Carrying Camden
I carried Camden for ten months, but it seemed that, more often than not, he carried me.
Camden was my first born. He still is. Though he is no longer with me in the flesh, my son lives on everyday.
After I took the tests, I cried for two hours on the bathroom floor. For me, this wasn't just a child. The little one I was charged with carrying was the collective combination of my wishes, hopes, dreams, and plans for the future. He was a pure and perfect love made manifest. I cried not for confusion, fear, or fright -- feelings that could easily accompany a pregnancy for a young woman in a less-than-ideal situation. I cried tears of joy for a love stronger than I had ever known. I cried because my prayers had been answered, even if a little sooner than I imagined.
Camden was my first born. He still is. Though he is no longer with me in the flesh, my son lives on everyday.
This is my story. Our story. A love story.
Within a little over a year, I conceived, discovered, delivered, and lost.
It began on July 5, 2014. It was then that I tested positive for pregnancy. I was barely three weeks along, but I knew. Many young girls imagine a white dress and a walk down the aisle. My vision was a little different: snotty noses, milky mouths, and lots and lots of dirty diapers. For me, the goal wasn't marriage but what came after: a house full of children. I always believed I'd be a mother of many. Though my journey was a little "out of order," it was mine. And, in my early twenties, I became a mother.
Within a little over a year, I conceived, discovered, delivered, and lost.
It began on July 5, 2014. It was then that I tested positive for pregnancy. I was barely three weeks along, but I knew. Many young girls imagine a white dress and a walk down the aisle. My vision was a little different: snotty noses, milky mouths, and lots and lots of dirty diapers. For me, the goal wasn't marriage but what came after: a house full of children. I always believed I'd be a mother of many. Though my journey was a little "out of order," it was mine. And, in my early twenties, I became a mother.
After I took the tests, I cried for two hours on the bathroom floor. For me, this wasn't just a child. The little one I was charged with carrying was the collective combination of my wishes, hopes, dreams, and plans for the future. He was a pure and perfect love made manifest. I cried not for confusion, fear, or fright -- feelings that could easily accompany a pregnancy for a young woman in a less-than-ideal situation. I cried tears of joy for a love stronger than I had ever known. I cried because my prayers had been answered, even if a little sooner than I imagined.
The following few weeks were difficult. My child made his presence known immediately; I spent hours perched on the rim of the toilet, fighting morning sickness that lasted well beyond noon. I had to change my diet because he made his distaste for pizza and pasta quite clear. My mood swings were so frequent that I had to distance myself from friends and loved ones so that they couldn't observe the alarming differences (we had decided to keep the pregnancy to ourselves for the time being).
On the first day of October, two weeks shy of my birthday, I heard his heartbeat for the first time. I fell more deeply in love than one could ever fathom. This was also the day I discovered I would have a son.
He was perfect in more ways than one. I had always longed for pregnancy at a young age, so that I could begin building the large family I wanted. I also hoped to have a boy first. I wanted the daughters I imagined to have a protective older brother, someone to help keep a watchful eye.
As a teacher, I had escaped to my midwife's office during my planning period and still had to return to work afterwards for a faculty meeting. I tried to keep the tears to a minimum, so as to avoid messing up my makeup. All my efforts were in vain. I was a mess. A sweet, beautiful, snotty mess.
He was perfect in more ways than one. I had always longed for pregnancy at a young age, so that I could begin building the large family I wanted. I also hoped to have a boy first. I wanted the daughters I imagined to have a protective older brother, someone to help keep a watchful eye.
As a teacher, I had escaped to my midwife's office during my planning period and still had to return to work afterwards for a faculty meeting. I tried to keep the tears to a minimum, so as to avoid messing up my makeup. All my efforts were in vain. I was a mess. A sweet, beautiful, snotty mess.
That was a Wednesday. By Friday, we had settled on a name: Camden James.
And thus, I began Carrying Camden.
And thus, I began Carrying Camden.
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