Pregnancy entered my mind, but quickly left, because I was on birth control.Later that night, I went to Knotts Scary Farm with some friends. I had a shot of Jägermeister before we left the house. We got there and went straight to the Beer Garden. I drank half of my beer and puked. This entire day was extremely out of character for me. I was known as the Ice Queen and I would only cry like this at funerals….. (and also that time when George died on Grey’s Anatomy.) I had been known to eat some questionable foods without missing a beat. I could handle my liquor and did never got sick…. at least before 11pm. I took a pregnancy test that night with a friend and…..
I would take 5 more tests in 12 hours before I accepted my fate of motherhood. I mean the first two had lines, not the words. I NEED ALL THE WORDS. I convinced my self that I did not actually see a second line. I needed my test to TELL me. I needed to read the actual words “PREGNANT”.
Boom. Still Pregnant.My whole life I said I never wanted to have kids or live past 50. This bun I was now undeniably carrying in my oven meant both of those things now had to change. To provide a visual of the stage I was at in my life, I’m pretty sure the outfit I was wearing is the same one I wore out the night before and I was surely rocking last night’s hangover. I had never even held a baby! How was I going to keep a baby alive? Let alone make him/her into a decent human being?
I was terrified!My pregnancy was filled with ups and downs. Moments of excitement and amazement that my body could create life. Watching my petite body change to protect this little person and feeling the effects of not giving my body what he/she needed to grow was both scary and empowering. There were moments of fear and pain over the reality that in a few short months I would be responsible for another life. A future. His/Her childhood. They would call me “Mommy.” I would have to co-parent, which was already off to a rocky start. I was controlling and closed off to trust. Both her Dad and I, were both on the wrong side of prepared to have children.
If I had the choice, at that time, to co-parent or raise this child alone- I would have said alone. I was the only person I trusted. I am so thankful I did not have that choice.
Fast forward a few months, we get the gender reveal. I wanted a boy. It was a boy. It had to be a boy. I absolutely did not want a girl. I was a boy, right? Tech smiles and says,
“Congratulations, its a girl!”I started to think about this little girl. What would she be like? Would she have a scrappy fighter spirit and be cold like me? or delicate and full of love and empathy? Would she be safe? Would she be shy like me or outgoing like her dad? What would her sense of humor be like? As my belly grew by the day, I started to daydream about life with my little girl. While I am sure most soon-to-be moms daydream about tutus and dance recitals, I mostly daydreamed about how hard her life would be. She would be raised by a mother who was inadequate at showing affection. Her mother was incapable of trust, which surely meant her parents would not be together or have a healthy relationship. Fathers always leave, so she probably wouldn’t have a father in her life at all.
But my biggest fear of having a girl was her to be violated.
Her innocence stolen.
Raped.I thought about this a lot, but spoke about it to no one. I was incapable of manifesting those positive daydreams for that long- the negative mindset and my trauma always controlled my thoughts. Then in May, 6 weeks before her due date, contractions got strong. I texted her Dad, who was visiting Family out of state at the time, that it was happening. His plane would land at 6pm that night- Greeeaaat, he would miss her birth! I went to the hospital and the nurse said I wasn’t ready to be admitted and I would need to go labor at home and come back. Contractions were awful and close together, 6 hours would pass and I would return to the hospital. Finally, this time I was admitted. I asked the nurse for an epidural immediately. Once the epidural was in, labor was a breeze. I ate popsicles, updated my Facebook and relished in all of the visitors. I was at 8cm dilated when her Dad arrived. Soon after, it was time. The nurses wheeled a table into the room. It had the tiniest diaper and hat I had ever seen. It didn’t feel like real life. The doctor came in and asked me if I wanted a 23rd or 24th birthdate for her. I said 23rd, he said “let’s go” and 3 minutes before midnight she arrived. She was perfect. I had never seen a more beautiful little human. I no longer had fear of not giving her the love and affection she would need.
She was the first person I ever felt unconditional love from. The first person who just got me.
I know now, that I always had unconditional love, but I was so traumatized that I couldn’t feel it or reciprocate it at the time.Taking her home was a complete cluster fuck. I yelled at my mom from the backseat the whole way home for her driving. I yelled at her Dad because her swing wasn’t built. Then, I watched her sleep for most of the night. Worrying about her. Reveling over her. I was so proud to be mothering her. She is exactly what I needed to begin to heal my soul from past pain.
I believe I needed her more than she needed me.I struggled with wiping and bathing her for the first few weeks of her life. I couldn’t wipe or bathe her private parts without remembering my dad and what he did. I feared I was violating her. I had a fear that I had that horror inside me. Would I hurt her one day like he hurt me? The answer was always
no. never. no fucking chance in hell.
but still… I worried.It wouldn’t take long before I worried about her dad hurting her. I voiced these concerns to no one, I knew this would cause judgement against me or, worse, her dad. Instead, I watched them closely. The thoughts of him hurting her continued. My negative thoughts were strong arming my intuition into submission. My intuition was telling me she was safe.
I would learn later how important trusting my intuition was.Overtime, the horrors I worried about stopped and I began to slowly trust myself and her dad. My past would not be repeated on my child. My child would not be abused. My child would have an amazing father in her life. For a fatherless child turned adult, there are few better things in life than watching your child experience what you never could. As she grew, we grew. I was the helicopter parent, with the routines, and was lovingly referred to as “Captain No-Fun” and he was fun Dad, where exploring, risks, messes and rule breaking was a requirement of a joyful childhood. Her Dad and I complimented each other well in parenting- Always in sync on the important stuff and covering for where the other fell short. My daughter and her dad grew close. Their bond was, I thought, unbreakable. He was so proud to be her Daddy and she could not be prouder of him. In each other, they found best friends.
Man, what I would give to get them back into that space now.
Behind every great daughter is a truly amazing dad