Yesterday was my youngest child’s 18th birthday. She is officially, legally, an adult. And I officially, legally, am now longer the parent of children but the parent of 3 adults.
I never wanted to have kids. I don’t like them as a sub-species (on the whole) and my entire life up until actually finding myself pregnant (that’s a ‘fun’ story), I said I was never going to have them. So to have gone from that, to raising 3 of them almost completely alone has been one hell of a fucking journey.
I had my first when I was 20. I was 30 weeks pregnant when it was confirmed by a doctor. I worked in a horse-riding school at the time, and I was riding horses and doing a lot of manual work, heavy lifting and whatnot, and I was fit, so the doctor said that the reason I didn’t show, was because of how strong my stomach muscles were. Anyways, that little baby was born 2 weeks later, at 32 weeks and sent a couple of weeks in the SCBU in his little tanning bed until he was allowed home.
My life imploded. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t ever having kids, and all of a sudden I had this tiny human to look after and keep alive. I’d never even held a baby before. What was I meant to do with one of my own? The dad? In his defence, he has never known. It was a short fling back before the days of being contactable 24/7. I had very little information about him, and what information I did have at the time, I didn’t think I would ever need again. So I had lost/deleted his number and whilst I went to his flat a couple of times, I never really had his address. I went to where he worked, but they didn’t have any forwarding information for him (he didn’t work there anymore). So the guy was lost to me.
So I was a single parent from the getgo.
My mum was amazing, she really stepped up to help, which I will always be grateful for because it took me 6 months to really get what was happening. To say it was a shock to the system would be a huge understatement.
But even with that, I left my job – working with horses tends to be a full-on, almost 24/7 commitment, and whilst it was my absolute dream life, I had a baby to look after so he had to be prioritised.
When I look back, I think it is incredibly likely that I had PND. After I resigned, I spent the majority of my time in the house, alone with my son. He slept a lot, like most of the time, and new babies don’t do much anyways. It was that time that I started blogging for the first time actually, it was the only thing that kept me sane.
Having a child, a dependent, such a huge responsibility changed me (as it does most people). It took away my freedom, it dampened my free spirit. And I want to stress right now that in no way do I blame my child/ren for this, as they didn’t ask to be here, but I am all about honesty and openness.
I was tethered to this tiny little human that was now mine to keep alive and make happy and provide for, and it was mind-blowing. Nothing prepares you for being a parent when you intend to have a child, never mind one that appears almost overnight with barely any warning. He was such a good baby though, I only wanted to launch him out of the window a couple of times.
Anyways, I digress my main point, the whole ‘how I ended up with 3 children when I intended none’ is a story for another day.
I have been a mum for 25 years, a son and two daughters. Of course I have enjoyed a lot of it, but a hell of a lot of it has been so difficult, that I don’t really have the words to describe it. And I have essentially ben a single parent also, as the father of my girls is a complete cunt, and chose alcohol and being a narcissistic, self-absorbed, ‘victim’ instead of being a dad. And now will cycle walk past his own kids and either a) ignore them, or b) not recognise them, and I don’t know which is worse. So needless to say, I have provided everything for them, financially, emotionally, physically. I’ve been good cop, bad cop, neutral cop whilst they figure their own issues. Cook, taxi, doctor, therapist, teacher, hairdresser, designer, all of it.
I think that I have done ok. Not perfect, not by a really long shot, there are a million things that I could’ve done better, should’ve done better, but I can’t change those things. I did what I could, in a situation that I never wanted to be in.
This is typically where mums (and yes, mums) typically say ‘But I wouldn’t change a thing’, but I can’t say that. Because I would 100% change it. I love those kids, I really do, but if I had my time over, would I put myself or those humans through all the stuff they have been through? No, I fucking wouldn’t. They deserved better. They deserved better parents and better parenting. But again, that can’t be changed. And I love them and I am immensely proud of them all, they have come through a lot in their little short lives and they’re good people.
I have always told them that when they are old enough, I will be moving out, because I firmly believe that the younger humans should go out and live their own lives, and not be stuck with their parents. I’ve done my job, and yes I will still be around as a consultant, but it is time for them to begin to figure things out on their own. I have a year of my degree left, and then I want to move away from Liverpool, and then hopefully a couple of years after that, move out of the UK.
It seemed for a while that that time would never come, but I can see that next path now. It’s in the distance, but I can see it.
And I am excited.