I never wanted to be a mom.

It wasn’t in my plan. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always just done my own thing – raged against the machine and refused to fall in line. I wasn’t gonna have an ordinary life. I was gonna do big things, and you can’t do big things if you’re a mom.

What a dumb fucking thought.

When I was 35 years old, I was busy being an account exec, keeping a fairly tidy home in Huntington Beach, and fucking off with their dad every chance we could get – weekend motorcycle trips, strolls around South Coast Plaza, Sunday afternoons drinking beers & shooting pool, traveling the world. Brunch. In Newport Beach. Or better – Roscoe’s in Long Beach. I came & went as I pleased and did what I wanted, whenever I wanted.

It was April 2015 when my oldest brother died. Turned out he had a tumor the size of a softball – it perforated his colon and caused him to become septic. He was 40. I knelt by his casket for a long time, talking with him, and that conversation changed everything for me. Not long after that I found myself standing in the Huntington Beach kitchen, telling their dad I need to get married and have children. I told him I’d understand if he’s not interested, but please just let me know either way, because we’ve either gotta plan a wedding, or I gotta start packing to move back to Milwaukee.

In July 2015 their dad and I went to Vegas. I wore blue suede shoes and Elvis walked me down the aisle.

In October 2015 I learned I was pregnant. And to my surprise, nothing magically changed. I didn’t start to feel kinder or more patient or softer. Certainly not gentler. I continued to cuss and feel my feelings strongly and vocalize them. I still smoked the occasional cig. Still drank beer, albeit not as many at once. Ate all the sushi and deli meat and frozen Twinkies I wanted. Got on the bike until I was too big and it wasn’t comfortable, went to concerts. I kept working out. Kept working. Kept being me.

And when Eleanore Leigh Agnew arrived on June 11, 2016, making me the mom of a healthy 8lb, 4oz bouncing bundle of joy and elation and fear and anxiety, second-guessing and third-guessing and double-checking to make sure she’s still breathing, nothing fucking changed. And everything changed.

And today I have two. Erna Mae Agnew followed close behind on September 1, 2017, coming in at 8lb, 3.5oz and all the same emotions. And I did everything the same. Kept being me.

My parenting style is different – I continue to be me. I talk to them like adults and I don’t dumb shit down. Anything they can do for themselves, I won’t do for them – this includes pouring their milk, sorting their laundry, and cleaning the bathroom. I tell them consistently not to be damsels in distress and to figure it the fuck out. They are not put off by my language.

A lot of my friends and family were surprised I chose this path, but not as surprised as I was. And to some, my parenting is questionable. BUT, there are those who love & support me – who see me, as a human, as a woman, as a friend – as a mother. Those are the ones who send gifts like this for Mother’s Day. You hang on tight to those ones, and you keep being you.

2 Responses

  1. Ummmmm. This is an amazing pice of writing. Well put we can be any type of parent WE choose to be as long as they are taken care of.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *