I’m 27 but I felt like a Teen Mom

Tomorrow marks a year since my sonshine was born. Also since I was born. I tend to be reborn every January and July I’ve noticed. Not intentionally of course, my life just tends to cycle like that.

I was wasting away. This baby was going to take everything out of me it seemed. 37 weeks of gestating is arduous for someone like me who thrived on being in peak physical health & fiercely independent. Although there were no obstacles my entire pregnancy, mentally I felt like the rose in Beauty in the Beast. Withering away week by week.

Deep down, I was praying he’d come “early” so I could be freed from my debilitating state. You know, I don’t really think babies come early or late, I think they come on time. When they’re meant to. The stars never lie when I read someone’s natal chart and God knows I love my son’s chart.

From behind you couldn’t tell I was pregnant. Truly a magic show to turn around and almost bump something with my belly. A belly firm to the touch. Skin stretched so thin, it resembled rice paper bacon. My belly button quirked off to the side of the dark line that grew over time. All that baby hanging low like a melon in a hammock. I could’ve been a cast member of Happy Feet the way I had to waddle around.

I never felt fear like I’ve felt this past year. Not to say I wasn’t afraid of things growing up but that the fear that consumed me from labor until now was very different. The kind that keeps you from eating, sleeping or even blinking. Having a child is having your heart live outside your body. I’d prefer not to be stabbed in the heart. I’d prefer no one and no thing to hurt my child.

Technically, choosing to have a baby is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. I statistically had a higher chance of dying from conception to postpartum than any other time in my life just because I’m a Black woman in America. I can handle pain…so long as I knew for how long. Labor feels endless. Time is an illusion of course. Though, time when laboring is worse than waiting for your hot pocket to warm up in a busy cafeteria with the slowest microwave.

I feared not being able to weather the tsunami ahead. That no amount of mindfulness practices or breathing techniques could save me. That I’d end up begging for a C-Section.

I never wanted kids or marriage. My parents divorced, there were many struggles and I didn’t want to risk doing that to my own kids. But I fell in love with someone who I thought worst case scenario, I could see amicably co-parenting with. My best friend, lover in many lifetimes, the father of my son has been a pretty good choice so far! But that means I never spent time with kids or knew anything about having them. Most of my understanding came from the MTV show Teen Mom growing up.

Although, we’re 27 now, we feel like teen parents. Primarily because most new parents feel like they know nothing and that feeling was last ever present when we were in high school. Secondarily because none of our friends from college are having kids. So all the parent friends we have are long distant & local but with older folks.

I never doubt the timing of having our wittle boy. I feel like mid-20s is a lovely sweet spot to have a child. I lived a vibrant life before getting married. A vibrant life after marriage. And plan to live a vibrant one as a family.

I was called to becoming a mother that spring and answered by winter. As a former thespian, I love some drama. The two hours between the dam breaking to the cathartic relief of pushing everything out were DRAMATIC.

Highlight reel: It was as if a full sized balloon was filled with water and popped in our bed. To the anesthesiologist complimenting my socks that said “What am I even doing?” With a frog in boots wearing a mushroom hat. To the first smell of my son reminding me solely of boiled eggs. To the clicks of my husband’s Canon AE-1. To those post-birth, full body adrenaline shakes.

Would I do it again? Yes!

Would I do it again? No!

Must quit while we’re ahead! One and done! We’ve had one and we’ve won!

I’d probably be rich if I ever went on Deal or No Deal.

Anyways, the first 6 months dragged me by the scalp. Literally. I lost my hair. So much that we buzzed it all off. You could see the stress in those tresses. I was born anew in July and I could breathe again. It was only then did I realize my old self was nowhere to be found. Twas okay because I was redesigning myself with every farmer’s market bouquet of snapdragons & nursing session.

Now on the eve of his first birthday, I get to share my smoothie with him as he practices walking across the living room. Those bright blue eyes flickering up at me in awe. I wonder how soon can I potty train him?

If I had him at 16, I’d probably be a terrible mother honestly. Therefore, I’ll give myself grace for my first year of motherhood being completed between 26-27. I yearned for more knowledge and support. Ultimately, I’m content with my efforts and outpouring of unconditional love. A rhythmic pat on my back for not giving up when that would’ve been easier. For all he knows, I’m the best mama in the universe. Just got to remember that.

Hard to remember things when you’re sleep deprived though…

All photos by JME Film Photography