Parties, hook-ups, and the reality of gardening.

Romy wasn’t ready. 

She had already fallen in love with the smell of the musty club air, and the risky feeling of dancing with a stranger. She was obsessed with the feeling of the alcohol, burning down her throat and bubbling deep inside her stomach. Waking up wrapped in a stranger's sheets, the curtains drawn and blinking through the sunlight that poured inside. She adored eating at restaurants with draping curtains and tables adorned with decorative candles, right across from someone she’d met last night. 

Romy just wasn’t ready. 

The tears dripped into her lap, escaping her closed eyelids and her hands. They were beginning to soak into her dress. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be tied down, restricted. Another one of those stupid mothers that baked cookies for their children, helped them tie their shoes, and pinned their scribbles to the fridge. She wanted to live. She desired far more than staying home all day, and getting a job to support something she didn’t even want. 

The doctor congratulated her. Romy cried harder into her cold hands. He suggested that she pick up a hobby. Something to keep her occupied. Sewing, knitting, baking, painting, volunteer work, gardening. He highly recommended gardening. 

Romy took a flyer about pregnancy, and a bottle of prenatal vitamins from the doctor and left, tears still filling her eyes as she passed through the rotating door and into the chilled May air. 

She slipped into her car, parked far away from the front door, and screamed. She punched the steering wheel. She tore the flyer to shreds and threw them about the car, like a beautiful, tragic confetti. Romy tugged on her hair until she could feel the blistering headache deep within her skull. She could taste lipstick, mascara, and blood in her mouth. Her throat ached, her teeth hurt, her knuckles were red from abusing the steering wheel. Her eyes were stinging with tears and her cheeks were a deep red. Romy stared down at her stomach, imagining herself blown up like a balloon, red and swollen, vile and disgusting. 

Every month, she felt time slowing down. May transferred into June, and the warmer weather rolled in. Normally she would be attending drug-filled festivals and bar hopping with random women who wore too much lipstick, but she was stuck in her small house with regret burning through the inner workings of her body. 

It was June 7th when she finally decided to take up her recommended gardening hobby. She trudged outside with a packet of seeds she’d found in an old box, some blend of poppies, hollyhocks and lillies. Gripping a hand shovel, she kneeled on the hard dirt ground, and started digging in the soil. She laid down the seeds, slowly. She hated every single seed she placed, just like she despised the burden inside her stomach. Every seed was another regret, forcing down her freedom and her happiness. When the flowers grew, Romy imagined them pulling her down, wrapping around her legs and arms, and never letting go. She shook the images out of her head, tears beginning to fill her eyes. She finished planting the seeds, splashed the area with water, and retreated inside for another lonely night. 

The doctors worried about her. They called nightly, asking if she had taken her vitamins, gotten enough sun, and drunk enough water. They told her she was going to be a good mom. She couldn’t agree with their words. She told the doctor on the other side of the phone the same thing each night. She was taking her vitamins, she mostly remained indoors, she was trying her hardest to drink enough water, and she was miserable. After the call, Romy would typically shovel a plainly dressed salad into her mouth and slip into bed. 

August. Summer was near its end, and Romy had sulked through its entirety. No drunken pool parties, no hooking up in gas station bathrooms. None of it. She had none of the dream summer break a normal college graduate would have. She wasn’t adventuring in the mountains, or going on horrible blind dates just for fun.

She was stuck here, confined to her backyard, watching little green things grow out of the ground. They were big now. Most of them had blossoms of varying colors. Red, purple, white and yellow. She still hated looking at them. Romy hated the ever present reminder of her burdens. 

The grocery store was another place of hate. People stared at her, especially the old ones, with their canes and electronic shopping carts. They had no right to judge, didn’t understand. They stared at her round belly, her blistering hands and the swollen area beneath her eyes. They gave her disapproving looks, they whispered about her behind their hands. She would shovel items into baskets, uncaring of what she grabbed, and checkout before people could stare anymore. 

September. The plants were bigger now. She was bigger now. The bitter feelings didn’t fade as Romy splashed the thirsty flowers with water. A few of the plants had died off, now lying crispy and burnt beneath the sun filled sky. Crouching down, Romy grazed her rough fingers along the smallest plant. Tears filled her eyes as she stared at it, watching it. It didn’t even have a chance. 

