On Sept. 22, I turned 32.
I've been reflecting upon my life. My age doesn't bother me, but my life does. I am not anywhere near where I thought I would be. I expected to be rich, or at the very least, comfortable. Instead, we're struggling for money.
I expected have a career rather than be in school. Still.
I expected to be a mother of six, not a mother of three waiting another year to have the rest. I hope I'll be able to get pregnant then. If we can't have more children, it won't be the end of the world. But it will make me very sad. I've always wanted a large family and six was my number. I'd like at least one child with my now-husband but with our financial situation, I don't think it would be fair.
I need to get my mental health under control before we even think about trying.
I had an amazing childhood. My husband says I wasn't born with a silver spoon, it was platinum, and he's probably right. My parents divorced when I was a year old, and my mother and I moved in with her parents. My grandfather was a doctor so to say I was spoiled would be an understatement. I had everything I could ever dream of.
I was an only child who lived in a HUGE house with three people who adored me. I saw my dad, who was an ass, every other weekend. My grandfather was the father-figure I didn't have and I loved him very much. My grandmother, although slightly touched with the Craze, loved me dearly and made sure I was always taken care of. My mother worshiped me and has always fought to make sure I had it all. She would have died to stop me from feeling pain, but we all know parents just can't do that.
When my grandfather passed away on Sept. 15, 1992, I lost the only father I ever knew and my world collapsed around me.
And then, on January 22, 2001, I lost my grandmother. It was like losing my second mother.
In May 1998, when I was 19, my first husband moved next-door. By July 28, 1998, his 27th birthday, we were married. We were happy and in love. After my grandmother died, I got pregnant and my ex turned 30. I was having a hard time coping with the loss of my grandmother and he somehow "tripped" and fell into another girl's vagina. Nice. I ended it.
Sept. 11, 2001 found me scared and pregnant, so we decided to make it work. Our daughter was born on December 24, 2001, she was perfect and she was mine. We couldn't have been happier.
Things went downhill from there. We stayed together for three more years until I got the fateful phone call, from his "girlfriend." She called the house to tell me that she had a doctor's appointment the next day. Maybe they could see the heartbeat.
I was floored. I waited for him to come home and when he did, I confronted him. He denied his infidelity then, he denies it now, but I left, never to look back. My world was crumbling down around me. My stability was gone. He made a good living. I didn't have to work - I could stay home with the kids.
Two weeks after I left him, I found out I was pregnant again. I had a two-year old daughter and was expecting this asshole's second baby. YIKES.
Long story short, his son was born Oct. 24, 2004, and our youngest daughter came screaming into the world on December 25, 2004. Her father was "too busy" to attend her birth.
He pays child support, co-pays for doctor visits, and our daughters have his insurance, which is fantastic. His mother is my hero, she buys my kids everything they could ever want and then some. Even my son who she has NO ties to whatsoever. She thinks her son is an ass, and she is 100% behind me no matter what. I couldn't have asked for a better grandmother for my girls.
April 8, 2004, I met my now-husband. We met online when started talking about our children. He had a son and I had a 2-year old and had just found out that I expecting my second. None of this scared him off.
We met in May of 2004. It was love at first sight. I knew he was the one.
But I had a rule: no one would meet my daughter until we had been dating for 6 months.
He met my daughter on my 26th birthday and they hit it off. He was excited for this baby "we" were having, even though she wasn't his. He was an overjoyed daddy-to-be. He moved in with us in October. December 25, he stood by my side while "our" daughter was born. He was such a proud daddy. And he was her daddy.
My daughters know their father. They know that my husband is not their "real" father but it doesn't matter to them. My youngest calls my husband her heart daddy, and her biological father her blood daddy. And our son knows the same thing, I am not his "real" mommy, but I couldn't love him anymore if I gave birth to him.
My husband and I were married in April 8th, 2009, our anniversary.
Things have always been a struggle. He works in a factory where he doesn't get paid what he's worth. We live with my mother. And I am a full-time student. I'm thinking about going real estate, even though everyone tells me what a horrible choice it is. It's what my heart tells me is right, and I have to do what my heart says.
I imagined my life would be different at 32. I expected to have a career, a house, a car, 2.5 kids, and a picket fence. I have the car, almost the house, and lord knows I have the kids. But we struggle and I feel like I haven't accomplished anything. All of my friends finished college when they were younger, now they're married with careers, starting families. They have houses, cars and financial stability. And that makes me feel like I failed.
Money is tight, although since my husband just got a HUGE promotion it's not as tight as it was. We'll be building a house soon and my mother will still live with us. She is just so amazing that I want her to be taken care of now.
Things are looking up.