I got pregnant at 19. Woopsy.
I had just started my first year at university and was more than a little distraught. Yet there was never a doubt in my mind. I would have this baby, raise it as best as I could and try make things work with her father (Our relationship was a bit rocky but we became very excited as my tummy grew). My family was supportive and caring and wonderful. I was encouraged to stay in university and work hard. I was truly blessed. I had everything I needed.
Most of it went according to plan. Her father worked and moved in with us and our relationship worked. I stuck through university, swollen feet, aching back and all. I passed everything. My daughter grew beautifully every day and was a real active baby in my tummy. I didn’t get the birth I wanted, because I had to have an emergency c section and I had to write supplementary exams. Yet I recovered okay and passed everything and spent my holidays with this beautiful new born little angel.
From there on things went south between me and her dad. I broke up with him and he moved out. I was devastated but couldn’t handle the fighting anymore.
I returned for my second year, leaving my little one with a nanny then finally enrolling her in a play school when the nanny turned out to be unreliable. I passed my first semester with distinctions all round. I was doing okay. I was a single mommy at university just doing the best I could.
So if I look back at the past year and think “hey, I guess I’ve done okay.” Me and her dad are now good friends, I have a part time job so I can contribute a little and I work frikkin hard at varsity. I’ll be in third year next year.
But I cant help it. I cant help regretting so much. I could be working on a cruise ship, travelling the world like some of my friends (I would have taken a year off). I could have gone out without worrying about my Lexi and whether my boobs would leak whilst I was on the dance floor. I could go down to the coast without worrying about car seats and prams and nappies and formula. I could date freely. I could live freely. I wouldn’t feel guilty about my parents paying for everything cause I would have stuck with my previous part time job and been able to buy all the clothes and jewelry and shoes I wanted. I could maybe be in Thailand right now with my best friend (provided I could have gotten the money together). I could be someone else. I could be label free. Once you have a baby this young you become that girl. I could just be free.
It sounds terrible I know. I love my daughter. I truly do. But dammit it is hard. She’s one now and the most adventurous thing I’ve ever seen, we hardly get a moments peace.
But really, I don’t think I would have it any other way. I see life differently now. I’ve grown. I’m humble. I understand the value of money and how difficult things can be. I understand my parents. I am grateful for them. I still go out, they babysit. I can still be me, just with an earlier curfew and wondering how she is doing instead of flirting with the boy across the room (though, I still do that sometimes too :-)). I have found out just what unconditional love is and how beautiful it is to watch a tiny single celled organism grow into a beautiful healthy walking baby girl. I know what it’s like to have someone so dependent on you, to have them lay their head on your shoulder and say “mama mama mama”. My darling little Lexi Isabella.
I will still travel, I will still see the world. Once I have my master’s degree and my child is big enough to understand how amazing the world is we will go off on our adventures. I will make beautiful life long memories for and with her.
It’s been a long, tough, amazing, incredible road, overfilled with tears as well as laughter.
And I think it’s only going to get better.