When I was little, the great mystery to me wasn't how babies were made, but why. The mechanics I understood - my older brother Jesse had filed me in - although at the time I was sure he'd heard half of it wrong. Other kids my age were busy looking up the words penis and vagina in the classroom dictionary when the teacher had her back turned, but I paid attention to different details. Like why some mothers only had one child, while other families seemed to multiply before your eyes. Or how the new girl in school, Sedona, told anyone who'd listen that she was named for the place where her parents were vacationing when they made her.
Now that I am 13, these distinctions are only more complicated: the 8th-grader who dropped out of school because she got into trouble; a neighbour who got herself pregnant in the hopes it would keep her husband from filing for divorce. I'm telling you, if aliens landed on earth today and took a good hard look at why babies get born, they'd conclude that most people have children by accident, or because they drink too much on a certain night, or because birth control isn't 100%, or for a thousand other reasons that really aren't very flattering.
- My Sister's Keeper
By Jodi Picoult
(I'm done with this and I loved it!)
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