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My baby was barely 24 hours old when it happened for the first time. A member of the hospital staff had seen my notes and there it was in all its glory, my age. Nineteen. Nine – f****ing – teen. The look in her eyes was unmistakable. It was judgement. Stone cold, unremorseful judgement.
Fortunately, Judgment Day for me was a private affair, shielded by the physical barrier of my hospital room. I shed a tear, pulled myself together and allowed my skin grow an extra few layers. I made a promise that I wasn’t going to allow my child to be seen as a
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faux pas, a surprise perhaps, but not a mistake.
I may have only been a teenager, but I was able to describe the spinothalmic pathway for sensing pain, hold down a conversation about quantum physics and knit myself a jumper – should the opportunity present itself. I was intelligent, ambitious and knew what being a mother meant.
Without giving me a chance she had put me into a bracket that I felt was unfair. I had no desire to burden my baby on someone else and scarper to drink my body weight in Lambrini (Pinot Grigio would be far to
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sophisticated).
Needless to say, that particular lady had probably forgotten me by the end of the week, but I never forgot her. Every time I was judged; at supermarkets, restaurants and even mother and baby groups, I remembered her.
No matter what your ’label’, young, single, extraordinary, you’ll always be labelled. It’s society’s biggest downfall. So chin up, sleeves up, boss face on, you’re taking on the world, one raised eyebrow at a time.
Who run this mother?
Love, Nina x
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Nina P - 15 Dec 15
My baby was barely 24 hours old when it happened for the first time. A member of the hospital staff had seen my notes and there it was in all its glory, my age. Nineteen. Nine – f****ing – teen. The look in her eyes was unmistakable. It was judgement. Stone cold, unremorseful judgement.
Fortunately, Judgment Day for me was a private affair, shielded by the physical barrier of my hospital room. I shed a tear, pulled myself together and allowed my skin grow an extra few layers. I made a promise that I wasn’t going to allow my child to be seen as a faux pas, a surprise perhaps, but not a mistake.
I may have only been a teenager, but I was able to describe the spinothalmic pathway for sensing pain, hold down a conversation about quantum physics and knit myself a jumper – should the opportunity present itself. I was intelligent, ambitious and knew what being a mother meant.
Without giving me a chance she had put me into a bracket that I felt was unfair. I had no desire to burden my baby on someone else and scarper to drink my body weight in Lambrini (Pinot Grigio would be far to sophisticated).
Needless to say, that particular lady had probably forgotten me by the end of the week, but I never forgot her. Every time I was judged; at supermarkets, restaurants and even mother and baby groups, I remembered her.
No matter what your ‘label’, young, single, extraordinary, you’ll always be labelled. It’s society’s biggest downfall. So chin up, sleeves up, boss face on, you’re taking on the world, one raised eyebrow at a time.
Who run this mother?
Love, Nina x
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