A Sperm Donor and A Uterus

I don’t have two parents. I have a sperm donor and a uterus. I have two people that weren’t ready to be parents. I have two people who make my life hell every chance they get. Crazy, I didn’t have an example of what a mother or father should look like, yet I know how I want to parent my son and daughter. 

I find it a little funny how my mother always has something to say about the relationship I have with my father when she’s the reason I don’t have one. 

I find it a little funny how my father always has something to say about my dating life when he’s the reason I don’t know how to be treated. 

Every single time they fuck me up I want kids even more. So I can be a great mother to them. I want kids so badly. Because I know that I will be a great mother to them. 

My parents fucked me up so badly. 

Crazy how me getting molested can never amount to the damage that my mother gave me. 

And every day she chooses to call me out my name calling me goofy it just fucks me up even more.

It fucks me up so bad that my mother will pick whatever man she is liking on at the time over being a mother to her kids.

When I become a mother I will never pick any man over, my kids. My kids will be my world because they deserve it. 

My kids deserve to be loved and chosen over everyone else because I chose to have them. 

How can I believe in abortions when I want a chance to be better than my mother and hers before her?   

I get flashbacks of the horrible things that my mother has told me in my life telling me straight to my face that she would choose bobby over me. That she would knock me out over Bobby. 

Over Bobby?!

So fucking crazy how you can literally choose him over me and not even be happy because I hear you screaming at him 24/7. 

You chose a nobody over me. 

You chose love for a man over love for your kids. 

Depression knocks at my door when I think of how you treated me and how you allowed others to treat me. 

But then I think about my dreams for motherhood. And I stay just a little while longer. 

Every single time I think about how I was treated at my dad’s house that shit fucks me up. 

How he always had something negative to say about me and how I was raised. 

Or how my family never even tried to hide their hatred for me. 

The drinks. The gambling. The hatred. The dirtiness of your house. The pee smell. The judgment.

I still think about all of that. That shit damaged me. 

But the thing is a part of me feels like I shouldn’t be angry with him.

But then again I gave him multiple chances to build a relationship with me 

And you failed.

You failed at being a father to me. 

Anxiety knocks at my door when I think about the trauma and pain I endured with your sorry-ass attempt at being a father to me. 

But then I think about the kicks I will feel while I’m growing my kids. 

A sperm donor and a uterus....