The Hot Pocket and Other Things

Today I learned a very valuable lesson about Hot Pockets. They are named Hot Pocket for a reason. That reason is because they are a pocket of smoldering lava, that is going to melt you from the inside out. Those little fuckers are hot, and let me tell you, if you do not proceed with caution, you will die.

I had never had a Hot Pocket until today, and after the betrayal I suffered, I don't know if I will ever have another. I just wanted to have a quick and easy lunch. I just wanted to throw something in the microwave that would cook quickly so that I could eat. I wasn't wrong. It did cook fast. Really fucking fast. Two minutes in the microwave was all it took to heat that little fucker to the temperature of the sun. Now I have a blister on top of an already hurting canker sore. No fucking joke. Because of course that's where the Hot Pocket burned me. Little fucker.

I need to discuss snapchatting etiquette for a second. When someone sends you a god-awful hideous snapchat of themselves, you do not respond with a snapchat of you looking like a fucking super model. You don't do that. You respond with an equally horrendous snapchat of yourself. It's called having manners and you should use them.

Beards and man buns are all the rage right now. I endorse man buns to the fullest. Those things are sexy (sorry, Andrew). But oh my god, why in the fuck does every guy have to grow a fucking beard? Yes, I agree that some beards can look fine as hell, but not every guy can pull of a beard. If your mustache looks like that of a 50 year old child molester, you should not be growing one, and no beard looks good without a mustache, hence the fact that you should not grow a beard either. If you cannot grow a full and glorious beard, do not attempt to anyways. You look creepy and weird and dirty, like you enjoy having sex to the Star Wars theme or church hymns or something. Don't do it.

An end note to girls, leggings are not pants. They are not a substitute for pants and they will never be an acceptable form of pants. No one wants to see your camel toe. If you insist on wearing them, please make sure your shirt is long enough to cover your lady bits, or that you're wearing a dress or something appropriate. Please.

I apologize for the unorganized nature of this blog post, there were just a few things that I felt needed to be said. Carry on.

Depression

Alright everyone, it's time to get vulnerable.

I have suffered with various degrees of depression throughout my life. This is not something that I am ashamed of sharing with people, but it's not something that I generally scream to the world. I am a pretty social person, and I don’t really enjoy being the depressed Debbie downer of the group, and I have learned to mask most of my emotions with humor. And let’s be honest… I’m fucking hilarious. Lately, however, this has not been the case.

I have fallen into one of the deepest depressions I have ever been in.

This was something that was really hard for me to come to terms with. I had overcome my depression for over a year, and after having Brinlee, it hit me really hard. It made me feel weak. I didn’t want to be the stereotypical suffering mom that has postpartum depression. I wanted to be strong and happy and I wanted everyone to see how amazing I was at being a mom.

Since coming back to work, I have cried in the bathroom every single day. I miss my baby. I want to be home with her. I chalked all of my feelings up to that and moved on. This weekend was when it really hit me how bad my depression is.

Andrew’s sister came to town. This is a visit we have been looking forward to for months, as it was the first time she got to meet Brinlee. As the weekend creeped closer, I cried at work because I wanted to be home with Brinlee. When I got home with Brinlee, I cried because I felt like I’m never with her enough. When we were with Andrew’s family, all I wanted to do was go home and be alone. I wanted to curl up in a ball, and cry myself to sleep, and then stay that way for days and days. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see his sister, I just didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be alone and I cried because that made me feel like a bad mom.

Every night, I lay awake and think about all the ways I’m screwing up as a parent. Should I really have had that margarita? Should I really be carpooling? I get home so much later when I do. Should I have changed her diaper sooner? Should I have let her cry for as long as I did?

I know that I am being irrational. It’s not that I don’t know that I’m depressed or that these thoughts are ridiculous, I just don’t know how to fight them. I am trying so hard to do what’s best, but it feels like no matter what I’m choosing, I’m still going to choose wrong.

