When I was 13 my mother had one of those awkward, squirming talks with me about drugs, alcohol and…sex.
Engulfed in repulsion I proudly announced “I promise I will not have a kid until I’ve at least graduated high school.”
I’m sure that was comforting.
Worry not, I kept my promise! I graduated high school in May, and wasn’t knocked up until October! You’re welcome, Mom!
You see, I was madly in love with Mr. J. We were the perfect couple (having been dating for precisely 3 months!) and after a few ‘how the hell are we going to make this work’ discussions, we dove in. Head first. Into parenting concrete. After 9 months and 27 hours of labor, I was a mother. Someone’s Mom. A 19 year old mom. What the shit?
For me, it has never been weird being a mom. Sure it’s been difficult, frustrating, often disgusting and sometimes pure insanity. But I gave birth at an age where everyone is making huge life-changing decisions. Granted, their conflicts were in choosing a college, while I researched child safety seats. They had all-night keg parties and I spent 12 hours straight breastfeeding. Parenting was the path I chose. Big fucking deal.
Since I made the decision to bring that little dork into the world, it’s been such a natural part of who I am, that I have never thought twice that it’s something I shouldn’t be doing. I can’t guarantee I never did, but I don’t feel like I missed anything. My daughter is as much a part of me as the hair on my head. Lil’ A IS my life. I’ve learned more in the 8 years since her birth than any college degree could have taught me.
She is my only child, and will forever be my only child. Mr. J and I had decided we wouldn’t have another kid until Lil’ A was at least 2, and no later than 5 years old. When she was 2, we were still broke – so it wasn’t going to happen then. Year by year, the situation was still not a topic of discussion. Everything was just fine the way it was. Mr. J passed away and with that fact as a part of my life, I was done having children. I had no interest in bringing another life into my world that could possibly disappear suddenly. No thank you. I’m already clinging to Lil’ A for dear life. I’m probably messing her up big time. I’ll pay for her future therapy.
Even after meeting my current beau and being lucky enough to fall madly in love again, I still have no interest. It would seem unnatural to me and with too much thought behind the entire process. There’d be too much to think out and I sadly still haven’t received the brain cells back from my first pregnancy, so that’s not even possible.
Plus, I know my luck…I don’t have any. I had a perfect pregnancy, perfect delivery and a perfect child. I know if I ever did want to do it again, I’d end up with a centaur baby. I just know it. She’s an only child….she can deal with it.
Is it wrong to not want another child? Am I just weird? Don’t answer that last one.