My pregnancy was tough. At the very beginning, my Grandmother passed away, and it went downhill from there. I suffered from severe nausea and vomiting, as well as a low hemoglobin count that left me with so little energy, that even taking a shower was a challenge. On top of all of that, my daughter’s father was just incapable of providing any the type of support I needed.
I remember one night, a couple of weeks before Ayva was born, that I was waiting for her father to come by to take me to the grocery store. He was late, and not answering his phone, and I got so angry! I put my shoes on and walked…no, stomped, all the way to the grocery store, almost 2 miles away. In the dark. At 8 months pregnant. It was crazy, it was reckless, and I felt horrible for allowing that type of energy into my body to be shared with my unborn child. I was supposed to be the Mama! I was supposed to be calm and peaceful and protecting her from discomfort, and there I was stomping around Philadelphia like I wasn’t about to give birth! When I returned home, I sat and rubbed my belly, and apologized for my anger. I promised Ayva that I would always do my best to protect her from that type of negative energy from me.
I have taken that promise to heart. Although my situation is not always ideal, I work my butt off to make sure Ayva gets the best of her Mommy. That means that I have to be aware of when I need a break. It means I have had to let some things (and people) go. It means I choose my battles. It means I’m smiling and playful and full of hugs and kisses for my baby girl. Because I’m the Mama, and that’s what Mamas do.