This post is embarrassing for me to write. It is hard to write out my feelings for everyone to read. It is hard for me to admit that I’m having such a hard time. The only reason I am is because no one else will. I know that there are other moms that suffer this, because they’ve told me so. The problem is that it’s only brought up during private conversation. Yes, it’s embarrassing and I feel ashamed, but I don’t want others to feel the same way. This is a common problem, with some suffering worse than others, so if anyone reading this has depression, please don’t be ashamed or feel alone because you aren’t the only one.

I know that with time I will feel better. I know that soon I will be able to go back home and stay there, instead of coming into work every day. I just hope that this post will help someone else. The worst part is feeling so alone. 

The Dating Game

1-Dating. 

2-Relationship. 

3-Marriage/Long-term committed relationship.

This is the 3 step process to finding your soul-mate/your better half/your SO/your future ex husband/wife. Yes, some people choose to abstain from marriage for reasons of their own, and that's okay, and why I included that option next to Marriage.

Now, let's break down these steps, shall we?

1-Dating.

This step, in my opinion, is the most important. It is not to be taken lightly. This is where two people get to know each other. You find each other’s interests, favorite things, like and dislikes, and your level of attraction for the other person-physically and emotionally (these go hand-in-hand, more on that in a second).

Dating is not a relationship. Dating is going on dates. Dating is when you are free to go on as many dates with as many people as you desire, no consequence. Dating is the narrowing down of potential husbands and wives. Dating is not only about seeking someone out, it is also about finding yourself. What do I want to be in a relationship? What traits do I have that can be highlighted and admired, or that need to be worked on? How can I be the best person I can be in a relationship?

So many people take this step lightly. They go on one date, with one person, and jump right to step 2. This is bad. When you bake a cake, you don’t cut out half of the ingredients to make the assembly time faster. YOU DON’T FUCKING DO THAT. STOP DOING THAT. WHY IN THE FUCK DO PEOPLE DO THIS? It seems that, in Utah anyways, people think that one or two dates is enough to know a person enough that you would like to be in a relationship with them. Why? Do you know their favorite color? What about their middle name? Their religion, hometown, likes, dislikes, allergies? Why can’t we just slow down? Take your time. It’s ok to be seeing the same person for a few months without being in a relationship with them. It’s NORMAL.

There are so many things that make up a person, and you cannot know someone after spending only a few hours with them, and having a few text conversations. It takes time to know someone, and that’s ok. Slow down, find out about this person. It’s ok to be infatuated. That does not mean you have to be exclusive.

2-Relationship.

This one is a doozy. A relationship consists of so many things. You need to know the person, you need to be attracted to this person emotionally. If you are attracted to them, you will physically want them. You will want to kiss them and touch them and be with them and you will probably want to fuck them, too. It’s okay to want to have sex with someone outside of marriage. I don’t care if you’re Mormon and want a temple wedding, or if you took the vow of abstinence when you were a naïve child who didn’t know what they were doing. You should still at least WANT to do them.

When you are in a relationship with someone, you should know them. Not necessarily everything about them, because that would get boring. I’ve been in a relationship for almost three years and had a baby with this guy, and I still find things out about him on a weekly-if not daily-basis. That’s ok. What matters is that I knew the important things before we were exclusive.

Now, the relationship is important because it works you up to marriage. This is yet another step that people rush way too much. Oh, we’ve been dating for three months? LET’S GET MARRIED.

NO. FUCKING NO. STOP.

This is the time when you need to just shut the fuck up and find some common sense, okay? Marriage is a serious thing. It is not ‘just a piece of paper,’ as some like to think. It is a commitment, and unless you have been with someone long enough to know them, truly know them, you should not be making this commitment.

