Disclaimer: Maybe I’ve already told this story but I’m old, I can’t remember and I don’t feel like looking back to either confirm or deny. And it’s a story that shaped the entirety of my adult life so worth repeating.

16 years ago tomorrow, my life was forever changed. Ash and I were living in Denver, CO. We weren’t exactly happy or thriving. As a matter of fact, I was contemplating leaving him and the shitty little lives we were not really building for ourselves. He was working as an assistant golf pro at a course about an hour away from where our hovel of a home was. I was working part time as an assistant registrar at some bull shit career college where I constantly got reprimanded for letting our homeless student raid the candy jar. I shit you not. (Side note, that college has since gone out of business and I can’t help but wonder if it was the candy jar that broke the camel’s back). I had also just been accepted to the University of Colorado to pursue a degree in something where I could do more than not so secretly feed the homeless candy. We had adopted our sweet and sassy Bogey Brown Girl. And I was praying to whatever deity would listen about what I should be doing with my life, leaning heavily towards packing up my brown girl and getting the hell out of dodge, just looking for a sign that I was where I should be working towards a life that I would be satisfied with (pardon my ending the sentence with a preposition).

As was my routine, on that day 16 years ago, I woke up around 8 am with my sweet Brown Girl, we watched an episode of Gilmore Girls and did our daily walk around Harvard Gulch Park. I didn’t have to be to work until 1 pm back then so after it was time for my weekly Target and Chic Fil A run. This run was a little different in that my period was no less than 2 weeks late and I decided perhaps picking up a pregnancy test wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. Now, judge me however you see fit, but back at this time in my life I had decided that I didn’t want kids. I don’t know if I really felt that way or if it was just a selfish phase or what. But I thought that was how I felt. I was also convinced that the pregnancy test was a waste a money, I was in massive debt given the fact that I worked part time at school that was about to go belly up and I had no idea what I wanted to be if, in fact, I ever grew up. But, alas, just to be safe, I bought the test. I then carried myself through the Chic Fil A drive thru, very confidently ordering a coke because certainly I could still have caffeine as there was no way on earth my birth controlled uterus was carrying a fetus. I hadn’t even messed up the taking of said birth control. That month, anyway.

I get home, unload the groceries, eat my lunch and down my coke. I take a minute to go urinate on that little stick that had no power over me because I already knew the answer and relaxed for the next few minutes, no stress at all.

SPOILER ALERT: I totally should have been stressing.

Sure enough, those two pink lines were shining bright and brilliant. In a real Jeff Foxworthy moment, God came down, said a quick “what’s up, Kellie? Here’s your sign” and left me a heap of sobbing hysterics on the bathroom floor. Be careful what you pray for people because there are signs everywhere, especially sometimes when you ask for them multiple times a day. Pregnant. Going to be a mother. Something I didn’t think I ever wanted. Someone’s life solely in my ill equipped hands. I called my mom first, fearing how disappointed she was going to be in me. That’s right folks, didn’t even call my baby daddy first. Just my mommy. Because when shit hits the fan, don’t we always want our moms? Because moms know everything. They know what to say. They know how to fix shit. That know how to love unconditionally. They are the backbone of our entire lives. And there was no way on God’s green earth that I was anywhere near someone that could provide even a fraction of that to a child. And while I feared my mom’s disappointment, I couldn’t have been more wrong. She was ecstatic. Beyond excited for her first grandchild, so supportive, not judgmental, just pure joy. She calmed me down, convinced me I should probably call my boyfriend, father of my child, alert him to the news. And I did, eventually. But first, like a mature adult, I called in sick to work.

Shockingly, I handled the phone call to Ash with the same dramatics I seem to handle everything in my life. I called, asked to speak to him and with 0 explanation said “you need to come home right now. We need to talk.” He asked me what was wrong and I just said we’d talk when he got home. I guess it just felt like face to face news. I hadn’t even disclosed to him that my period was at least 2 weeks late or that I may or may not have bought a pregnancy test. Denial at its finest. He got home. I broke down again. And he handled it like any terrified 26 year old man would – by suggesting we could “take care of it if I wanted to”. In his defense, he didn’t mean it. He was just as terrified as I was. Eventually we got our shit together, stopped crying and got on board with welcoming a baby into our frighteningly not so prepared to have a child lives. We moved to Texas. We got married. We started our family.

The pregnancy wasn’t an easy one. Nor was the birth. But we fumbled our way through. I maybe took the baby to the emergency room once because he wouldn’t stop crying so most definitely was absolutely broken. But we did it. We created a family.

That family looks far different than that terrified 26 year old woman had envisioned back then. I’d like to say that the second time we found out we were with child was far less dramatic but that would be a lie. You see, it was the beginning of the end of life as we knew it. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time. But that is when Ash first started showing signs of something not being right in his body. That’s when he started his bouts of nonstop vomiting, nonstop tests and too many hospital stays. When I was pregnant with Colt is when we learn of Ash’s autoimmune disease that would ultimately lead to the end of his life.

Well, that took a dark turn, didn’t it?!

That wasn’t really my point. My point was that 16 years ago tomorrow, I found out that I was to be a mother. And while I have fucked up in many, many ways in said motherhood, and I have done things differently than others would have, and while I still don’t quite know what I’m doing most of the time, I am very proud of the mother I have become. I have 2 mostly happy and sometimes healthy boys. Well, one very healthy boy and one that can’t seem to stop breaking, tearing and ripping bones and ligaments. But for the most part, they are kind, resilient, brave and funny. In spite of life’s challenges, they are thriving. They are smart, unique and hard working. They show respect, make good grades and stay out of trouble. I am so proud of them. I am so proud of myself. And I am so grateful that I get to be a part of their journey, no matter where life takes them, no matter how different they are and no matter what other’s opinions may be of how they/we choose to live our lives. And even when they tell me that Mother’s Day is a made up day and means nothing, they are still absolutely my most favorite humans in existence.

Happy Mother’s Day to me and to all the mothers out there muddling their way through. This is not an easy job we have been tasked with but it is also the best job there is.