Bulletproof

by Maci Bookout

  Sometimes when I brought up something about the baby, I got the feeling Ryan’s brain just went somewhere else. And when it came to making actual plans for after the baby, whether it was work schedules or daycare, he was never in the mood to deal with it. It was all awkward silences, one-word answers, and impatient grunts whenever I tried to work out a vision of how we’d actually live once the baby arrived. And it was a good thing I wasn’t expecting any special treatment while I was pregnant, because that wasn’t happening. Sometimes I got the feeling he wanted to pretend there was no pregnancy, and we could go on acting like nothing had changed at all.

  But there were times, too, when we joined forces like we were probably supposed to. We still met at Sonic whenever we had a chance before his shift started, and that was where we chose the baby’s name. We were sitting in the parking lot with a baby name book, and at the time we didn’t even know if we were having a boy or girl. But when we saw the name Bentley, we immediately knew that was what we wanted.

  During fun moments like that, it felt like we were bonding over the pregnancy. And it was easy to chalk up the rest to how overwhelmed we were. I knew my brain was in overdrive, and I could only imagine he was going through the same thing. I wasn’t in a frame of mind to step back and examine how we were doing as a couple, what we were missing and where we could do better at building or maintaining our relationship. At sixteen years old, I probably didn’t have the emotional vocabulary for it, either.

  But at the end of the day, I didn’t have time to worry about me and Ryan. I figured we were both more concerned about Bentley. And anyway, we were engaged, and we were moving in together. That felt plenty solid.

  For the most part, my tunnel vision seemed to be working out well. I was steady on my feet, and I didn’t seem in danger of a nervous breakdown or anything. I’d barely even cried. But there was one moment when it all caught up to me, right when I was making the final move from home to the new place with Ryan. I’d just eaten dinner at my parents’ house and I had my last few boxes in the car, because I was driving to the apartment for my first night there with Ryan. As soon as I drove off, I just lost it. I cried all the way there. I don’t remember knowing exactly why I was so upset, whether it was because I was going to miss them or I was nervous or what. But I think somehow when I pulled out of that driveway, it finally became real that I was a grown-up — whether I wanted to be or not.

  Living with Ryan wasn’t difficult at all. For all of my being okay on my own, it’s never bothered me to live with someone. After my moment in the car, I got over it and settled in for the final stretch.

  ***

  Meanwhile, a funny thing happened. Since I was sixteen, pregnant, and didn’t have a real job, my mom got the idea to look for maternity modeling opportunities for me. While she was browsing different listings on the internet, she came across a casting call for a new teen pregnancy documentary on MTV. Lo and behold, they were looking for people between the ages of fifteen and seventeen who were expecting a first child.

  When she told me, my first response was “Absolutely not. I’m not going to be on TV because I’m sixteen and pregnant. That is not a good idea!”

  “Well,” she said, “they’re gonna pay you, and you never know what it could turn out to be. You might as well write in. They probably won’t even pick you.”

  Eventually I came around to the idea, enough to write in just a short introduction message. Just a week later, a woman from the casting department called me. I started wading in. Before I knew it, I’d had three different phone calls with this girl that lasted about three hours each. She wanted to know everything, from how many times per year I went to church to what my favorite car was. And when she’d had enough of that, she told me she’d be mailing me a flip cam and a sheet of questions for me to answer. Once that was done, it was off to the races. I just didn’t know what that meant.

  The show hadn’t gotten the green light yet, so the producers were only showing up to film the pilot. At that point Ryan and I were already in the apartment together. Even though we all knew it was legit, my mom made my dad come over so he could be there when the producers arrived. “You never know!” she said, like there might be some criminal conspiracy afoot. But I didn’t end up kidnapped. Instead, the producers sat in the living room with my dad and me and talked about what they had envisioned for this documentary.

  Like most of the other girls on the show, I never imagined I was signing up to be part of some cultural phenomenon. Most of us thought it would be a one-off special, if anything, like the typical hour long TV documentary format featuring some random person with an interesting story. It didn’t strike me as a long-term project, and I certainly didn’t factor fame or fortune into my considerations. My big concern was that it would be done well. More specifically, that it wouldn’t be scripted or fake. I appreciate good trashy TV as much as the next person, but I wasn’t interested in becoming a reality TV personality. The only reason I considered the show was because it was conceived as a documentary series, not a reality TV drama. That made me feel a lot better. And after talking to my parents and the producers, I started to see more value in the idea. I thought that if by sharing my story I could help one teen girl get on birth control, or if some other pregnant girl out there could relate to me and wouldn’t be so scared, it was a project worth taking on. So I signed the contract. We started filming, and then it got the green light.

  Being the subject of a documentary is awkward at first, because you haven’t gotten used to pretending the cameras aren’t there. And at that time, I already felt like I was being stared at everywhere I went, on account of my being so young and so pregnant. Every time I went out in public I felt like everyone turned to look at the toddler having a baby. Adding a film crew on top just made it even crazier. But only for a little while. I got used to it, and it all felt normal very quickly.

