You pretty much know, when you’re 17 and the pee stick says “+”, that you’ve severely effed up your own life.
But, once you decide not to have an abortion and after you conclude that you are, in fact, too selfish to give your baby up for adoption, you move on. You quit wallowing in self despair, and you get used to the idea that you are going to shove a human outta your girl-howdy, and that human will be your kid, and that kid will be just fine in your loving hands.
No harm, no foul.... or something like that.
At least that’s how it went for me; I got knocked up at 17 and everything turned out just fine. True story. I mean, yeah, it wasn’t ideal to have a child when I was still, well... a child.... But it worked out. I mean, I don’t recommend it, and I NEVER would have planned it that way, but I can’t really complain about how it’s all gone down for me. Naturally, yes, there have been consequences. It’s been a tough road at times, but I’ve always felt that by God’s grace I’ve come through the slutty missteps of my youth relatively unscathed. Then, last year, on Mother’s Day, when my oldest son gave me a hand made card that said, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Thanks for not aborting me!”, I felt reassured that he’d survived the trial and error (but mostly error) of having been raised by very young, very stupid parents, pretty much unharmed as well.
I can honestly say that I never really felt like I ruined his life by having him when I was so young. I didn’t really think that our relatively short age difference was gonna mess with his head in unimaginable ways.
But I was wrong. So very wrong....
See, the thing is, my baby boy is 16 now, and he’s 6’ 3”, and he wears chops down to his jaw, soooo he’s like... a man. And I never stopped buying my clothes at Forever 21.
So we went to the mall the other day, just the two of us, and when we were in the foodcourt I was like, “Jeez, what is wrong with these people?! Do you feel like we’re getting stared at? Like, more than usual...” And he was all, “Um. Yeah.” And I was like, “What is the deal? Sheesh, now I’m getting dirty looks from that crew of grannies over there by Taco Bell!” And my son said, “Mom” and he shoved exactly half of a Subway sandwich in his mouth, “They’re staring because they’re trying to figure out what’s going on here.” and his index finger wagged back and forth between us, “Those old ladies? They think you’re a dirty cougar....” And then he just finished eating, as if he hadn’t uttered the most disturbing thing in the world.
And I started to get all kinds of mad at the creepers who were staring at us, staring at me, and trying to pervert the love of a young hot Mother and her son by making me into something that I wasn’t. A cougar. Pshhhh....
And then I started to feel really bad for my son. Because, seriously?, that is messed up.
No teenage boy should ever have people looking at him as though he is actually on a date with his Mom..... Ew. Ew. Ew. No. Never. That should never happen.
And I wanted to be really pissed off at the jerks that kept looking at us funny, but the truth is that I’m the one that messed it all up for him. I think I’m the pervert. No, not because I still shop at Forever 21. It’s because, when I was young, I thought the only way to show a boy that I liked him was by having sex with him. So I did. And then, duh, I got pregnant. And, in a nutshell, that’s all just a huge perversion of God’s plans for love, and sex, and bringing kids into the world and stuff. Having people judge me, and unfairly assume that I am a cougar is simply an extended consequence of my earlier lameness. Sadly, my son also has to live with the repercussions of having a Mom that is kind of a retard.
Sooo.... I’m a pervert, and I have officially ruined my kid's life. There. I said it.
But the other part of the truth is that my son will probably be just fine. Despite me, to spite me, or in spite of me, he’ll turn out alright.