So you told yourself you’d wait until marriage, but you want to have sex. Don’t fucking get married to have sex. Either wait it out, or just fucking do it, and get married later, and wait a year for your temple sealing. That is not something to be ashamed of. Honestly, sexual incompatibility can cause some serious problems in a relationship. In my opinion, it is better to know you’re compatible on every level BEFORE marriage, than to hurry and get married to have sex, just to prove that you could wait until you got married.

I don’t think you know someone well enough to marry them after only one year. I know that there are exceptions to this, but honestly, people change so much. I am not the same person I was when I met Andrew. You know what? I’m glad I’m not. We have grown together and he has stuck with me, and grown along with me. I know that we can make it through anything because we can grow together. When you marry someone after only one year, there’s a good chance they haven’t changed much. What happens when, two or three or five years down the road, you think to yourself, ‘that isn’t the person I married.’ You panic. That’s what happens. Give your relationship time to change and grow and see where you are. When you can change and survive, maybe then it’s a good time. Just stop rushing it. If you are going to be together forever, you will be, whether you get married after one year or ten years. So why rush it? Just be in a relationship. Know each other. Spend enough time together to know that you aren’t going to stab each other for hanging the towels up wrong, or making the bed a certain way.

3-Marriage.

I feel like marriage is so completely misunderstood. So many people think that marriage is simply for two people who love each other, and I don’t believe this is true. Marriage is for two people who love each other, who also support/adore/admire/have respect for/have attraction for/trust each other. There are so many different aspects of a marriage that need to be considered. You need to be able to play and fight and hate each other while loving each other. You need to be able to communicate about EVERYTHING.

Marriage is a commitment that is so often taken lightly. People jump to divorce at the first sign of trouble. It isn’t that I don’t believe in divorce, I just feel that so many people give up too easily. They say, “That isn’t the person I married.” Of course it’s not. People change and grow, the trick is changing and growing along with them (thus the importance of long-term relationships before marriage). And yes, sometimes people change for the worst. I am not saying that every marriage can be worked through. I do think that most of them can be, though, if people would start taking them seriously.

It is okay to fight. It is okay to hate each other every once in a while. It is okay to be annoyed and angry and upset, and it’s ok to not want to talk to your spouse every once in a while. It’s HEALTHY. Fighting means that you still care. It means that you are both so passionate about whatever the subject that you want to come to a compromise or conclusion. You just have to learn to fight in a healthy way. Stop screaming at each other. Give yourself a day to calm down and talk that shit out. You’d be surprised at how quickly problems can be resolved when they aren’t being resolved in an angry manner.

Now, I know I’ve never been married, and I’m nowhere near close to being a relationship expert, but I have been in a relationship for almost three years while most of my friends can’t make it through the first year. We have a house and a child together. We have gone through so much. We have been through emotional pain, we’ve been through the loss of a friend, we’ve been through money problems and we’ve been through a pregnancy from hell. We became parents together, and when neither one of us knew what the fuck we were doing, we went to each other. So no, I may not be married, but I may as well be. I worked my ass off to be the person that I knew I could be, because Andrew was worth that. I wanted to be my best person for him, because my relationship is worth that much. I can be a good person without him, but he makes me want to be more than that. We took the time to get to know each other before we jumped into a relationship. We dated. We took things slow (seriously Andrew, that first kiss took a really long time). Now, can you just put a ring on it already?? ;)

Parenthood

My life is changed forever.

Everyone tells you that parenthood changes you. Everyone warns you about how tired you will be, how your friendships and relationships will change, how you'll never be able to do the things you 'want' to do anymore, and ask you if you're ready for that.

I won't lie. Throughout my pregnancy, I often wondered if I was really ready to be a mom. I constantly worried that I would have this baby, and wonder what I had done. I wanted to be a mom more than anything, but at 21 years old, was I really ready for the responsibility that went with it?

The minute that Brinlee was born, I knew that everything had changed. I knew that no matter what, I would never feel like I was missing out, because this is what I wanted to do. I saw this beautiful baby girl, MY baby girl, and I knew that she was the only thing I needed in my life. I saw her, and everything else disappeared. This is what I want to do, forever. Be a mom.

