivery. She even cut the umbilical cord, which is hilarious since she had always been so squeamish even just talking about the birth. She told me later about cutting the chord. There had been so much going on and I had been so exhausted, I hadn’t even noticed. Giving birth was an amazing experience, but it took everything out of me—emotionally and physically. I was just so happy and relieved that everything had turned out okay. More than okay. Sophia was perfect.

Later my dad, grandparents, and friends came to the hospital to see me and meet the baby. It was great to see everyone and they all fell in love with Sophia. I could tell that some of my friends that stopped by didn’t get it; that I had just given birth and that my baby and being a mother was more important to me now than acting cool and listening to gossip, so I kept those visits short. All I really wanted was peace and quiet—and sleep, lots and lots of sleep.

BRINGING HOME BABY

Now that I had given birth and I wasn’t actually pregnant anymore, I was completely shocked by my body. I felt skinny and weak, but with a jiggly tummy. And there was so much blood. Every time I went to the toilet and saw how much blood was coming out of me, I felt like I must be bleeding to death. Once the stitches from where the doctor had sewn me up down by my crotch started to heal, they became itchy and uncomfortable. I had thought dealing with the changes to my body from the pregnancy was hard, but this was a whole new level.

Another thing I didn’t know about until it happened was how painful it would be when my milk came in. My boobs were so sore. I thought I was having a heart attack or bad heartburn, but the nurse explained to me that this was normal when your body is getting ready to produce milk for the baby.

After two nights in the hospital we were ready to go home. Before Sophia and I could be released I had to watch a movie about going home with a new baby for the first time and postpartum depression. I also had to learn how to buckle Sophia into her baby car seat. It was a process, but I finally got it.

When my grandpa finally drove Sophia and I home, I was relieved but terrified. In the hospital, the nurses were there to help me take care of Sophia. If anything went wrong, experts who knew what to do surrounded me. It was scary to be going home, knowing that kind of support wasn’t going to be there anymore.

My mom and my dad tried to be helpful, but Sophia was very much my responsibility. It was hard getting her to sleep. She wasn’t eating, and when she did she would instantly puke it back up. A week went by with no sleep. Sophia started losing weight, and I was so worried about her.

My mom didn’t get it. She was convinced I had postpartum depression. She kept making comments that I was crying and being emotional for no reason. She couldn’t understand that I was emotional because I was worried about my child not eating and that I was exhausted from not getting enough sleep. I was freaking out because I didn’t want my child to die on me—the way her father had. I wanted to say,
If I am depressed about anything, it’s about Derek being dead, and that I feel like my baby might die on me right now.
But I kept my mouth shut and hoped she would eventually just leave me alone.

To help Sophia keep her food down and start putting on weight, the doctor suggested we switch to a formula that would be easier for her to digest. I also decided to try breastfeeding. When I was pregnant I was convinced that I wasn’t going to breastfeed. It had seemed so weird to me and people (like my mother) made it sound like it would ruin my boobs. Now it felt like breastfeeding was a matter of life and death. Nothing was more important to me than Sophia’s health, so I gave it a shot.

Sophia really took to the breastfeeding, and as long as she was happy I was okay, but I couldn’t see myself doing it for too long. To me it seemed like extra work—wearing special clothes, having milk leaking all over my shirts. It wasn’t for me. I liked that my boobs were bigger, but that was really it for me.

I told my mom that Sophia and I needed to sleep downstairs with her so she could help me out at night. I needed some sort of help badly, but it didn’t work out as I had hoped. My mom was beginning to crack from the stress of helping me and when I went to feed Sophia in the middle of the night she would start arguing with me about random things; driving me to school, my work schedule, things she was mad at my dad about, her bills getting more expensive.