Thirty-three: MTOABB

MTOABB

I watch as her lips part, moving up and down to be able to read her words. “How was your sleepover with Cassandra?” Mom asks as she twirls her wavy brown hair into a loose low ponytail and ushers it to the back.

I was in a daze and I wished I could go back to last night. I wanted a do-over. I was not looking for a boy named Prinse, but now that I have found him, I do not want to lose him. I am only a seventeen-year-old girl that still cries over boys that are inked on the writing of pages. So, what could I possibly know about caring for a baby? I can’t even make my own bed and she is meant to be my own little child.

“It was fine, mom,” I say, buckling the seatbelt.

“I’m glad you had fun.”