Mike:
I guess our story really starts when we were freshmen in
college. There is obviously back story
from before then that we’ll probably hit on as we go throughout all of
this, but the real happenings start in Spring of '05.
Ok, let me set the stage:
I’m 18. My state of mind was pretty much what you're thinking: hormones raging, just out of the house for
real on my own, in college, totally undecided about life, and incredibly
immature in every way possible. And then
the bombshell hit: Amanda comes into
town to tell me that she’s pregnant.
Now, can you imagine what’s going through my head at this time? This was not the plan for life. I mean, I’d said from the beginning of our
relationship that I intended to marry her, and I meant it. I just didn’t think it would be
so…sudden. So final. So right then, make the decision, are you
really in or out, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. At that moment, when she told me she was
pregnant, my girlfriend of two years could become one of two things: either the woman that I really, truly
intended to spend the rest of my life married to, or simply the mother of my
child. She really gave me that choice,
and told me that she wouldn’t hold it against me either way. The ball was in my court.
So…how can I react? In
the span of about three seconds, I flashed through this little baby’s life
without me, and decided I couldn’t do that to him or her. I couldn’t leave Amanda, who I truly loved, no matter how stupid I was being, to care for this kid alone. Even if I sent money every month, how is she
honestly going to handle it? My decision
was practically made for me, before I ever even had a chance to stew on
it. I had to stand up for this little
being and the young woman I loved but took for granted, and be the husband and
father for them—to provide, to protect, to raise and guide. I couldn’t see anyone else doing that for
them, and I wouldn’t be able to stand looking myself in the mirror every
morning knowing I abandoned that responsibility.
So I tell her I’m in.
All in, ready to take the reins, ready to provide and protect. I was in no way ready, but I’d made that
decision. I hoped she would stick with
me when I made that decision, and she didn’t fail me.
Once we came to the decision that we were going to raise this baby together, we were all in. But I still had a lot to sort out. I was terrified and so disappointed in myself. My senior year of high school was THE year for me. I’d quit the dance team after trying to balance my many extracurricular activities with my grades. The sacrifice was worth it: I got into Baylor.
I vividly remember the afternoon I opened that letter. There it was! Black and white confirmation that my hard work had paid off. The memory is so clear. My mom and step-dad walked in the room wondering what I was hollering about. My jubilation spilled over and for a second I forgot to be strong. I forgot to keep my walls up. “I got in!”, I gushed. His eyebrow shot up. “I don’t know why you’re so happy. You can’t afford it. It’s not like you’re actually going.” You bet your butt I was. I wrote letters, researched, and prayed. I did everything in my power to raise the money for my first year and then ran. I was DONE living in that apartment watching a toxic cycle repeat itself—and being collateral damage. After the man that raised me decided that I'd never amount to anything my mantra became "It's a lie. He's wrong!". Being on Baylor's campus meant everything to me. It was the proof I needed that the phrase I'd been hammering into my own consciousness was indeed true. It was a lie. He was wrong.
Watching those pink lines show up on that pregnancy test crushed me. My heart, my head, my soul
were tugged in a million directions at once. What was I going to do?! I repeated
the only words I could muster over and over again “I don’t know how to feel. I
don’t know how to feel.” I was terrified of telling Mike. Not because I thought
he’d be angry, but because I knew he had a strong sense of duty and I couldn’t
stand the thought of him being in a relationship with me out of obligation. The
anger and disappointment I felt towards myself was almost too much for me to handle. I was a 19 year old Hispanic girl who was pregnant and unmarried. Good job,
Amanda. Way to land yourself in exactly the situation you never wanted to be
in. Another statistic. College drop out. Failure. It could have consumed me. It started to, but things turned around when I thought about my baby. What would being born into this mean for him or her? That got me into a different frame of mind real quick.
I put the brakes on and ended my pity party. We made this mess of a beginning for
this precious life. We did it. But our current reality didn’t have to determine
our baby’s future.
Mike:
So, we made a decision.
Looking into the future from that point, we made the best decision we
could have: we would do this together, and we were going to be the best parents
we could for this kid. Failure, divorce, or
using our age as an excuse were not options. We would both sacrifice whatever we needed to,
because that’s what this child deserved.
The decision was the easy part. Living out that decision has turned out to be the hardest—yet most rewarding—part of all. We haven’t been perfect towards each other or to our kids. We haven’t gone down the easy, happy path all the time. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve been stupid, and we’ve learned all along the way. The biggest thing we did at that time, though, was to choose a path. And to start down it together. We committed ourselves to do this thing, raise this child in the best way we could figure out how, together. That was hard, it was terrifying, and it was absolutely the right decision.
Mike & Mandy
Easter 2007
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