21 and Pregnant? Honest Realities of Being a Young Parent No One Tells You
I’m sitting on the floor of my 1-bedroom apartment right now, leftover pepperoni pizza sweating on the coffee table, my 4-year-old passed out on the couch mid-Cocomelon, a half-eaten goldfish cracker clamped in his fist. I got an Instagram DM this morning from a 21-year-old community college student saying, “I just found out I’m pregnant, could someone tell me the honest truth about being a parent? No ‘your life is over’ and no ‘it’s the greatest blessing ever’ just real stuff.” That’s exactly what I was looking for when I peed on a stick in my college dorm bathroom at 21, four years ago. All I got back then was extremes, so I figured I’d give her the real deal.
I was a junior, 21, dating a 22-year-old construction worker who made $15 an hour, working 20 hours a week at the campus coffee shop to cover my tuition, living in a dorm that banned kids under 12. I sat on that closed toilet lid for 45 minutes scrolling Reddit, looking for someone to tell it straight. One side said I’d ruined my life before it even started, the other said parenthood at 21 was the best thing that ever happened to me and I’d never want it any other way. Neither felt true.
First real thing no one tells you: your friendships don’t all end, but they shift, and that’s okay. I used to go to every weekend party, stay out till 2am eating cold pizza and talking about which professors were the easiest. Now my old college friends invite me out for drinks, but a babysitter costs $20 an hour, and my kid wakes up at 6am sharp no matter what time he goes to bed. Last time I went out, I left at 8:30pm, missed all the late-night gossip, and spent the whole Uber ride home checking my phone to see if the sitter texted. I felt out of place when all anyone talked about was their upcoming internships in LA and summer trips to Europe. But when I got home, I peeked in my kid’s crib and he was curled up holding the old stuffed rabbit I got him at a thrift store, and I didn’t mind being back home that early. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss the old days sometimes, it just means my life is different now. A trick that works for me here: if a friend still wants to catch up, suggest they come over for takeout after your kid goes to bed instead of going out. It saves you money on a sitter, and you get to catch up without the stress of rushing home.
Second, money will always be tighter than you plan for, even if you budget perfectly. Last month, my kid got a double ear infection, and his prescription was $118 out of pocket. I had $80 in my checking account, and I had to choose between filling it and getting my oil changed, which I needed to get to work. I ended up borrowing $50 from my mom, which I hated doing because I wanted to prove I could do this on my own. The only trick I’ve found that works is keeping a $50 cash envelope in my junk drawer just for random kid emergencies. It doesn’t cover big stuff, but it keeps me from panicking when someone needs a new pack of sneakers or a prescription co-pay right before payday.
Third, people will judge you constantly, but you don’t have to engage. When I was 7 months pregnant, I was standing in line at the grocery store, and an older woman stopped me and said, “Oh honey, you’re way too young for this. What a shame.” Last week at the playground, a mom who was 10 years older than me asked how much I paid for preschool, and when I said $100 a week at the local parent co-op, she tilted her head and said, “Don’t you worry about him being ready for kindergarten?” It stings for five minutes, every time. But I came up with one line that works for every rude comment: “We’re doing just fine, thanks.” Then I turn away and go back to whatever I was doing. No arguments, no explaining my choices, no need to prove anything to anyone.
I think the hardest thing to admit, that no one tells you, is that you’ll sometimes wonder what would have happened if you waited. I graduated college last month, four years later than I originally planned, taking classes part time while I worked and raised my kid. After the ceremony, I sat in my car and cried for 20 minutes because I saw all my old classmates planning their next steps: grad school, jobs in New York, cross-country road trips. I wondered what my life would look like if I’d waited to have a kid until I was 30, like most of my friends plan to. But then my kid banged on the car window holding a dandelion he’d picked for me, and I wiped my face and went to get ice cream with him. It’s okay to feel this way. It doesn’t mean you don’t love your kid. It just means you’re human. I let myself have 20 minutes of moping once a month if I need it, then I move on. Guilt doesn’t help anyone.
The good parts that no one frames right, they’re small. I get off work at 3pm every day, so I pick my kid up from co-op and we go to the park for an hour before I do my night class homework. Most of the older parents I know can’t do that—they’re stuck in office jobs that keep them till 5 or 6pm. I don’t have a 401k yet, and I still live in a 1-bedroom apartment, but I get to go to every one of his field trips and bake cookies for his class party and watch him try to catch butterflies after lunch. That’s not something I’d trade, even on the hard days.
I still haven’t replied to that DM. I don’t have a perfect answer for whether you can do this, because it’s different for everyone. Some days I burn the mac and cheese, my kid has a full-on tantrum over the wrong color cup, and I sit on the kitchen floor and cry with him. Some days we build a huge block tower and eat popsicles on the fire escape and it feels like the best life I could have asked for. It’s messy, it’s harder than I expected, and it’s softer than I expected too. That’s the honest truth.
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