An effective institution, whether it be a teen mother home, a group home, a school, or even a nursing home, is run by a somewhat rigid system of rules and regulations. Organization is what leads to order and you can't have mass amounts of people under one roof without order because chaos is sure to arise.
St. Agnes ran on rules as all of these places. We had rules as to what time we needed to wake up, have our chores done, our babies and ourselves fed and dressed. We needed to drop our babies off at daycare by a certain hour. Attend our high school for a full regular school day. We had classes like parenting, nutrition, and house meetings scheduled for each day after school where we were expected to put our babies back in daycare during. We had a dinner meal to be present for, certain hours for bathing, days and set time slots for laundry doing, and a set time that babies needed to be in bed. There was limited free time, with majority of free time being late afternoon and on weekend. Weekend I spent back in my home town with my family and friends.
I had major issues with the set up. It may not seem like there were obvious flaws to the system but for me, well, like I said, who I am and the way I live, don't easily conform to other people's regulations.
I wasn't being rebellious, I'd already hung up my rebel shoes. I was trying to do what I felt were the right things as a mom. when how I should parent her had already been dictated for me. It was an up hill battle.
I loved my new school. The high school was great and had I arrived there under any other circumstances I have no doubts I would have thrived. I couldn't concentrate in school. I missed my baby and even worse my baby missed me. I optimistically breast pumped bottles of milk each day for her to eat at day care. I'd drop her off crying, into the arms of near strangers. I'd come home from school each day to find that she just wouldn't each for them. At times she may take an ounce of milk during the entire time I was gone, more often then that she'd take nothing. I was more than concerned and no one would hear me out. Many would wonder why I didn't wean at this point but how could I wean when she flat out would starve than take a bottle?
Almost as worrisome, was that the daycare workers were totally stressed with her. She cried the entire day until I'd drag in to get her. One time I came home to find her strapped into her infant seat, balanced by her day care worker, on top of a running vacuum cleaner because that was the only way they could find to calm her. She was miserable, I was miserable, and the daycare employees were stressed. Other times I'd come home from school and she'd be sleeping. She'd still be breathing heavily and whimpering in her sleep and it was more then obvious by her tear streaked face that she'd cried herself to sleep.
Those days were horrid. My breast engorged with what felt like 20lbs of milk, rock hard and leaking through my shirt. Can you imagine what it was like to be fifteen, sitting in class and having breast milk soak through your breasts pads, and run down the front of your shirt, onto your pants?? by the time I got home I swear I had milk dripping into my shoes. True story.
When she would latch on I'd want to scream it hurt so bad. No sooner had I fed her and calmed her, possibly got some studying done or laundry folded, then I' have to go to an in-house class and turn her over again. It was brutal on both of us.
Eventually I started leaving school early. I just couldn't focus on my classwork when I worried about my baby. At first this didn't go over well. By law, they had to keep me in school. The first time I snuck in and signed my daughter out of daycare, I'd just barely made it back to my room when the staff started knocking on the door. I was of course in mild trouble.
I waited a bit and then continued picking her up. I got in trouble a few more times and it stopped. I'll never know if the daycare workers took up my cause because they seemed so relieved whenever I came in the door or if they just stopped reporting that I'd picked her up to the staff. Regardless I'd pick her up, take the back way up to my room, close the door and not reappear until a time when it would be normal to see us home.
I'd signed up for drama and loved it, but eventually missed so many classes I was forced to drop it. I was involved in a young parent class at school, which had some St. Agnes moms in it, but also a number of everyday teenage moms and dads, who I learned to lean on. I found myself more days than not, crying in the arms of the social worker who ran the group. I just wanted to be with my baby.
I would rough school out a while longer but issues such as these would rear their ugly little heads again and again.
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