I vividly remember the moment I discovered that the baby I was carrying inside me was a girl-baby.
Until that moment, I had always thought I wanted a boy, and only a boy.
But as soon as I found out I was having a girl, I couldn't imagine having - or wanting - anything else.
My baby was a girl. And all I wanted was to have a happy, healthy girl.
The implications of raising a female in the 21st century were totes lost on me, yeah. You don't think of that stuff when you're fighting massive peanut butter cravings and watching your feet swell to Flintstone size day by day.
Life is all about priorities. Don't ever forget that.
Be that as it may, I gave birth to a daughter. She has been, overwhelmingly, happy and healthy. My Precocious Daughter is the best thing that has ever happened to me, bar none.
Dear God: What the fuck? How do I even deserve this? Thanks and all, but...shit.
Now PDaughter is nearly 16. She's a straight-A student, she's a marching-band nerd, she's dealing with her parents' divorce with incredible grace, and she just celebrated a one-year anniversary with her very first boyfriend, who is an awesome kid from a great family.
And they're having sex.
Her father is livid. His grandmother, with whom he lives, is livid. I'm...uncomfortable? Because we did talk about it beforehand. Although I wish she had gotten on the Pill BEFORE becoming sexually active, I at least know she knew she could talk to me about such matters. Even if, you know, she didn't when push came to shove.
I remember the moment I went from being a virgin to being not a virgin. I get it. "Control" is not a word that necessarily applies in that moment.
I don't think her dad, or his grandparents (with whom he lives), understand. I'll let them come to their own conclusions and try my best to support them.
I just want these kids to be happy and healthy and not completely messed up by their families.
There's some personal stuff bound up in that, of course.
I just want the plumbing to work.