I remember not wanting to make that trip. I was unbearably depressed. It was the start of June. My Dad convinced me to go. I did. I sat at the summer beach house, feeling like I had this tumor inside me that everyone was happy about but me. I was young, I had a lot I was going to do. This baby was fucking it all up. I wasn’t happy about it, but I was trying to live with the decision that I’d made, based on my roommate’s advice that I would always question myself if I didn’t have it, but I would never regret my kid if I had it. I was trying to keep that in mind. Three days into the vacation, I had terrible pains. My friend called my OB., or my “Vagina-cologist” as I called her at the time. All was ok, it was normal, just ligaments pulling because the baby was growing. I was so relieved. That changed everything.
I suddenly realized that this thing I had spent years preventing, I was now fighting like hell to protect. Ready or not (not) I was a mom. I spent that trip sober, while everyone drank on the beach by the bon fire. I went to bed early. I was beyond tired all the time. I was still grieving the life I had. It didn’t seem fair, but I had made a very adult choice so I had start living a very adult life. It was going to be a big fucking change. I missed cigarettes, I missed beer, I missed life without worries. And it had only been a few weeks.
The night before we left the beach house, I stood on the beach, alone. I was crying. My irresponsibility had ruined my vacation and also my future. I was fuggin’ bummed dude. Moms are lame. They’re boring. They’re big fat fatties. They don’t laugh. They don’t play. They suck. I was now the headliner of Suckfest 2002… My life was done-zo.
My brother suddenly ran up behind me. He shoots me in the ass with a Roman candle. It burns. Game on. I’m defenseless. I don’t have ammo. I run to the house and get my stash and light one up, then light him up, as he darts away since he’s now out of a weapon. Poor planning on his part. Roman Candles only hold a few, he’s wasted his fucking with me. I run out too. Never getting my so deserved retaliation on him. We laugh. We climb up to the lifeguard tower. We talk. I’m lost in my thoughts so he does the talking. I let him.
“She’s gonna be like 7 months old next trip” he says. Who? I wonder. Are we getting a puppy? He’s referring to my vagina tumor. It’s never crossed my mind what gender this life ruiner will be. Fuck. A girl? No way. Imma hava boy. A strapping young man. Or not. I haven’t considered life with a girl. It’s obviously a boy. I think? Fucky Fuckerton. I might have a girl. Jesus fuggin Christ. Game Changer. Vagina Tumor might be a sassy ass girl. Rad.
It’s dark. Everyone is smoking out on the deck. I sit alone, listening to the waves. Here I am, staring at the waves, scared shitless to be a mom. I killed a pet rabbit I had once, I forgot to feed it… water…in the summer…in Ari-fuckin-zona. I killed my own fish on purpose by overfeeding them when I was 10, because they had too much upkeep. They were fuckin’ Betas. I cannot raise a human. She’s so fucked with me as a mom. I know it. I cry. I pull myself together. I think about the future. I can do this. I can be a good mom. She won’t have it easy, but I can try like fucking hell to make sure she never doubts how much I love her, I can be sure has fun and especially I can see to it that she’s happy. New life goal. Make baby girl proud. Do-it-to-it, Momma Cass. You Got This.
11 years later, I watch her play in the ocean with her 3 little sisters. She’s a fucking knock out. She’s intelligent beyond anything I could have prayed for. She’s hilarious. She’s silly. She’s so talented. She has her Daddy’s stubbornness. She has my Mom’s nurturing side. She has her Poppa’s Sun Devil gene. She has Mikail’s smile. She has my legs. She is just an amazing person. She runs up from the waves. I kiss her on her head. She’s close to being as tall as I am. She’s wearing my shoes. Dammit. She didn’t ask. She can do whatever she wants. She made me a Mom. I will forever be grateful.