“The smell of pastrami made me want to throw up. I couldn't be in the same room as my mother as she was eating her sandwich. ‘You're pregnant,’ she said to me, as I'm running out of the room.
I took a pregnancy test later that night. Positive. I was fifteen. My boyfriend at the time didn't take the news so well. ‘I don't want to be a dad at seventeen,’ was all he said to me. But I was so lucky to have my mom. I was exactly nine weeks on the day, October 25, 2013.
I watched the Breakfast Club in the waiting room. The doctor was a man and he was chewing gum. I wanted to kick him. They gave me sprite and gram crackers afterward. I felt so light. I cried for a while afterward. I’ll never forget the date, and I named the baby Novem—it's ‘nine’ in Latin.
I’ll never regret my decision, but I still think about how old my baby would be. Thank you.” –Jaime