Fat Bottom Girl Said What

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Archive for the tag “teen pregnancy”

A Melancholy Mother’s Day

I wrote to my daughter’s mother today to tell her Happy Mother’s Day. Yes, you heard me correctly. I have a daughter, but I am not her mother. It pained me for years to say this, but it is the truth.

You see, I got pregnant and had a baby at 16. I wasn’t equipped to be a mom. I considered abortion, but by the time my mind really allowed me to realize I was pregnant, it was too late, and I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it anyway. So I did what numerous teen girls have done before me, and I put her up for adoption.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life.

I felt like a piece of my soul had been torn out of my very being. I felt incomplete most days, because I knew she was out there but she wasn’t a part of my life.

Some days I wanted to die it hurt so bad. Other days I thought her being gone was like a death, but worse because I didn’t know where she was or what was happening in her life.

I wanted to be a part of her life, but knew that I had to wait. I had to wait until she was at least 18 to start looking for her.

It didn’t take 18 years. Around her 10th birthday, her mother contacted me and she and I started a regular correspondence. She would send pictures and letters occasionally, and I would send gifts to my daughter. Her mother and I developed a friendship, born out of heartbreak – hers for not being able to conceive, and mine for giving away my child. Her mother was very appreciative of my sacrifice and knew what I had done hadn’t been easy.

When my daughter was 24 I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to extend a hand in case she was interested in getting to know each other, or I wanted to find some closure so I wasn’t sitting around wondering for the rest of my life.

I wrote my daughter a letter, telling her that if she was interested, I would like to get to know her, and if not, I understood and wouldn’t contact her again.

About a week later, I received a Facebook friend request from her and was elated! She and I began corresponding and getting to know each other. She wanted to know about my son, her half-brother, and was interested in some family medical history also.

We arranged to meet. She was so much like me it was scary. Nature wins out over nurture obviously.

I found out she was getting married within a few months, and she invited me, and my family to the wedding. It was bittersweet. I had to leave the venue and go outside to get a grip on my emotions.

It’s the oddest feeling to share DNA with someone, yet be on the periphery of their life.

I would say my daughter and I became friends of sorts. She came and stayed with me a couple of times, and my son and I would visit her.

Even though I knew that I wasn’t her mother–I wasn’t the woman who had raised her, who comforted her when she cried, who reveled in her achievements, who waited up to make sure she came home safely–I was the woman who had given birth to her. I was the one who carried her in me for 9 months. I was the one who held her, and fed her, and changed her diaper for 4 days before she left the hospital to go be with her new family.

Because of that, I wanted her to just one time, acknowledge to me that I had done those things. That I mattered because I gave her life. That I mattered because I let her go to parents who adored her and gave her an amazing life.

The last time I saw her she acknowledged me, but not like I had hoped.

“I wish you’d never had me!”

“Why didn’t you just abort me?”

“I wished I’d never met you!”

“I hate you and you’ve ruined my life twice!”

She walked away and never looked back. She and I have no contact now.

I won’t reach out again.

You might think that’s selfish, or immature. You can think what you like. You don’t know my heart or the hell I went through for years while missing my daughter.

Children break our hearts. Maybe your child broke your heart today, as my son did, with no “Happy Mother’s Day” utterance, no “You’re the greatest mom and I love you”.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent and have a piece of your soul walking around in this world–knowing that as much as you love them, they are their own beings, and they will think, and do, exactly as they please regardless.

Maybe he will understand one day if he has children of his own.

Maybe my daughter will understand one day if she has children of her own.

Maybe, just maybe, she will be able to forgive a 16 year old girl, who was scared shitless, and felt like she had no other options.

But maybe she won’t. And that’s okay. Because I love her anyway. And I love my son too.

And because I love them, I forgive them.

We’re moms, we’re dads, we’re parents. It’s what we do.


