I turn back to the mirror, and balk as I see my frizzy hair and my school robes. I can't go like this; I should change. I turn to my closet and rifle through it. Nothing seems right; nothing seems appropriate for a newborn parent. I have school robes, muggle teenage clothes, fancy dresses, and clubwear. Panic rose in my throat again like bile. Nothing that says I'm a responsible adult ready to raise a child.