Every time I look at her, I fall in love a little bit more. I see this tiny little person, completely helpless, and it's like she's a super hero. At 1:00 AM, when she wakes me up because she's hungry, I'm happy to be awake. No matter how hard it is to get out of bed, it's worth it, to see her face, and to make her happy.

It's amazing to me how this feelings are so overwhelming, in the best possible way. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, and then you see this little person and it's like every struggle, every pain, every hard moment in your life was worth it, just to be there with your child. I know that no matter what happens, no matter how hard she cries or how late she stays awake, it's worth it. No matter how tired I am, or how much pain I'm in, or how frustrated I am, it's worth it.

Motherhood is my job. I used to regret not going to college, and now I know why I never did. I was made for this. Yeah, maybe that's a little cheesy, but it's true. One day when she's older, I'm sure I'll change my mind. Once she'e in school, and a little less helpless, it'll be time to focus on me, but for now, my focus is her.

I never thought I could love someone this much. So yes, parenthood does change you. It changes you in the best possible way.

We Bought a House!

We bought a house!

I am really truly excited about this new adventure! When we found out we were having a baby, I told Andrew that there was no way in HELL that I was going to live in an apartment with our new little one. We began researching houses, and our budget, and going over our options.

And then a miracle happened.

Andrews dad, Blair, told us that he had a rental in Layton that he would be willing to sell us for an amazing price. We jumped on the offer! He warned us beforehand that it would need some work, which was okay with us as we were getting it for an amazing price.

So finally, the beginning of this month, we were able to finally do our walk-through and begin moving our things in!

The house definitely needs work, including new carpeting, paint, repairing the swamp cooler and a few holes in the walls, as well as a leak in the sink, but we should be able to get this all fixed up within a few weeks, and then we will be ready to "officially" move in. Right now, all of our things are packed in the basement and garage, and we are staying with Andrews parents until everything is ready.

Now, since I am pregnant, I've been pretty useless in this whole process. I couldn't lift any of the heavy items, and some of the cleaning products that we are going to have to use aren't safe for me to breathe. I was able to get the entire kitchen cleaned and unpacked, as it was in great condition! Other than that, Andrew and anyone who is willing to help is going to have to do all the rest.

We took a trip to The Home Depot after walking through the house, and were able to purchase many of the things that will be finishing touches, such as new vent covers, new light switch covers, power plug covers, towel racks for the bathroom, water filters, hoses and sprinklers for the lawn, and paint, paint, and more paint! Now we just need to purchase a couple more paint colors, and the carpet and padding beneath the carpet, which is probably going to be the most annoying and expensive part of the whole thing. Luckily we were able to get a budget set up so we know exactly what we are able to afford.

I am so excited to get everything finished up and get all the finishing touches done! I've already purchased the curtains and rods for the living room and kitchen, and we have almost everything else we need for the other rooms, as far as furniture and decorations. Now, hopefully, we can find some kind souls willing to help us with the painting and ripping out of the old carpet... Any volunteers?

Why I Don't Send Nudes... Anymore

*Disclaimer: I AM PREGNANT. We all know that I am sexually active. If you are shocked by this, then stop reading here. Because you're a fucking idiot and this story will probably make you cry for my soul.*

From the title, this blog is probably not going to be what you're expecting. I'm not going to go off about morality, and how you need to respect yourself and blah, blah, blah. I am going to tell you the most embarrassing story of my life. This is something that I have considered sharing for quite a while now, but never had the courage to do. Now, here I am. Ready, set, go.

First off, no one wants to see a nudey of my pregnant ass. So that's probably the number one reason. Honestly, I'm just postponing telling this story. You guys need to understand that this is me, opening up to my peers and readers. Ok. For real. Here I go.

Mothers day, 2013.

