Its not a secret that I’ve always wanted to raise my own family someday and everyone who knows me knows that. At 28, I daydream of rearing 2 boys and a girl (in that order, by the way) and I thought I was going to get it soon at that time.
Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out that way I hoped that it would and as I got older... 30...33...35...38, I conceded that maybe I wasn’t fated to be a mother after all. Then, just one night, Anton happened and knowing about it a few weeks later flooded me with all sorts of emotions, from being scared then turning incredulous and finally morphing to loving amazement. Anton is here after 10 years of waiting.
My family couldn’t disguise their glee and my friends (the ones who mean the most) are very happy for me. “Finally,” they said, “you won’t be alone anymore.” Few questions were thrown regarding Anton’s father and I appreciated it that way. Obviously, the father is not around and never will be.
In front of my family and friends, I put up a brave front, proclaiming that I can raise and support Anton on my own. That’s true to a high degree but what I don’t tell them is that I’m also scared and part guilty. Guilty that I’m bringing my baby into the world without ever knowing a father’s love and still trying to find the right words to say when he’s old enough to ask where his father is. Scared because as the days continue to draw near to bringing him forth, I still don’t know a single thing about being a mother and I might disappoint him. Scared that he’s upbringing rests solely on me and I might be too harsh or to lenient and I will make a lot of mistakes. Along with the many potential possibilities as to the person he will become, I am apprehensive of what our future together will be. I will protect him but who will protect both of us? With this, I rely on prayers which gives me an overall positive outlook on things.
Each day I look at my growing belly in the mirror, feeling him moving around in my womb, the little jabs and kicks that is occurring more and more, especially if I play him some music. This little boy holds my heart and I already know I will love him forever.
Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out that way I hoped that it would and as I got older... 30...33...35...38, I conceded that maybe I wasn’t fated to be a mother after all. Then, just one night, Anton happened and knowing about it a few weeks later flooded me with all sorts of emotions, from being scared then turning incredulous and finally morphing to loving amazement. Anton is here after 10 years of waiting.
My family couldn’t disguise their glee and my friends (the ones who mean the most) are very happy for me. “Finally,” they said, “you won’t be alone anymore.” Few questions were thrown regarding Anton’s father and I appreciated it that way. Obviously, the father is not around and never will be.
In front of my family and friends, I put up a brave front, proclaiming that I can raise and support Anton on my own. That’s true to a high degree but what I don’t tell them is that I’m also scared and part guilty. Guilty that I’m bringing my baby into the world without ever knowing a father’s love and still trying to find the right words to say when he’s old enough to ask where his father is. Scared because as the days continue to draw near to bringing him forth, I still don’t know a single thing about being a mother and I might disappoint him. Scared that he’s upbringing rests solely on me and I might be too harsh or to lenient and I will make a lot of mistakes. Along with the many potential possibilities as to the person he will become, I am apprehensive of what our future together will be. I will protect him but who will protect both of us? With this, I rely on prayers which gives me an overall positive outlook on things.
Each day I look at my growing belly in the mirror, feeling him moving around in my womb, the little jabs and kicks that is occurring more and more, especially if I play him some music. This little boy holds my heart and I already know I will love him forever.