Motherhood. It’s been exhausting. I expected that.
What I didn’t expect was the amount of time I’ve spent defending myself, my choices, and doing it repeatedly.
When a woman’s egg starts developing within her body, that developing egg is hers. And I guess the sperm has a matter in the say as well, but that’s not this story. That little egg was mine. All mine. I housed it, it grew within me, I was its vessel of life, for life. It’s mine, and as long as I’m not hurting it, I don’t expect people to intervene. I wouldn’t intervene with someone else’s child unless I was asked or saw a reason to. I get it. I thought everyone else got it, too. If a woman cannot have her child to herself, then there’s absolutely nothing she can have, and I didn’t expect everyone’s opinion to chip away at my ownership over my son.
If someone asks me to mop their floors with vinegar and water, I’m not gonna use bleach. I respect other people’s belongings, even their fucking floors so, why can’t they respect me as a mother and not feed my kid a fucking cupcake? It’s all very irrational. (No one fed my kid a cupcake, nor did I mop anyone’s floor, but the point is there.)
Opinions are thrown at about me about his hair, his not talking, his bare feet, his being outside, his playing in the rain, his food, his sleeping habits, his schedule…Opinions, not advice. Criticisms, not advice. Crude comments, not advice.
I expected different. I don’t know why. I really should’ve known better.
18 month old Greyson, just being a boy, just being a kid.