  Even after filming all of 16 and Pregnant, I had no idea I’d hitched myself to a spaceship. I watched the show when it aired, but somehow I didn’t make the connection that millions of other people were watching me right along with me. It was only when I went to the mall later that it hit me. People were approaching me and calling me by my name. They were asking for photos! Right away, the atmosphere told me it was much bigger than I ever thought it would be.

  The show did a good job of representing me and my story. If there was one thing I wished might have been different, it was nothing they could have changed. It was just me and my personality. Watching the show, I saw the same calm, collected Maci everyone else did. The difference was that I remembered what was really going on inside my head at the time. Eventually, I started to understand how my introverted character became a double-edged sword on 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom. On one hand, I heard from countless teen moms who were going through the same thing I did, and who told me, “You’re so strong, and you showed me that I could be strong. If you did it, I can do it.”

  On the other hand, there are many times when people say things like, “You make it look so easy. You’re so put together. You make it look like you’re not struggling at all.” That’s when I wish I’d broken down my walls a little more and shared my emotions on camera. I wished I could have shown people, especially younger girls, how much harder on me it was than it looked. I wished they could see that even for someone who kept it together like I did, had all the support that I did, being a teen mom was still the most difficult thing in the world. I wished I could make them understand that you can have the best family, all the best friends, and still feel like you’re completely alone.

  I almost never cry. Ever. Not in front of other people, and not when I’m alone. The list of things that can make me cry is very short. Either I’m extremely angry, or I’m worried about Bentley. Other than that, I’m just not a crier. It must be hereditary. Not only can I count the number of times I’ve seen either of my parents cry, but I don’t know if I’ve ever seen them show that they were overwhelmed. I know they must have been, because e
veryone is at some point. And it’s not as if we’re not emotional people. But even though we’re a very close family and very open with each other, we tend to keep our feelings to ourselves. I hardly ever fought with my parents as a teenager. My brother was the same way. They raised us to be very independent people, but I guess they earned so much of our respect we ended up a little dependent after all. Instead of rebelling, I ended up looking to them for answers and guidance. There were never any big blow-ups or stupid fights in our house. My parents kept things calm and respectful, and that’s how we were raised.

  In a way, that mindset made it impossible for me to deal with random drama. Instead of engaging with any craziness or passion, I ran from it. I didn’t know what else to do! To be honest, I have no idea what my emotional outlet is. Maybe my parents did pass down some secret family gift for emotional regulation. Or maybe I’m just crazy. But if there’s a simple explanation, it’s that I really do make an effort not to let things get to me. It’s the way I’ve always been, and if I can help it, it’s the way I’ll always be. I just believe, with every bit of my being, that most negative emotions are a waste of time and energy. Feelings like stress, fear, sadness, and jealousy happen to all of us, but they bring no solutions, and the cause is so often temporary, anyway. Why let pointless negativity tear you apart if you can help it? There’s almost always something more worthwhile you can distract yourself with.

  Even though my philosophy didn’t play exactly how I wanted for the cameras, it served me well the rest of the time. And it definitely helped keep me sane during my first pregnancy. It’s not that I never got stressed. I just told myself, “It’s okay. You’re not gonna die if you don’t get something done. It’s all gonna get done. You know it will. Take it one step at a time. It’s going to be okay.”

  CHAPTER 7:

  5 WAYS TO SLOWLY KILL A RELATIONSHIP

  1. Keeping all of your feelings to yourself.

  I never wanted to be seen as being emotional or jealous or crazy. So if I was ever in a situation where I felt like something disrespectful or shady was going on, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to risk being accused of overreacting. But since I made no objections, the behavior continued and I just kept getting pissed off about it. The longer I held my silence, the harder it seemed to make a change, and the more resentful I felt.

  2. Being disrespectful in private or public.

  The way you treat each other in front of friends and family matters. You should never belittle another person, ever. But belittling your partner in front of friends or family is a surefire way to put your relationship on a downward trajectory. It makes the other person embarrassed and insecure, which leaves a resentment that’s slow to fade. And it makes an impression on friends and family that you almost never get a chance to take back. Once your partner’s friends and family turn against you, it’s going to be very hard to have a healthy relationship.

  3. Airing too much dirty laundry.

  It’s normal to vent to your friends about your relationship. But it’s also easy to get carried away. Your friends and family care about how you’re treated, and if you paint a negative picture in their eyes, it will be very difficult to erase. Even if your partner wins your forgiveness back, your friends and family will find it harder to move past what they heard. Worse yet, you might feel like you’re being judged for putting up with all the things you said you couldn’t stand.

  4. Sex.

  It can bring you closer together. But if you do it irresponsibly, it can also tear you apart. It’s all fun and games until someone gets pregnant. Don’t be stupid. Be careful!

