I wish I hadn’t hated my pregnancy.

Pt. 1

Pregnancy. The happiness. The joy. The “glow”. Television places an unrealistic vision of pregnancy one that had me feeling guilty most of mine. Instead of feeling happy I was beyond scared. A college student, no savings, a mountain of art school debt. I was fucked up.

I wasn’t one of those girls who had a strong relationship with either of my parents. I wasn’t daddies little girl. My mom wasn’t my best friend. I didn’t have a clear picture of how to be a good parent. I didn’t know what or even if I had anything to offer to my daughter.

I started off trying to read Maya Angelou books looking for some clear answer. Self help books on how to be a badass. Nothing helped. Nothing stuck.

I spent the first three months of my pregnancy resenting my boyfriend. Fearful to tell my parents. Worrying about money. Physically I wasn’t in good shape either. I was sick everyday I couldn’t keep fluids down let alone food. I was going to scad every other day to work in a printmaking studio filled with chemicals and acids. My body wasn’t my friend. I felt attacked. I felt like my body was turning against me.

After the first three months it got easier. I could eat. I didn’t have hot spells where it was hard to catch my breath and I felt faint. But I still wasn’t quite happy with bringing a child into the world. In August my boyfriends car stopped working. We lost our apartment and were squatters in a vacant room for five weeks.

When we finally got a place. The complex was a neighborhood that the off campus shuttles at my university didn’t run to. With no car we were walking to the next neighborhood over every morning on the street as eighteen wheelers sped by. Not once did this joy I was supposed to have cross my mind.

I didn’t feel like I was up to this challenge. I didn’t feel like I could be a good mother. But what is a “good” mother.