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Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

I gave birth to my older daughter three months shy of my twenty-first birthday. And actually, for someone that young — I had my shit mostly together.

Ok — I didn’t really — but I had it tagged— on a small plot of land — where it free-ranged and I could locate it if I had to.

And because our first kiddo was such an easy baby and toddler — The Universe tricked us into having another. Her sister was born a few months after I turned twenty-three.

To say my younger daughter was hell on wheels from the moment she was born would be an understatement. But as she grew — I talked myself down off the Motherhood Ledge many times knowing her strong, independent streak would serve her well as an adult — even if it was annoying as fuck in a four-year-old.

Fast forward to today. And Nana Land. I am young for a grandmother. But — I still get it.

The ability to look at my granddaughter’s most epic temper fit and appreciate the fact no one — NO ONE — will ever fuck with this Human as an adult woman — so worth the price of admission. And part of me is cheering her Inner Warrior on. Okay — yes — she does have to eat something…and it would be great if she could come up for air long enough to enter negotiations about this — however, I’ve got time. I can wait it out.

Because that’s something Nanas learn with raising the parents. Temper tantrums end. Sleep wins. Everyone eventually gets hungry enough to eat something resembling part of the four food groups.

Love is the answer — it doesn’t matter what the question is.

And Life goes on even through the catastrophes of missing the bus — throwing up — having trouble not talking in class — being late for …fill in the blank — the list is endless.

All. The. Things. Young Mothers stress about in the moment.

As a Young Mother — I didn’t have a role model, or manuals, or anyone other than other Young Mothers to help me out with any of this. But by damn — we figured it out. I am proud to say 100% of our kids are NOT serial killers. None of us sent a single teenager to military school or left them in the woods or sold them to gypsies even though we might have threatened to just that within earshot of our Sister-Mothers.

Wine helped. Lots and lots of wine. I highly recommend it.

And Humor. And Love.

We walked into motherhood with only instincts. The ones passed down to us from generations of women who came before us — our Motherhood DNA.

A lot of the time — we were scared shitless. I know I was.

I want to tell all the Young Mothers out there — this one very important thing every grandmother knows.

The days go slow and the years fast — I believe it with all my heart. I also believe most Mommas oughta qualify for sainthood.


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Self discovery in progress, stay tuned

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