  5. Forgetting how to be friends.

  Relationships are work, but they’re not just work. It shouldn’t feel like a constant stream of chores and problems. You have to be business partners, parenting partners, and sex partners, but you also have to be friends. Never forget how important it is just to like each other. Spend time bonding and making each other laugh. Always leave room for friendship between you. You can always still love somebody, but once you don’t like them anymore, that’s when you’re in trouble.

  CHAPTER 8:

  PUPPY LOVE

  Neither one of us did any sort of preparing for the actual delivery. At least, I could assume Ryan didn’t. It was something neither one of us discussed. Chalk up another one for youth and ignorance, but we figured we’d know what to do when the time came. And in my case, I felt a weird stubbornness about it. I didn’t ask for much advice, or read any books, or do any research or go to any classes. It would be hard to explain why. I felt like if I read ahead or went to classes or tried to feel prepared, I’d just be setting myself up for failure. I didn’t want to lean on expectations based on other people’s experiences. Basically, I didn’t want to overthink it and set myself up to panic at the first surprise that popped up. Instead I wanted to trust my instincts and body rather than let my mind micromanage it.

  Later I would think, “Holy crap. I can’t believe I went through this at sixteen and decided to go in unprepared.” What was I thinking? It’s insane how much you change as you grow, and when I was older, I looked back and just shook my head in astonishment. I even wondered why no one ever took us by the shoulders and shook us. Why didn’t they say, “You don’t know it all and you don’t have it together?” But at the same time, I was glad for my mindset. I knew that overanalyzing everything would just open me up to anxiety. It was better to go in with my confidence intact. That way I’d be stronger if anything came up and destroyed my expectations of how the experience would be. And I think the people who loved me sensed that. My parents knew what was best for me, just like I did. They knew I’d be able to handle it when the time came, and chose not to overwhelm me with doubts and warnings. The idea was to face it with confidence and an optimistic mindset and just go.

  It was Saturday, October 25, and I had spent the night dressed up as a pregnant pirate for a Halloween party we’d thrown at the apartment. Ryan and I finally settled down to sleep, and not a second too soon. I was beat. I’d been running around all day doing all the usual hostess things, picking up decorations and getting the place ready for guests. That was probably what did it.

  At about four in the morning, I snapped awake. It was pain that had woken me up, but by the time I came to, it was already just an echo in my mind. It wasn’t even hard to fall back asleep. But not long after, I woke up again in the exact same way. Once again I could feel the pain fading just as fast as it woke me up. It was late, and I was sleepy, so I was completely without a clue. But the next time it happened, I hadn’t quite drifted back to sleep yet. That was when I realized I was having a contraction.

  I got out of bed without waking Ryan and went down the hall with my phone. Obviously, I called my mom.

  “I think I’m having contractions,” I told her. “What should I do?” She asked me what it felt like, and I described them and told her I thought they were about ten or fifteen minutes apart.

  “Go and walk around,” she said. “Take a shower and see if the same amount of time is happening between them, then call me back.”

  I went and did what she said, and the next ones were still between ten and fifteen minutes apart.

  “Okay,” she said. “When they get to be five minutes apart, call the doctor and then call me, and I’ll come and take you there.”

  For the next forty minutes or so, I wandered around the house and felt the time between the contractions get shorter and shorter. Finally, when they were five minutes apart, I sighed and went back into the bedroom to wake up Ryan.

  “I’m ready to go to the hospital,” I said when he cracked his eyes open.

  “Shit.” Bless his heart, but he was hung over. Like, the dying kind. I couldn’t help feeling bad waking him up that way at five in the morning, but it couldn’t exactly be helped. “What?”

  “I have to go to the hospital,” I said again.

  “Right now?” He blinked up at me like he was wondering if it was a nightmare.
“Seriously?”

  Somehow, we made it to the doctor, checked me in, and headed upstairs. When they came in to check my cervix, I thought things were well underway. But we weren’t even close to getting started. Before being admitted to a room, my cervix had to be dilated to three centimeters. The pushing part of labor starts at ten centimeters. I was at two.

  It didn’t seem like a big deal at first. Nothing a good stroll around the hospital wouldn’t fix. But after I’d walked around for awhile, it seemed I hadn’t dilated any more. So to my complete and utter shock, they sent me home. I was not expecting that twist! Why was I going home when I was having contractions?

  “Just go home,” they told me. “Come back when the pain is so unbearable you can’t even take it anymore. When you get there, we’ll be ready.”

  “I am there!” I said. But it was no use. They wouldn’t get started until my body said it was ready to go. So I got in my mom’s car and went to my parents’ house to wait it out.

  The contractions kept coming, every few minutes, for the rest of the day. And the rest of the night. I didn’t sleep. It was insanity. I was in labor for twenty-four hours before I broke down and said, “We have to go back. I can’t take any more.” When I got back to the hospital, I was still only two and a half centimeters dilated. I thought I’d lose my mind if the show didn’t get on the road. I walked a whole lap around the entire hospital, and then finally I hit the three centimeter mark and they let me get into a room. After that, things sped up. By the time the doctor came in to check me, I was at six centimeters.

  “If you want an epidural, this is your chance,” she said.