Me? A Mother?

The two things I always wanted even as a little girl were to be married and to have at least six children. I was specific in my dream, desiring to marry the man of my dreams at age 18 and immediately start popping out babies. Many today would laugh at such a traditional mindset, but how could you blame me when what was taught to me was that marriage and children was the ultimate climax in life? In fact, it wasn't until I actually hit age 18 that I began to realize my dream didn't seem like much of a dream anymore. I had no idea who I was or what to do at that age, so why did I think getting married so young would be such a good idea? I don't know if I was delusional or just...ignorant.

When I moved to New York City from my Tennessee small town that never changes, everything was new and fresh, in all the best and worst ways. I finally recognized the smell of weed and seeing random men pee on the sidewalk became the daily norm in this strange and exciting city. What wasn't strange, but very well-timed was meeting my husband. A southern white girl and a Chinese guy from Malaysia; we were quite the pair. What I started to learn about myself through our friendship was that I knew even less about myself and the world than I thought and that I could change that. We may be married for 2 years now, but I'm still figuring out what I haven't figured out about people and who I am and was.

No, I didn't get married at 18 like I had planned for so long, thank goodness. I was 25 and marriage has shown me all my terrible bits and how wretched I am as a person. I thought being married would make me feel mature and secure. Instead, I have never felt more immature and exposed in front of someone before. I mean, just imagine being completely naked and in a display case at a museum where everyone can see, observe, and scrutinize every curve of your body every day. Not that I feel embarrassed being naked in front of my husband; that hasn't been the issue. It's more of a comforting and miserable feeling of knowing he can see every inch of my inner being and can observe the parts of myself I've always kept hidden from even those closest to me. In the end, I think it's a good thing because I'm learning what to learn and who I am and who I want to become, with him, for him, and for myself.

We found out I was pregnant last October. Wow! I mean, having a baby at 27 feels...foreign. I'm the "right" age, right?? This is normal, right? Then why do I feel as if I'm a 16-year-old who's pregnant and has to grow up overnight? I love children and if I can be bold, I'm great with kids. I wish I could more eloquently describe what I feel right now. The best way I can lay it out there is that I feel like a kid myself, now having to scramble the knowledge and attitude a mother must have to be "successful." This feels like such a foreign experience, and it is, but I have all the good feelings along with the confusing ones. Every time she moves, I am faced with the reality that she is very real and I am real to her; I am responsible for her and who she will become. That reality makes me question how I could be a mother. It's odd. I'm weird and awkward and I feel too different to be a mom. That probably doesn't make much sense.

Anyway, to end my written-out thoughts, I am both eager and hesitant to be a mother to Gwynneth. As her due date approaches, I find myself feeling anxious about the whole thing, how I'll screw it up and wondering if she'll be cursed with my double chin. Yet, in all the feelings of anticipation, I am also filled with a motherly love in my soul that has developed from the moment I found out she existed. It's weird to think about how I always wanted to be a mother and also how I feel too...odd to be a mother. Now here I am, pregnant with big boobs; both new for me. I'm sure when she's born, I will still metaphorically pinch myself and wonder how I of all people am a mother. When she's 5, I'll do it again. And when she's 18, I will yet again, because I still can't believe it. I, weirdo Anna, am a mother to my daughter, Gwynneth.