Certainly some of the best things in my life thus far have been unplanned. Growing up in a strict and disciplined home, I was molded into quite a workhorse, but bucked at any notion of spontaneity.

When I saw those 2 pink lines that cold winter morning, I froze. Sliding down the wall as my legs gave way; I sat atop the cold ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor, stunned by the sheer hard truth that fell before me. Pregnant, and twenty-something– not exactly what I planned.

After many years of working with the most fragile, tiniest preemies in the world, one would think I would be better prepared for this role of motherhood. I mean, I’ve helped a fair share of children born at less
than one pound to survive all odds in this world. And I’ve also seen many more suffer and pass; sometimes in my very own hands, alone.

This acute, fast-paced career of mine would surely have me groomed for being a parent one day. Or so I thought. After a year and half in this parenting business, I find just the contrary.

I’m a twenty-something mom caught in the cut throat, evolving world of motherhood. Yet again trying to find my way, and a new self. There are “young moms” and there “older moms”, but “20-something moms” are caught right in between. The listless middle children struggling for their own identity.

I find older moms slipping their underhanded comments insinuating I am “too young to know enough or accomplish all that needs to be before starting a family.” But beneath it all I cannot help but feel as sense that I’m too old to hold on to those reckless dreams; to just break free and run. At times I feel as if I don’t have enough tread worn from my sneakers to be taken seriously, or sometimes just a tattered old sole that must be tucked away in the suburbs. If only I could just walk among other parents barefoot, leaving nothing left for them to judge.

I am a mother. I don’t want to live my life like Britney Spears (I like my hair). I’m not ready to live in the confines of some gated community roped off from civilization. I want to be a good mother. I want to feel like a woman, a mother, an individual. I don’t want to live my life in sweat pants. I don’t want a white picket fence.

Quarter life crisis, anyone?

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 24th, 2007 at 10:35 pm and is filed under Daily. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.