Mothers day was shortly after I had surgery. Well, when I had said surgery, it was for endometriosis, and PCOS, and was extremely painful. There was also no estimated time that I was going to be banned from having sex when I had the surgery, it just depended on how long the recovery was.

Now, at this point in time, I'm thinking to myself, "Oh no. It could be months before we can have sex again. This is not good. Not for me, and not for Andy."

So, I did what any good girlfriend would do. I took out my phone and sent him a naked pic.

I am not a slut. We had been in a long-term relationship, and I figure, hey. It's the least I could do.

Now, I was always very careful with these. I triple checked who I was sending it to, and made sure the picture was deleted after it sent.

Except it wasn't. It was still there, hiding, waiting, and getting ready to ruin my life.

Fast forward to mothers day. We put up these beautiful flowers and this awesome cardboard card on my parents' porch for my mom. We knocked on the door, and when she answered and saw her awesome presents, I took pictures. That's just what you do. So afterwards, my parents are like, 'oh, let's see those pictures!'

So we start scrolling through the pictures.

A picture of flowers.

A picture of my mom.

The card.

My tits.

WHAT.

*cue instantaneous sobbing here*

I had deleted the picture. From my messages. I forgot, however, to delete it from my camera roll.

Now, something that needs to be understood here is the environment in which this happened. We were still standing on my parents front porch. Andrew had gone to the car to grab something, and my parents were both standing on each side of me, with a very clear view of my phone screen. They both very obviously saw this picture.

I, of course, was humiliated. So I burst into tears, and stood there ugly crying for about 10 minutes. When Andrew came up to the porch and I told him what happened, a look of horror crossed his face in realizing that MY FUCKING DAD SAW THAT PICTURE.

He then burst out laughing. Of course, at the time, this infuriated me. How can he not understand how NOT FUNNY this is?? Oh my fucking god. This did not just happen. But it did.

It happened.

And you know what? My parents, of all people, took it better than anyone. They laughed. And laughed. And laughed. My dad tried to assure me he saw nothing (LIAR) and my mom told me that it was okay, and this will be funny with time.

I guess it's funny now. Seriously though, I will never send a nudey again. Not to anyone, ever.

Now, it has been over a year, and I read this article this morning, which pushed me to open up about what happened.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/omg-switch-it-to-airplane-mode-switch-it-to-airplane-mode

It can happen to anyone. I AM NOT ALONE.

An Ode to Jake and Robin

Jake and Robin, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

No seriously. They probably are.

These two are the textbook example of a perfect couple (with the exception of me and Andy, of course).

They're going to be together forever. They could fall into the pits of Hell, and be told that the only way to leave was to break up, and they wouldn't. They would probably just tell the devil to go ahead and fuck himself, open up a bottle of tequila and have their own little party.

Seriously though. They're amazing. And I love them and their coupleness forever and ever. Forever.

They're like apples and peanut butter. Or babies and poop. Always together and always perfect. Ok, maybe poop isn't perfect, but poop and babies do go together. Like Jake and Robin. In fact, when two things go together perfectly, we should say that they go together like Jake and Robin. Forget cookies and milk! Forget vodka and Kool-Aid (and spending the night over the toilet)! It's all about Jake and Robin.

Forever.

Did I mention they're perfect?

Getting Pregnant

*I apologize in advance for the long post, as well as the redundancy. I know I have discussed some of this before, but I decided to write about our journey to get pregnant, and it was all part of the process. I hope you all enjoy!

As well all know now, Andrew and I are having a baby! It's a girl! Her due date is September 4th, 2014, and we could not be more excited!

What most of you don't know is the journey it took us to get here.

Some of you know some of the background from my previous blog, but for the purpose of today's, I'm going to go over it once more.

When I was 15, I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). This is a fairly common condition, and it is also the #1 cause of infertility in women. Even at such a young age, my case was severe. I was told that I would never have kids.  