She wasn’t giving it a chance. 

October. Ultrasound. She’d made the appointment during the previous night's call. The doctor seemed pleased she was finally taking some sort of interest, however small. 

Romy stared at the floor of her car, looking at the slips of paper, uneven. A flyer about pregnancy torn to shreds without a chance. 

Romy laid on the plush chair with her eyes closed. They adjusted her clothing, and her swollen belly was revealed. The nurse rubbed something cold across it, and then there was a gentle pressing feeling. It moved all around until finally the nurse said she’d found it. 

A girl. 

Romy sat by the dwindling garden everyday, watching the petals fall as the weather chilled. The more the flowers fell apart, the more she cried. She wasn’t sure why she was crying, because it surely wasn’t just for the flowers. It was for herself, and the baby girl growing within her. It was her guilty concious spilling out into the world, telling everyone she felt bad and that she was trying to fix herself. It was for the months of her life lost to the pregnancy, to the mourning of her previous life. It was for the excitement beginning to bubble in her stomach, and the fear rising higher. 

December. They pulled Romy in for a final examination. They discussed the position of the baby. She was perfectly aligned. They talked about what would happen during birth, trying to calm the expecting mother down. The fear slightly bubbled down when they explained to her it would be slightly easier than she had initially expected. 

The flowers were all gone. Snow covered the ground. Christmas arrived faster than Romy expected. She took herself to the store and scanned the shelves for a houseplant. Something to keep her happy until her garden would bloom again. Romy settled on an Aloe plant, with long green leaves and a white pot that would match her bedroom. As she checked out, people still stared at her. The cashier asked her due date, and the gender. The lady behind her with 6 kids told her to be prepared. She didn’t hurry out of the store this time. She took her aloe plant home and set it in the window. Romy didn’t cry.

January. Everyday was growing harder. Fear continually bubbled up in her stomach, warring with the excitement. She had conversations with her aloe plant to pass the time. She bought a crib, outfits, blankets and soft toys for her baby. She cried on the bathroom floor sometimes because she wasn’t ready just yet. 

When she was born, they pressed the crying bundle to Romy’s chest. Both of them were crying. Elodine. Her name was Elodine, and she was the most beautiful thing Romy had ever seen before. She was more stunning than any bottle of expensive champagne, sitting atop the dusty shelf of a dimly lit restaurant. She was more breathtaking than waking up in a stranger's bedroom, and more beautiful than dancing with any stranger at a bar. Romy felt certain she would break her, as she cradled the bundle closer to her chest.

Romy felt pride, love, happiness and excitement rush over her all at once as she gazed down at the little bundle she was holding. She was a mother. She would gladly watch her little Elodine grow, bake her cookies, dress her in the morning, and hug her when she came home from school. 

Little Elodine was 5 months old now. Romy would pick her up from the cozy blanket on the living room floor, and twirl her around. She would make up silly songs about the sky, the windows, the carpet, the aloe plant that had doubled in size, and the colorful toys in Elodines basket. Romy would hug her little one close to her chest, laughing, and feeling the love of a mother burning bright inside her. She would never regret giving her future a chance. 

Romy gently tightened a sun hat around her daughter's head, one with a big white ribbon around the center. She fluffed up the pretty white and pink springtime dress she had put on Elodine, and added a simple pair of toddler sandals with matching frilly white ribbons. Romy set her daughter on her hip and they walked outside, clutching a packet of seeds. 

Flowers had begun to spring through the soil of Romy’s previous garden. There was a white lily blooming already, with baby sized buds surrounding the big, bright blossom. Shoots of green were everywhere. Together, Romy and Elodine sprinkled seeds around the garden area, and then pushed dirt over them. Romy helped her daughter give the plants a sweet drink, and then the two girls sat down on the lush lawn, and played in the grass. 

As Romy watched her daughter pluck out grass blades and throw them all over herself, she felt the biggest glow of love and pride inside her chest. Her previous life was gone, yet she didn’t feel sad. She didn’t need parties, hook-ups or expensive wines to keep her satisfied and happy. She had her little sproutlet, the flower of her own creation, her beautiful daughter Elodine.