What is it he tastes like in that movie?  Orange tic-tacs?  That has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  What this post has to do with is teen pregnancy–me being the pregnant teen.  Well, being the pregnant teen 27 years ago.  First of all, if you’ve never been a parent, biological or otherwise, or never wanted children, you might not relate to this post at all.  But, it has to be written.  It has to be written because of what happened last night between me and my biological daughter.

Let me give you a little background, hopefully a short synopsis so you will kind of understand where I am coming from.  I got pregnant in high school, considered abortion but just couldn’t bring myself to do it, so after much soul-searching, decided to put my baby up for adoption.  There were many reasons I made this choice, but just a couple of them were the fact I was only 16 and still had two years of high school left and wanted to go to college, and the fact that it’s extremely difficult to raise a child with a two parent family, let alone being a single teenage mom.  I mean really, they have that dumbass program on MTV now about teen mothers, and most of those chicks don’t do so great at it.  Plus, I had seen a couple of girls from my high school try it, and it didn’t seem to work so well.  I also knew the last thing I ever wanted to do was to resent this little human I was carrying around inside of me.  And last but not least, money. . .where in the fuck was the money going to come from?

Let me just say, hands down, one of the hardest things I will ever have to do in my life.  I have lived through some other hard things, and they were a piece of cake compared to this.  You don’t realize the agony, the depth of soul pain, that went along with this decision.  The day she left the hospital was one of the worst days of my life thus far.  A piece of my soul left that day, and a couple of years ago I thought I might finally be getting it back.  Either that, or I was determined to finally get some closure on it.  It’s pretty hard to walk around with a piece of your soul missing for 24 years.  I know most of you haven’t done it, or maybe you have, just not in this sense.

She and I had very limited contact over the years.  I would send gifts for her birthdays after she turned 10, and receive letters from her mom updating me on how she was and what was going on in her life.  About 3 1/2 years ago, I decided it was time for some closure on the whole thing.  I knew I wanted to meet her and possibly have her be a part of my life, but Ihad no idea if she felt the same.  I sat down and wrote her a letter.  Yes, I put pen to paper and wrote an actual fucking letter.  I mailed it off to her mother and waited for a reply.  I didn’t get a letter in return, but I did get a Facebook friend request.  We chatted a bit, and coordinated a meeting.  Everything went great, saw her mom who really seems to be a kindred spirit, and even met her dad that day too.  It was all very casual and comfortable.  Was invited to her wedding a few months later, and the whole family went.  All seemed well, and we continued to keep in contact and see each other periodically.

Fast forward to 2012.  She came to see me yesterday.  We shopped, we dined, we got our shit-kickers on and went to the country bar for some beers and dancing.  We came home and ate a bite, and while sitting here discussing some things that were going on in her family, she got really pissed off at me.  I guess she felt like I was trying to say her parents didn’t know what they were doing regarding a situation with her brother.  That wasn’t what I was saying, but she didn’t understand that, and wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain to her.  So she threw all her shit in a bag, threw on her tennis shoes, and took off to drive 2 hours home at 3 in the morning. . . .oh, but not before she told me exactly what she thought of me.  Don’t you love how alcohol acts like truth serum?

Prepare yourself. . .I wasn’t prepared for it, and it was like a punch to the gut.  She told me I was irresponsible to get pregnant in the first place, and that along with that, I totally fucked her life up by sending her presents through the years, which confused her, and that I don’t really care about her, and that she never should have met me because it has just made everything worse for her.  Wow. . . .just wow. . . I was actually speechless for a short period of time, which almost never happens.  I tried to tell her some things about how I felt, but what’s the point.  She doesn’t get it, and I don’t know if she ever will.  I don’t know that she wants to get it.  She is so ungrateful.  Does she not understand that if I hadn’t been that irresponsible teenager, she wouldn’t be here?

I do know one thing.  I know I love her.  I have loved her since the day she was born, and even before.  She is my child, just like my son is my child.  But I will not stand for disrespect from my son, and I refuse to suffer it from my daughter.  I did the best I could at the time, and I am still doing the best I can.  But if my best isn’t good enough for her, I will have to let go.



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