I was with my sons father for 4 years. We were a young couple, moving in together when I was only 17 years old. I knew nothing of the world, but thought I knew everything. Close to the third year of our relationship, we decided that it was best if we parted ways. The next day, we went out to dinner to discuss our decision in hopes of finding a way to “rekindle” the relationship. I wasn’t feeling right and kept insisting that something was wrong with the food, and after the 3rd attempt of trying to stomach anything on their menu, I realized, I was pregnant. We went to CVS from there and purchased a pregnancy test, 3 of them, they were all positive. We both stood in the bathroom of our apartment in silence for what seemed like a life time and then he finally muttered out of his mouth “What are you going to do” and I quickly responded, “I’m going to be a mom”. We decided to stay together in light of the situation and things seemed to be going good, until the baby came.
We had spent the first 2 months of my sons life fighting, over everything, no matter how big or small, we just couldn’t seem to get along. He was staying out til all hours of the night, without offering any information as to where he had been and always came home smelling like a bottle of whiskey had just fell on his lap. He wouldn’t wake up til sometime around 3 in the afternoon, and was out the door for work by 4. I worked a normal 9-5, so we never saw each other, and since he was always suffering from hangovers in the morning, I was forced to put my son in daycare at 6 weeks old, which is the youngest they take children. Sundays were supposed to be our family day, but he spent that time in front of the TV watching football with a beer in his hand at all times.
I think a part of both of us truly wanted to make it work, for our son if nothing else, but the harder we tried the further we grew apart. Finally one afternoon before I left for work, we sat down and I asked him why he loved me. He stared at me with a look of embarrassment, because he realized he couldn’t think of one reason, and realized that neither could I. After sitting in silence for a while, I knew this was never going to work. We were two different people, with different goals and ambitions, and neither of us were ready to be parents, but the difference there was, I was ready for the challenge and to put my “childish” things away, he just couldn’t do it. Finally I managed to get the emotional strength to ask him to have all of his stuff packed up by the time I got home from work. I told him that if I was going to be doing this by my self while he was out gallivanting, then I was going to do it BY MYSELF. A part of me never thought he would actually go, and was hoping that he would fight for me. That he would profess his love to me and see the error in his ways, but that never happened. When I came home he was gone, and my closet suddenly had a whole lot more space. I sat on the floor for a while, crying, screaming, scared, relieved and angry all at the same time. Then, I walked over to my sons crib and stared at him almost the whole night. The entire time I was standing there looking at him, I kept thinking to myself “How am I going to do this”? I had never been so scared in my life, I was a 21 year old girl, with this precious 2 month old baby in front of me, and I didn’t know what I was going to do or how I was going to do it. And then…his little hands wrapped around my finger, and all my fears slipped away, it was as if he was telling me everything was going to be OK. And I believed it. And that’s when this roller-coaster I call life began…
Written by Veronica Diaz