“Three years ago, this Santa Maria that is 15 August 2001, was the start of a new life for a myriad of people around me. I was 18 at the time and just about to start second year at Junior College in Msida. A week after Santa Maria I did a pregnancy test, which turned out negative, so I carried on, trying to obliterate the scare I’d had. By October I was back at Junior College, but something was still gnawing at me. I did another pregnancy test – this time it turned out positive. Somehow I convinced myself that I’d done something wrong in the whole process of taking the test – no one teaches you how to do a pregnancy test at school or at home, you just follow the little print on the instructions leaflet.

I went to see my doctor the next day. The pregnancy test my doctor gave me was also positive, but I just stared at it in my hands and laughed, a hollow laugh.

I sat on the couch in the clinic and I know my doctor was talking to me, but I have no idea what she was saying that day. It was as if I was outside my body and I could see the doctor and me, but I could not hear anything nor played a part in the scene. This was not happening to me, I told myself. The doctor gave me some papers with information I would eventually need and a prescription for some vitamins. I’m grateful I had some tangible information because I needed it some time later. I walked to the Mosta bus stop in tears. My friend called me while I was on the bus. I was standing up because all the seats were occupied, and I suddenly burst into tears. The people around me must have been quite shocked, but I was living in a haze and didn’t register they were there.

My aunt from America, was visiting at the time so I decided to wait until she left, to give my parents the news of my pregnancy. I told the father of my child first. I had only met that one time. He was quite calm about the news and said all the things you want to hear from the father of your unborn baby when you are 18 and almost a child yourself. His soothing words put me in a more confident frame of mind to break the news to my parents. In November I told my parents… and of course they were shocked. They naturally asked questions. Who is the father? Did I intend keeping the baby? There were other questions of course. They then asked me to leave the room. So I went out with my friends for a pizza, and soon my mum called to ask me to get back home, so I did… well, my parents had had some time to digest the news and cool down.

On the 4th of May 2002, my ‘A’ levels were due. The day before, on the 3rd of May, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. My pregnancy was amazing – my hair shone, my skin was lovely, no complications, all smooth sailing. I did have many emotional ups and downs – some due to hormones and others due to my baby’s father and his irresponsible attitude. It is true that I had high expectations of him but he did let me down. At the beginning of my pregnancy I expected him to make this baby – his baby too – his top priority, as I was doing. But that didn’t happen.

I had spent many hours during my pregnancy waiting for him to turn up either at my parents’ home or at the hospital for parenting classes. I cried a great deal during that time. My family couldn’t understand what I was going through, nor could my friends. How could I explain that I felt very lonely and alone?

The first time I was really happy was when I first felt my baby kick. That was lovely. She was an easy baby. Her birth took around ten minutes. The only time I really freaked out was when the nurses broke my waters and it was green.

One of the nurses told me that the baby must have been in distress some time during the pregnancy but I understood that she was in distress right then, so I flipped and had to be calmed down with some gentle talk from my baby’s father, who was present for the birth, and my mother, who had sneaked in.

Looking back, the birth and pregnancy somewhat reflected my first year as a mother – many downs, and a few happy moments that were very far apart. My daughter was healthy, though very demanding, I didn’t know how to handle this new lifestyle. I breastfed for two months and a half, then had to change to bottle because she wasn’t putting any weight on. That was a real blow at my self-esteem as a mother. I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t good enough for her – my milk wasn’t providing her with enough nutrients, therefore, I decided that I simply wasn’t good enough.

I still had expectations of her father, and thought he should take responsibility too. But I was being let down continually. I wasn’t at all prepared to bring up a child alone. In those early days I often rejected my daughter and wouldn’t show her the affection she needed. I felt caged, vulnerable and under pressure and just wanted to run and run, and keep on running…away from it all. It was awful. I thought that running away would put an end to the pain and frustration, because all I wanted was to end it all. Moreover I felt really guilty for feeling that way but at the same time I wanted to be capable of loving my daughter. I was so confused and she must have been so demanding because I wasn’t giving her enough attention. Poor thing I remember thinking, this was the end of all of my aspirations and she was the cause, without realising it. Because of her all my dreams of travelling and working had been shot down.

Now I realize that yes, life does change once you have a child, and yes, your child does become top priority, but now three years later, I have also come round to thinking that my dreams are still here, they have simply been postponed, not cancelled.

I was very weak during Maya’s first year both emotionally and physically. When she turned one, I sat for my ‘A’ levels and by October I was following a Communications course at University. By that time I had Maya in a stable routine. She slept for 12 hours and was up for 12, during which she had a nap. She has regular meal times, eats healthy food, plays and has baby friends. I’ve now returned to my social circle. I’m studying and doing part time work when I get the chance, to keep me in touch with the world of work. But I do love spending days with my daughter. I could never possibly be as strong as I am today without her and I could never be this patient.

I am a single parent since her father’s not in the picture. I haven’t seen him for over a year because he’s not on the island. He has sent us a few presents but nothing I could build a home with. I’m presently living with my parents and three younger brothers – and that makes seven of us now. Everyone I know has been affected by my daughter’s birth. I wasn’t the only one who has had to adapt. My family has had to shift around to welcome Maya, and my friends give me a lot of emotional support and offer babysitting. My closest friends tell me they feel much more confident were they to have kids, because they’ve had second hand experience watching me go through the turmoil and adapt, so they, too, are that much wiser.

I still get bad days when I feel like running away. They’re rarer though, and now I’d take my daughter Maya with me wherever I go. I’m not running away from her anymore. I love her. I’m so grateful for her presence in my life. She shares my life and improves on it daily.

So that’s my story with some sort of happy ending, for me at least.

My daughter’s left without a father, she and I share a room, and the law does not recognize her as an equal to those children born in wedlock, nor do some members of our society, for that matter. It’s a tough life she’s going to have to face. Right now she is happily playing by my side while I type this, oblivious to the fact that she does not have equal rights as do the children of married parents. She is the child of an only parent. She doesn’t know what the word ‘dad’ means, let alone understand the prayer ‘Our Father’ at school. I do worry about how she’ll interact with other children, and how they’ll interact with her, how she’ll cope at school and how she’ll take to living in an extended family, when she’ll be of an age to understand. I do worry about her having a sound self-esteem, because she doesn’t have a father present. She’s already been given a stigma and she hasn’t even reached school age yet.

Yes, I worry about that and more…”