I always knew I was going to be a mother. Throughout all the pain and bull shit of it all, that’s the one thing I knew was destined to be a part of my life. I loved babies and taking care of them and it all just seemed so natural to me. Strangely enough I didn’t desire to be a mom just because I enjoyed playing house. My goal was to be a better mom to my child then mine had been to me. I’m not saying that mine was a beast by any means but I usually felt a little more than just misunderstood. And while I was having these outrageous dreams of an early motherhood not once did I factor in a father for my love child. Oh no, the father would just get in the way. Besides he couldn’t possibly be a better parent than I could at a naive 11 years old. Now before you go turning blue in shock over an 11 year old dreaming of having babies, you must know that I was still a virgin at this time. I hadn’t even gotten my first kiss yet. All I knew was that my life would be completely fulfilled with just me and my baby. I was going to be the best mommy in the world and my child would never hate me or be embarrassed by me, because I would be young and hip and know all the right words to say. I was determined to make sure my child never felt the way I did when the lights went off. As young as I was I struggled almost daily with feelings off being lost and alone. I just did not have that strong mother-daughter bond for which I craved. It’s no mystery that the real reason I disliked my sister as a child was that she had what I always wanted…mom.
In reality, it would be another five years before my first pregnancy, but it only took three years for me to give my virginity away. Three pregnancies later I gave birth to my son, Adrian, followed by my daughter, Valencia, the following year. It’s still early in the game but so far I think I’m still in the running for “World’s Greatest Mom”.