This post comes to us from a regular reader of Taken. She has asked to remain anonymous. I can respect that AND all that she has to say here. Though not my own experience, I can certainly relate. Thank you, Darling. You know who you are!
 

Sometimes I’m still sort of surprised that I am a Mama.  I never really planned on it.  In fact at the very moment of my daughter’s conception all I could think about was the mistake I had made in getting married in the first place.  Stop gasping in horror and give me a break, it was our second wedding anniversary… it’s called “event” sex.  Don’t deny that you know what I mean, birthdays, anniversaries, other special occasions. Suffice it to say that babies were the last thing on my mind.  Sure I sort of assumed that I would have children… one day.  But it was never something that was really “real” to me.
 

I remember standing in my sister’s bathroom looking at that little pink line in total confusion while my sister thoughtfully guffawed her amusement.  Yes, I do mean guffawed.  I think she was even holding her belly and slapping her knees.  She had been telling me for weeks that I was pregnant because I had every symptom in the book, painful boobs, amazing appetite, no period, etc.  It wasn’t until I started throwing up that I agreed to take the test.
 

Being pregnant changed my life and my marriage.  I was lifted from years of depression and fell madly in love with my husband.  I now know that was temporary insanity, the husband bit.  I think it must have something to do with evolution because all of a sudden the father of my child was the greatest man in the universe and we had the most amazing marriage ever.  He wasn’t, we didn’t.  While I was pregnant I thought that I was achieving something no person have ever done before me.  I thought I must be Superwoman to be able to grow another human being all by myself.  I knew it was there and growing because it did these amazing things like stick a little fist out of my stomach or hiccup and keep me awake.  It was still an it though, not a baby.
 

After she was born I couldn’t reconcile the fact that this tiny human being was the same “it” that I had created inside of me and I felt kind of empty, like all of my power had been taken away when she left me.  She was my kryptonite.  I think that any Mother who tells you that they were instantly in love and bonded with their child the moment they were born is full of it.  But I stressed about it - I didn’t feel like a Mama.  My daughter had colic she cried for 14 weeks for 18 hours every day.  I did the expected motherly things.  I rocked her and sang to her and nursed her - but did at times consider throwing her out of the window.  Stop preparing those “evil person” comments I wouldn’t have actually done it!  But what kind of Mama would think thoughts like that!
 

It’s now 10 years later. She is nearly a young women, almost not a child anymore.  I am desperately in love with her. I am in love with my daughter because she is the only person who knows unequivocally that I need a hug and brings me one with no strings attached.  She is the only one who will ask me questions, listen carefully to my answers, and debate without judgment or emotion (just for the pure pleasure of learning).  She rescues ants that have been injured and makes them homes of grass and sticks and brings them water.  She spends hours drawing detailed pictures for every single member of the extended family - in case someone should feel left out.  She shares her day with me, telling me which boys were mean and when she was the first to finish her assignment in class. 
 

Sometimes I’m still sort of surprised I am a Mama.  I question my Mama abilities constantly.  I really don’t know if I am doing it right.  I worry about the things I did and the choices that I made throughout the last 10 years.  Should I have divorced when she was just a baby?  Did I leave her in daycare too long when I was a working single mother?  Did I introduce her step-father at the right time?  Do I give her enough time with her Dad?  Do I give her enough time with me? I worry constantly whether or not I am given this little person whom I love everything that she needs.  I worry that I am too different from the way a Mama is “supposed” to be. 
 

What I have learned over the last 10 years is that there is no “right” way to be a Mama.  I can be nothing but myself, and no one is perfect.  Every parent gives their child something very special - just by being themselves.  I may not have given my daughter cookies and girl scouts, but I know I have given her the traits of independence and self-confidence.  I need to relax and just look at how great this little person is turning out to know that I have done at least some things right.  So, to all you Drama Mamas out there… relax… it will all be fine.