It’s been a while since I wrote on here. I blame life because sometimes it takes over and your pulled into a whirlpool of activity and emotion and newness and, frankly, writing becomes lost in all of that. Can I just say, now as I’m looking back at the past two weeks, it baffles me that this whirlpool was caused by a tiny life that barely weighed five pounds, but had the lungs and stage presence of Adele. He’s beautiful. I can’t even describe how much my heart expanded when I saw him for the first time. I mean my mom had my three youngest brothers when I was about twelve so I had my fair share of making bottles and changing diapers and seeing someone at the hospital, but experiencing the birth of a baby at twenty is so damn different. Maybe it’s because I’ve taken more biology classes than I care to think about or because most of my friends on Facebook are expectant mothers or mothers to toddlers, but being a part of this birth was eye opening. It made me realize that I don’t want to have kids…ever.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but seriously I’m scarred for life. Giving birth is not a pretty sight despite what Hollywood has made it out to be in countless movies over the years. It’s painful and excruciating and makes someone who hasn’t had children not want to have children ever.
Because my Aunty needed more support than a twenty year old college student, my mom and her sister came to town. It was so refreshing to have family here and to see my mom. My mom stayed at the apartment for a few days and we had a great mommy/daughter time drinking coffee and shopping. A few days after she left and I went back to my apartment I sobbed for hours. For the first time I realized just how much I missed my family and home.
Now I’m depressed.