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 I
became a mom at the young age of 18. I had the maturity of
a ten year old. And I made it work.
I had been dating my boyfriend for about a year. He was a
year older than me and already graduated from high school.
I was in lurve. We rarely used protection and would often
talk about how it was "no big deal" if I wound up pregnant.
We were so naive.
I, of course, wound up
pregnant.
When I gave birth to my son
I looked at him and thought, "Huh, I guess all newborns aren't
ugly." And that was the extent of my feelings for him.
He was cute. He was squishy. I didn't immediately
love him and I didn't know what was wrong with me. Was I
just too young for this motherhood business? Was I not cut
out to be a mom?
We took our little baby boy,
nicknamed Eeyore on my blog,
home and slowly but surely I began to think of him as more than
just this squishy little thing to play dress up with.
Sure, he cried. Sure, he pooped. Sure, he totally
ruined my plans to hang out with my friends like a normal 18
year old. You know what else he did? He changed me.
Eeyore turned me into this new person. Someone who cared
about someone other than herself. Someone who would DIE
for another person. Someone like...a mom.
My husband, nicknamed Cleatus on my blog, and I got
married a few months after Eeyore was born. Those first
couple of years were rough on me and my husband and we split up
for a couple of months, but ended up working things out.
Motherhood had turned me into some 40 year old woman and somehow
fatherhood hadn't changed him that much. He was a great
dad, don't get me wrong, but he didn't give up his social life
for married life. He didn't think we had to turn into some
old married couple in order to be good parents. We worked
through it and are doing great now.
When Eeyore was four, I
finally talked my husband into having another baby. Our
daughter, Cindy-Lu, was born. She was rotten where Eeyore
was sweet. She cried where Eeyore sat contentedly.
She was awake where Eeyore would have slept. She was and
still is a little drama queen.
I thought I had changed when
Eeyore was born, but I just had to change all over again when my
daughter was born. Sure, I grew up and matured when I had
my son. But, it was nothing compared to the growing up
that would need to be done to handle two children, one of whom
was a bit difficult.
I like to think that I've
handled it beautifully. I've adjusted with only minimal
temper tantrums. I've not yet been tossed in jail for
child abuse and I've yet to empty out the bank accounts and set
off across the world. I call this success.
When Eeyore was 7 and Cindy-Lu was 2, Cleatus and I decided that
we were done with having kids. I would have happily had
another if Cleatus wanted more, but I knew that he was done.
There would be no changing his mind and I (for once) decided to
compromise with him and accept my two children and let him get
his vasectomy.
I struggle with that a lot.
Every month I hope that my period won't come. Every month
I talk myself into believing it is late. Every month I
debate on buying a pregnancy test. And every month I get
disappointed. Of course I am not pregnant. I will
most likely never be pregnant again.
I'm happy with my perfect
little family of four. There is still room for more in my
eyes, but I think I would most likely always feel that way.
Children just have a way of burrowing into your heart and you
forget what little pains they are. That sweet little
newborn baby smell and those wrinkly little fingers and toes and
that soft, fuzzy little head just keep me wanting more. My
son comforting his sister after she gets hurt keeps me wanting
more. My daughter dancing along to a TV show keeps me
wanting more.
Motherhood. It's forgetting the really bad parts and
hanging onto the love.
About the author: Karly Campbell is a
homeschooling mother of two children. You can read more
about their lives on her personal blog ,
Wiping Up Snot.
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