Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Once upon a child...


Starting at a very early age (probably Kindergarten), I knew exactly what I needed to make me happy as an adult: I needed a husband and I needed a baby. I'm not sure how these desires came into play. While all the other girls at the daycare I went to were taking their Barbie to her mansion with her boyfriend Ken, riding around on the floor in her pink convertible, splashing around in her blue inflatable swimming pool and going shopping at the mall made of wooden blocks, my Barbie had a mini pool towel under her dress, going to the hospital, while her husband Ken was rubbing her lumpy belly, to have a baby. I vaguely remember riding home from school on the bus, playing with one of my friends dolls that was actually pregnant and had a little baby in the tummy (if you removed the tummy, you could take the baby out). I coveted that toy. While all the other kids were begging their mom for the latest gadget when they would go to the store, I begged my mom to buy me diapers for my babydolls.

I love kids. I really believe its a calling that not everyone has. No one is the same. Some are called to be parents, some are not, either way, God has gifted all of us differently and doesn't make me any better than those who don't want children. I'm simply stating that if I dont know anything else, I know somehow, something with children is my calling and I pray my calling it to be a mother.

Anyway, back on topic. In highschool, I had the occasional crush but that was all it ever amounted to. I really wasnt interested in any guys I went to school with and if they wouldve shown the least amount of interest in me, I probably would have ignored them and shyed away. All of my friends in school were girls. I didnt trust boys. In middle school, a young black boy would come up behind me when it was my turn to get off of the bus and run his hands up my rear end between my legs. I was embarrassed to tell anyone and tried lowering my bookbag to keep him from doing it but nothing helped. I went to my math teacher one day and told her what was going on, that it made me feel uncomfortable, and asked what I should do. I was scared. She ended up escorting me to the principals office where I had to decribe the story again. Luckily, the principal at the time happened to be my 6th grade teacher so it made it a little easier talking to her. I thought it was my fault. I thought I didnt do enough to stop it from happening. I thought that because I talked to this boy on the bus, that it gave him the right to violate me that way. The boy ended up switching schools after I was too embarrassed to press charges, thank goodness, because if he hadn't, then I would have had to have a police escort to walk with me to each class. I never told any of my friends while it was going on. I was ashamed. It took me a while to gain my trust back in the male species (even my dad and grandfather) but eventually, I was able to let go.

My dad always told me, school first then boy, and thats what I stuck to. In college, I joined a sorority and I just knew my future husband was going to be a fraternity brother. I mean, I had so many to chose from! but much to my avail, nothing. Dont get me wrong, I was friends with them, but I never felt anything. By this time, all of my friends/sisters were either married or engaged and I felt like I was running out of time...God had forgotten about me and my needs, or so I thought. I prayed so SO hard every night for a husband and I hadnt gotten one...yet.

So I did what any desperate, impatient girl would do. No one knew my needs better than I did. With that in mind, I decided to take matters into my own hands...

To be continued...

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