I never expected to raise two babies before I could vote, but life doesn’t always wait for you to be ready. When my mom walked out, I stepped up — and years later, she came back with a plan that could tear everything apart.
I’m 25 now, and I never planned on becoming a dad at 18 — especially not to twin newborns.
Back then, I was just a high school senior, living in a rundown two-bedroom apartment with my mom, Lorraine. She’d always been unpredictable — one of those people who felt like a gust of wind, constantly changing direction.On some days, my mom was sweet and nurturing. On others, she acted as if the world owed her a favor, and I was the one who’d collected the debt.
One day, she came home pregnant, and I thought maybe — just maybe — it would ground her. Give her something to hold on to.
But she was furious! At everything. The world, the man who left her, and mostly the fact that pregnancy didn’t give her the attention she thought it would.She never told me who the father was.
I stopped asking after the second time she screamed at me to “mind my own business.”I still remember the way she slammed the fridge door that night, muttering something about how men always vanished and left the women to deal with the mess.
When she gave birth to twin girls — Ava and Ellen — I was there.For two weeks, she pretended to be a mom. That’s the best way I can put it.
She’d change a diaper and then vanish for hours, then warm a bottle and collapse on the couch and sleep through the crying.