Baby mama

A lot of people disagree with this term.

But I like to call shit how I see it.

I don’t think that it is indicative of how much you care for your child.

Or how well you are able to take care of them.

I think it has more to do with the relationship you have with the other person that helped you create them.

I know with my first child, I became Baby Mama after we divorced.

I wanted to separate myself away from that man as much as possible.

I didn’t want the world to be reminded that I had made the senseless decision to tie the knot with such a disgusting individual.

But me, him, and God knew the truth.

That baby was made in wedlock.

And out of love.

I felt like I could hold my head high.

Now fast forward 10 years later.

I sit here impregnated by another man.

(The same man that I’ve written about before. The one that I knew wasn’t for me.)

And that’s only because the Plan B pill didn’t work.

Prior to this, I had so much confidence in it.

Ten years is a milestone. Naa meen?

But, for some reason, this time that sperm and that egg just couldn’t resist one another.

Sort of like how me and him was.

And bam!

A new life is created.

I was just trying not to add another body to my body count.

Instead, I added another body to my body count anyways.

The irony.

And I’m working on my title of Baby Mama x 2.

Whew, chile.

The ghetto.

And I have to sit in this.

Because, it wasn’t in me to abort a life I knew was trying to grow.

And it ain’t in me to fake skip my way down an aisle just to save face.

It is what it is.

And it is what it’s gone to be.

I’m going to be the Mama of TWO lives.

And an ex-wife to one.

And the world and its judgements is just going to have to kiss my ass because it ain’t like I’m asking them for shit.

Tip: We are probably harder on ourselves than anyone else could ever be.

Imma just suck up the fact that when I go to fill out school paper work that it is 3 different last names coming out of this household.

And each of them has a story.

Not exactly how I had it written when I was in the 7th grade.

But close enough, dammit.

What not to do: Don’t throw the whole book away cus it ain’t going as planned.

I got me some kids.

A boy and a girl.

Perfect. Right?

And they are loved.

And Mommy didn’t give up on them.

Baby, your Mama did not give up on you.

+Ci Ci+