Artificial Monster Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. I was eight years old when I figured out that life wasn’t meant for living for me but to a higher degree of leaving a legacy. I had an older brother who was fourteen and in middle school. We had a six year age difference and a pretty decent relationship, if you count him practicing WWE wrestling moves on me in the living room. I was used to the fact that I was the baby of the family and described as a spoiled brat. My life was described in a ritual routine of waking up, school, and softball, homework, wrestling with the older brother, and going to sleep. My child wish was to be a big sister and to be able to dress up my sibling just like I was able to dress up my Polly Pocket Dolls. I wanted to be able to take on and off the hair dos, pick the outfits, and control every movement that the toy made. Every Christmas, I put on my wish list that I wanted a little sister and quick so that I can give her back when I got bored of her just like I was able to do with my toys. Due to my naïve and selfish thoughts, that is how I wanted things to be and thought that my plan was perfect. It wasn’t till I found myself sitting in the car with my mom, three days after Christmas, where she told me I was going to be a big sister. Nine months later, August 29th 2002, I was informed by my mom, that her and my father were getting a divorce and that we were no longer going to be a family. In my mind, this was the end of the world. With tears streaming down my tan freckled cheeks and butterflies that assembled just like if they were in a net. I started the thinking of process of why this was happening and thought everything was perfect. I turned to my mom who was sitting next to me on the couch and saw her expanding stomach. I came up with the conclusion that it was the baby’s fault. It made sense, our family situation was perfect as it could possibly be until my mom got pregnant. I felt angry, my face turned as red as a ripe tomato and I felt my forehead create wrinkles just like the uneven sand at the beach. I hated that baby and wanted so badly for some kind of perpetual miracle to make this all just a dream. I named the baby, Monster. It was ruining my life. I woke up to my mother screaming at two o’clock in the morning, as if someone was stabbing her with thousands of knives only hours after she announced of her divorce with my father. She was grabbing her stomach with a grasp that tensely tugged on her shirt and had her mouth wide open. She was dripping in sweat and her forehead had three trench-like creases that overlapped each other.
I said with fear, “Mommy! Mommy! Why are you hurting?”
She replied in a desperate gasp for air and attempted to not yell, “Lynette, Dial 9-1-1! The baby is coming! Please Hurry!”
I ran as fast I could down the corridor hallway and into the kitchen where the white telephone was located. I quickly grabbed the phone off the hook and held it with both my hands as if I was holding a book. I pressed the rubber button with my thumbs with a quick motion, and held the phone to my left ear.
I heard a voice say in monotone, “Hi, you’ve called 9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”
With my frightened and anxious voice I replied, “My mom is pregnant with a monster, she is having a baby! Please hurry! She is screaming and crying! Help me please!”
The policeman replied, “Okay sweetie, we have your location from your phone. We are on our way. Everything is going to be okay.”
I slammed the phone down on the table, not being sure of whether or not I hung up on the police officer. I ran back down the hallway and saw my mom lying on the floor crying. I grabbed her pillow from her bed and started praying with the pillow between my legs. What seemed like forever was only five minutes before I heard sirens outside my house. I ran outside to the police and helped them get to my mom inside of her bedroom.
They lifted my