This news was devastating to me. Over the years, I was in the hospital often, getting treatment for the pain and the bleeding from the cysts. Each doctor told me the same thing, that I would never have kids. 

Every time I heard it, it sank a little deeper and got a little bit easier to handle. I made a plan, that I would give it my best shot, and if the doctors were right, then I would adopt. 

Fast forward to last summer. I was 20 years old, and was in the ER twice within a one-week period for the same bout of cysts. They were causing me so much pain that I would lay in the fetal position sobbing, while Andrew rubbed my back until finally deciding to take me to the hospital when the bleeding became uncontrollable. My biological mother almost died from a cyst causing her to hemorrhage, and I didn't want to go through the same ordeal. They loaded me with drugs, told me there was nothing they could do, and sent me home. 

I followed up with my doctor, who decided that the best thing at that point was to have surgery. They would remove the cysts, cauterize the cells that had continuously cysted, and send me on my way. That's was when a doctor gave me hope. "After the surgery, if it works as well as I think it will, you shouldn't have to worry about cysts for years. And I don't see why you wouldn't be able to get pregnant."

What?? I had spent years thinking that pregnancy would never happen for me, and now there was a glimmer of hope. "You won't have the same amount of time as most, meaning you probably shouldn't plan on waiting for college or careers or what-not to do this, but I think you should be able to conceive within the next couple of years."

I was elated. I didn't care how much pain I would be in, or the recovery, or anything at that point. Andrew and I had been dating for over a year at that point, and decided that we would go ahead with the surgery, and begin trying as soon as we got the okay from my doctor.

Fast Forward 2 Months:

I got a stabbing pain in my side. 'Not again..' I thought. But sure enough, another cyst. After following up with my doctor, we learned that the surgery didn't work quite as well as he was hoping. Unfortunately, do to the severity of my cysts and the hemorrhaging they caused, the doctor started discussing removing my ovaries-something that is extremely uncommon for someone my age. I didn't know what to do. He told me that we would wait a year, and see if I could get pregnant within that time, or if the cysts just got worse.

I started researching. Getting pregnant with PCOS is not an easy task, but I know that it had to have been done by someone, somewhere. That's when I found a support group for PCOS and conception. The number one topic? Metformin.

Metformin is a medicine mainly used in diabetics to control insulin and sugar levels. Yet, for some reason, it had also been linked to helping with conception with PCOS. I immediately called my doctor and scheduled an appointment.

"It's not an easy drug to take. You may feel nauseous for a few weeks." That's what the nurse said, and she wasn't joking! I was puking for about 6 weeks. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of having a baby. I starting taking Metformin in August. We had now been trying for 3 months.

Fast Forward to December:

Month after month, I took a pregnancy test. Month after month, it was negative. The holidays came and went, until finally it was December 30th. 

"Maybe we should stop trying. I mean, my 21st birthday is less than two months away, and it will give us some time to relax." Andrew and I both agreed with each other. 

We went to dinner at my parent's house, where my sisters boyfriend cooked steaks. I took a few bites before nausea over took me and I rushed to the bathroom. "It's the meds," Andrew explained. Everyone understood and didn't say anything about. 

The next morning, since it was New Years Eve, I decided to take a pregnancy test. We were going to be going to parties all night, and I wanted to make sure that everything was good to go. It was 5 AM, and I was getting ready for work, barely awake. I sat down to pee, unwrapped the test, and took it.

A line immediately appeared. What? No. That can't be. I'm dreaming.

I rubbed my eyes. I turned the light off, and then back on again. I took out my contacts and changed them for new ones. There was no way I was seeing it. I was pregnant. The test was positive. 

I immediately texted in to work that I had the stomach flu, and woke Andrew up.

"Babe?"

"Whaaaa.... "

"Babe I'm pregnant."

"What?... (huge smile spreads across his face) Okay, now come back to bed and snuggle me."

