From the time I found out I was pregnant, I was convinced I was having a boy. Not because of personal preference but I felt that parenting might've been a little easier. So when the Ultrasound Tech said congratulations, I exploded in tears.
Because I knew that my then on-again off-again now hated ex-boyfriend wasn't going to be a part of our lives, I didn't think I would be able to handle the pain that a little girl would experience from not having her father around. I know boys need their dads as well but, being a fatherless daughter myself, how could I save her from damage when I'm damaged my damn self?
No, I'm neither damaged goods nor am I a complete wreck because of an absentee father but I do know that had he been around, I might not have kissed so many freaking frogs.
As a woman, I might not have been able to teach him how to be a man but I damn sure could've taught him what kind of man NOT to be.
I bawled. Like the ugly, snot running down my nose, beat red face kind of cry. I cried on the ultrasound table, excused myself to the bathroom to scream, and had nightmares for weeks. I dreamt of being one of the worse fuck-ups known to man-kind. You know, the parent of a psychopathic axe murdering Jason copycat. Or the mother of the little girl with severe father issues that ran away to prostitute her temple.
Needless to say, with those dreams paired with her kicking me in my ribs, I got no sleep.
I thought my fear of the dark or failing at life was bad, but failing as mother, now that's some terrifying shit. She hadn't asked to be brought into this world by irresponsible highschool sweethearts turned bad. Sweet innocence tarnished by my stupidity before she takes her first breathe, what the fuck was I thinking?
Apparently, the universe saw me sane and capable enough to raise a little girl, so I had no choice. I got over that fear because she was coming, ready or not.
But I noticed something. I noticed that the more she moved, the more I changed, the more the thought of her existence wasn't so damn scary. The kid saved me. She saved my relationship with my mother. That little alien occupying my womb, making me puke at the slightest smell saved me.
The fear of messing up pushed me to finish school. 9 months pregnant having Braxton Hicks, waddling through the halls of my university, I was determined. Aced my finals, had her two weeks later and went right back four days after.
When she was born, I saw my entire future in her eyes and after all, I was raised by a single mother and I'm pretty amazing.
I guess it's true, God doesn't give you anything that you can't handle so I pray that I can handle This Baby Shit and Mothering Thing.
I did it again!