I am a woman.

My Oma gave me a whole thing of Oreos. Excuse me for a minute while I finish getting the crumbs all over my laptop.

Okay. This week I was pushed over the edge sanity-wise. Instead of throwing out hurtful nouns, verbs, and adjectives at innocent passersby, I decided to write my disappointments down on paper. I wrote for hours, I wrote until I thought my hand would detach itself from my body. I hoped to post those things that weighed me down, but as I read my five-page list of sorrow, I realized how silly I was. Sure, both of our vehicles were taken away due to unseen forces. Sure, somebody sent us a fraudulent check that cost us our funds for roughly a month. Most of the time, I feel like I'm in Purgatory, like I'm glued to this bed (which provides NO back support, and only angers me further). These things are trivial -ish. They have cost us dearly: namely my job, and my sweet husband's peace-of-mind. We don't have to wallow in guilt anymore. We have to stand up and be good and ready for our blessing in a tiny human package. I'm so tired of sitting, and waiting.
Now that I've "taken out the trash" so to speak, life has been so much better. The "trash" I speak of is other people's/my own doubts. If you think I'm too young to be a mother, don't tell me. I think there are women in their thirties that are too young. It's a state of mind, and I know that I'm ready. I'm not my mother, I'm not my mother's mother's mother. I've grown into my own. You will not find me asking my baby girl to pick me up from the bar because I'm too drunk to walk. You will not find me choking for air because I suck down two packs of cigarettes a day. I used to drink, and smoke in my mid-teens, but I am enlightened. That is not me anymore. I know that my life is not my own. It would be selfish to think that.


I say this a lot: I am a woman.
It means something to me. You're born a female, but you have to grow into a woman. It's an art.


I am a woman.