I got my first creeper comment the other day.
Nothing too crazy, just your traditional creeper comment disguised as concern. It went something like this:
“My husband and I are really worried about you and your marriage. Do you ever think about what effect your blog will have on your daughters? We will pray for you.”
The commenter (who I deleted, in case you’re wondering) did not appreciate some of my posts relating to some lingering emotions I have from my unplanned pregnancy, or some of the difficulties I’ve written about when it comes to marriage.
I can laugh about her concerns for my marriage. My marriage is fine. I have to remind myself that the blogging world is not the real world–sorry people, it’s pretend. Of course I can come here and vent about why my husband gets to eat ice cream and watch TV while I run around cleaning and working like a crazy person–but in the end, that doesn’t define my life or my marriage.
She did strike a chord with me about the whole daughters bit.
Because honestly? That’s something I worry about all the time.
Not necessarily how my blogging or writing will affect her, but just the fact that I am so open about the fact that I had an unplanned pregnancy, and the fact that it was downright hard for me.
I worry about how I will explain how she happened into the world.
I worry about if she will feel different than her sister, planned for (shocker, right?) and conceived the “right” way in marriage.
I worry about if she will feel guilty about what could-have-been, the way I do sometimes, when my dad wistfully looks into space and tells me how he signed up for teaching classes…until I happened along.
Will she think I don’t love her?
Will she think she was a “mistake?”
Or will she actually understand that she is honestly, 100% the best thing that ever happened to me? That I wouldn’t change one thing about my life? That having her transformed me in a way that I never thought possible? That the moment I laid eyes on her, my heart literally opened up?
I am a better person because of my daughter. Period. The end.
She made me realize that life is a choice. That although sometimes we don’t choose our circumstances, we can choose to make the best out of them. We can accept them and seek the gift that often lies, hidden and waiting for us to let go of our expectations of the way things “should be” and see what is.
She helped me to see what life is really about. She helped me–someone who has struggled with the “what should I do with my life” syndrome to feel empowered in becoming the person I want to be.
She is such a gift beyond words.
Yes, I had an unplanned pregnancy. Yes, it was hard.
My daughter will know those things.
But she will also know that she is loved.
That she is a gift I didn’t know I needed.
That I am proud to have danced with her at my wedding.
That–news flash–it’s not all about me. It’s about her, and the fact that she is here–exquisitely, perfectly here.
That she is all that her name embodies:
Ada: “A woman’s preciousness and beauty.”
I love you Ada Marie. Thank you for allowing to be to your mother.