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View as: GRID LIST

YOUNG MOTHERS DO ‘AVE ‘EM

1
When I became pregnant at seventeen, I received a surprising level of support from my family. My mother was a comfort, my grandfather reassuring. But a few people stood out, feeling the need to voice their opinions in opposition of my choice.
My aunt cried, “But it’s a baby!” as if I had mistakenly thought I was gestating a moose.
My uncle really laid it on (via MySpace message, of course): “You can’t have a baby. Having kids this young is for people who are going to live in trailer parks their entire lives.” Clearly factual.
But I think
SelfishMother.com
2
the cake-topper here was my father’s emphatic prediction: that I would leave my baby “in her own shit and piss”, because I was obviously unfit to care for her properly.
Sweet, right?
Luckily, I’m the kind of gal who takes people’s negative assumptions about me as a sort of perverted challenge. Considering this, I should probably thank these clearly well-meaning family members for their contributions to my stellar parenting skills: “Couldn’t have done it without you, guys!”
Really, I’d never had any doubts about what kind of mother I
SelfishMother.com
3
was going to be. An awesome one, naturally. And while their lack of confidence did sting (and paired up with Pinterest to wreck my relationship with maternal perfectionism entirely) it only gave me more gas in my tank. Gas I’d use to be a kick-ass mom, obviously.
Six years and one more (freakishly limber) baby later, my partner and I (no, we still haven’t gotten married) are buying our first house. We are 23 and 26, and we’ve had our share of ups and downs and in-the-middles. It is, I believe, unavoidable to muck around in all that when you begin
SelfishMother.com
4
your journey together as large, sexually active children.
When I look back on those first two or three years, I count my blessings we didn’t all crash and burn. I thank God I was able to avoid screwing up this precious small person of mine too badly. That I was able to sustain my relationship with my pseudo-husband (which was a damn good investment, ‘cause that guy just gets hotter every year) despite its many obvious flaws, and see it emerge, Disney-pretty (but not as sexist).
It goes without saying that it hasn’t been easy. The sleeplessness,
SelfishMother.com
5
the self-doubt, the tantrums, and the endless, crazy-making bedtime routines: those all kind of suck. But that’s what you deal with when you’re a mom. I don’t want special recognition for making it through the standard trials of motherhood- and, though I know they mean well, people who try to pat me on the back for doing succeed only in pissing me off. I don’t want a cookie for doing my job. I want to be treated just like any other mother, because that’s exactly what I am: and I’ve earned it.
The real ‘hard part’- the suffocating,
SelfishMother.com
6
screaming-inside part of having babies young- is that you are expected to have it all together when you are still just trying to figure out who you are, and what that even looks like. Being so determined to do well by my child, I forced myself into a role I wasn’t actually (don’t tell anyone) ready to play. I needed to be steady, solid, responsible, confident, and sure-footed when inside I was still malleable, curious, undecided. I was still Becoming, then.
And I still am, now. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m stronger, smarter, more
SelfishMother.com
7
laid-back, and more stressed-out. I weigh more, I care less, and I don’t give a hoot if people see my boobs when I’m nursing. I love myself. I love this insane life, these crazy people, and the woman I’ve become.
And I’ll only be forty when my youngest graduates high school. How cool is that?
SelfishMother.com

By

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- 3 Jul 14

When I became pregnant at seventeen, I received a surprising level of support from my family. My mother was a comfort, my grandfather reassuring. But a few people stood out, feeling the need to voice their opinions in opposition of my choice.

My aunt cried, “But it’s a baby!” as if I had mistakenly thought I was gestating a moose.

My uncle really laid it on (via MySpace message, of course): “You can’t have a baby. Having kids this young is for people who are going to live in trailer parks their entire lives.” Clearly factual.

But I think the cake-topper here was my father’s emphatic prediction: that I would leave my baby “in her own shit and piss”, because I was obviously unfit to care for her properly.

Sweet, right?

Luckily, I’m the kind of gal who takes people’s negative assumptions about me as a sort of perverted challenge. Considering this, I should probably thank these clearly well-meaning family members for their contributions to my stellar parenting skills: “Couldn’t have done it without you, guys!”

Really, I’d never had any doubts about what kind of mother I was going to be. An awesome one, naturally. And while their lack of confidence did sting (and paired up with Pinterest to wreck my relationship with maternal perfectionism entirely) it only gave me more gas in my tank. Gas I’d use to be a kick-ass mom, obviously.

Six years and one more (freakishly limber) baby later, my partner and I (no, we still haven’t gotten married) are buying our first house. We are 23 and 26, and we’ve had our share of ups and downs and in-the-middles. It is, I believe, unavoidable to muck around in all that when you begin your journey together as large, sexually active children.

When I look back on those first two or three years, I count my blessings we didn’t all crash and burn. I thank God I was able to avoid screwing up this precious small person of mine too badly. That I was able to sustain my relationship with my pseudo-husband (which was a damn good investment, ‘cause that guy just gets hotter every year) despite its many obvious flaws, and see it emerge, Disney-pretty (but not as sexist).

It goes without saying that it hasn’t been easy. The sleeplessness, the self-doubt, the tantrums, and the endless, crazy-making bedtime routines: those all kind of suck. But that’s what you deal with when you’re a mom. I don’t want special recognition for making it through the standard trials of motherhood- and, though I know they mean well, people who try to pat me on the back for doing succeed only in pissing me off. I don’t want a cookie for doing my job. I want to be treated just like any other mother, because that’s exactly what I am: and I’ve earned it.

The real ‘hard part’- the suffocating, screaming-inside part of having babies young- is that you are expected to have it all together when you are still just trying to figure out who you are, and what that even looks like. Being so determined to do well by my child, I forced myself into a role I wasn’t actually (don’t tell anyone) ready to play. I needed to be steady, solid, responsible, confident, and sure-footed when inside I was still malleable, curious, undecided. I was still Becoming, then.

And I still am, now. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m stronger, smarter, more laid-back, and more stressed-out. I weigh more, I care less, and I don’t give a hoot if people see my boobs when I’m nursing. I love myself. I love this insane life, these crazy people, and the woman I’ve become.

And I’ll only be forty when my youngest graduates high school. How cool is that?

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