This was, by far, the happiest moment of my life. Laying in bed, knowing that we were finally going to have a baby, I remember just telling myself that I was finally going to be a mom. After years of not knowing, and months and months of trying, it was finally happening.

I took two more tests the next morning, just to be sure, and they were all positive. 

Now, at 21 weeks pregnant, it is finally starting to feel real. We are more than half way to my due date. She actually looks like a baby in the ultrasound, instead of just a little blog, and when she likes what I eat, she wiggles like crazy in my belly. We have given her the name of Brinlee Dylan Barton. Now, all we have to do is wait for our little girl's arrival. 

<3

Finally... Happy

I know that I haven't written in a long while (my apologies!). I have had severe writer's block. I have sat down to compose probably over 10 different blog posts, all to come up empty-handed. Today, inspiration finally struck. My inspiration? When the realization hit me that I am finally happy.

I have struggled with depression since elementary school. I know, I know. What does an eleven year old have to be depressed about? I had so many pent up feelings of despair and guilt, mostly stemming from my childhood, and I didn't know what to do with them, or how to express them. I didn't have anyone to turn to that I trusted, and I was alone.

In junior high, I resorted to cutting, struggled with suicidal thoughts, and even once tried to carry it out. This was a very dark time for me. I am lucky that I had someone who truly cared about me, and was able to see what I was going through, or I probably wouldn't be here. Thank you for that, Lindsey.

It took me years to really understand my depression, and understand why I felt the way I did. With all of the guilt I had inside me from when I was raped, to my numerous family problems, and no one to turn to, I had completely given up emotionally. Yes, on the outside, to everyone else, I was a normal teenage girl with mood swings and tantrums. To me, everything was black.

When I finally hit adulthood, and started talking to people about what I was feeling, and actually listened to what they had to say, I started to finally see the light of happiness. I had people who cared about me enough to listen, and offer sound advice on what I needed in my life. I had friends.

My next step? Finding someone who truly cared about me, and turning to them, instead of pushing them away. For me, this was Andrew. He was-and still is-, in a way, my savior. He told me I am beautiful, and for the first time, I believed him. He made me feel safe, and loved. He showed me not only love, but friendship. He made me feel like I had someone with me, instead of just 'near' me.

Even after all of this, I still struggled. Yes, I had made a lot of accomplishments at only the age of twenty. Mentally, I was more advanced than most of my peers, in the sense that I had been living on my own, paid my own bills, and was completely financially independent from my parents. I had a loving boyfriend, and my own place. I was doing good, right? This didn't fix the fact that I still felt empty. What am I doing with my life? Where am I going? I wasn't in school, I wasn't doing anything. I was working to work, and working to stay alive, but I wasn't living. I wasn't growing.

When Andrew and I decided to start a family, I was terrified. I was excited, yes, but I was also scared to death that I would fuck up. I was worried that I would fail my child. I want so badly to give them a better life than what I had, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there will be times when I cannot protect them. This is something that I struggled with when we were trying to get pregnant. And then I realized something... I was right.

No, I will not be able to protect my child from everything. However, I can teach them to protect themselves. I can show them a happy life, and I can show them love and undying support. I can show them that they DO have someone that will be there for them, and I can teach them that, no matter what, they will always have someone to turn to. I can raise this person to be happy, and confident. When they go through trauma, I can be the one who helps them through it. I can show them life, and love. For the first time in my life, I am doing something. I am growing this person to be a happy, successful adult. Yes, there are things I cannot protect them from. I know that I will not be holding their hand forever. I know, that at some point, I will doing something that will make me feel like I have failed as a parent. This will happen. This is normal. I know that, like me, they may struggle with depression. I know that if they do, I can be there for them. I know that I can be the person that I always needed, for my child.

I am doing something, not only for myself, but for another person. I am taking everything I have ever learned-and will continue learning-and teaching that to another human being, in hopes of giving them a better life than I could have dreamed of having. For this, I am happy.

For you, little baby, I am happy.