So its been a while and I am certainly sorry for that. My baby’s been sick and life has just been hectic since April. I know that many people have wanted to know more on my story so I’m here to continue where I left off.

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James was packing when I made the descision. I knew he should know, something deep wiothin me was telling me so. Though I was going to tell James, I had yet to tell my parents. I had been raised in a Southern Baptist church, they were going to go crazy on me. I’d wait until I had at least told James.  See what he said, what he though we, as a couple should do.

I walked through the house towards his room, down the stairs, careful with each and every step, making myself take a step and then another. I was not going to chicken out, he needed to know. I wanted him to know. He was the father of this baby and he should know. Shouldn’t every father know they had a child? I just hoped he would not leave and never contact me again. I hoped he wouldn’t be one of the flakes that most girls had as boyfriends. My life would be ruined if that were to happen.

With a soft knock I stepped into his room, my face still red and puffy from crying. That’s all I seemed to do since finding out. Of course before now I had always made sure I looked fine before leaving my room or bathroom. Praying about this baby made me cry all the time for some reason. One look at me and he was instantly by my side, brushing my hair back from my face. “Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas mon amour?” I knew exactly what he had said and once again tears began to flow from my eyes.

“My love, what’s wrong?” He asked again, this time in heavily accented English. He was worried. Of course he was, we had pretty much dated for the past three years. We loved each other though until the night we had had sex we had never admitted it to one another. He wiped at my eyes, waiting patiently for the answer to his question. “I’m pregnant.” I blurted without even thinking twice about it. My eyes instantly fell to the ground as he stood in silence for what seemed like forever.

I didn’t look up until he began to move back to his things, unpaking them all. He hadn’t said anything to me about me being pregnant, but now he was unpacking his things. He had to leave the next morning, what was wrong with him. “James, what are you doing?” I asked quickly, walking over and putting his stuff back in his bags. I didn’t want him staying just because of me, but then again I did. I wanted him there for the baby and I certainly wasn’t moving to France. Sure I had grown up near the French Quarter in New Orleans, sure I was fluent, but I was not moving to a different country.

“I’m staying here.” He said. Those three words got the tears going again. I turned and left the room, to let him do as he wished. I didn’t want him seeing me crying again. I was the perfect girl with the perfect life. No one had ever seen me cry except my parents and family, but the last time they had seen me cry was years ago. I wasn’t going to let James see me cry just because he had said he was staying.

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James had convinced his parents to let him stay. I started my senoir year in high school, trying to hide the fact I was pregnant. My parents knew, but I didn’t want the whole town knowing. James was going to Andreson University in Anderson Indiana for his freshman year. We saw each other all the time and we were enagaged. I wore my ring proudly. I was one of the few girls that was lucky enough to have their baby’s dad stick around.

My the the fifth month I was huge, the baby seemed to be growing so fast. Little did I know that was not that case. When I went for my ultra sound the doctor told me that the baby was very small. About six ounces, the average for 18 weeks. The problem was I was around 20 weeks. My baby was not growing how she should, but the doctor said that was normal for teenage mothers.

I prayed that night that my baby would be okay. I loved her already, but I was worried about her devolpment. She was two weeks behind in size, would she grow any more, would she be able to survivie in our world?

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James came home one weekend because I had called about major cramps on my abdomin area. I was only 26 weeks though. I knew my baby’s chances of survival were very slim if she were to be delivered now. He took me to the hospital at 2:32 am on the 21 of November when I could no longer stand the pain. This was not good. I knew it wasn’t.

When we got to the hospital the doctors said I was in labor and tried to stop the labor, but my water broke and there was no stopping it after that. I was in tears. Why would the Lord I trusted so much do this to me. I had done everything right hadn’t I? I had kept the baby, James and I were getting married.

At 12:31 am on November 22 my baby was born. She weighed 1 pound 2 ounces. She couldn’t breath on her own and her heart was barely beating. The doctors told me she wouldn’t survive the day. They didn’t let me see my daughter and therefore I refused to see anyone. Even James. I didn’t want anyone in my room. I simply cried and prayed and cried some more. God needed to save my baby. I already loved her. Her name was Isabella Rose de Luccius. She wasn’t even a day old and they were saying she was going to die.

By some miracle my baby survived the first 24 hours. I refused to go back to school. I stayed with my baby all day and tried to work on the work my parents brought home for me from school at night. My life revolved around my daughter and every time my phone rang that first week, if I wasn’t at the hospital, my heart sped up, expecting the worst.

God was defiantly working with me as I watched my baby grow stronger and survive past her first week and then her first month. In Febuary, almost three months after she was born I was told I could take her home. The Lord had defiantly worked on my side of things. He had given her to me early and made her strong.

But what would the future hold after she was brought home? What would happen when we were a complete family?

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I’m not sure when, but there will be another part, hopefully. Providing things go my way.