I’m 21 and Pregnant: Honest Realities of Young Parenthood From Someone Who’s Been There
It’s 7:14 pm on a Tuesday, and I’m sitting cross-legged on my kitchen floor with a pickle juice-soaked sponge in one hand and a half-eaten popsicle in the other. My 4-year-old just dumped an entire jar of dill pickles onto the rug to “see if they swim,” my laundry basket is still overflowing from last week, and I got a DM this morning from a 21-year-old college student asking the question I typed into Google at 2 a.m. five years ago: Can someone just tell me the honest truth about being a parent when you’re 21?
Everyone back then gave me one of two answers. The older church ladies at the grocery store patted my hand and said it’s the greatest gift God could give you, it’ll all work out. My classmates side-eyed me and mumbled that I’d ruined my life before it even started. The 21-year-old who messaged me said she’s getting the exact same two takes, and she just wants the middle. The part no one posts about.
I was 21 when I got that positive pregnancy test, living in a 12×16 dorm room, working 20 hours a week pulling espresso shots, my boyfriend (now husband) was also a full-time undergrad. I’d just signed up for a study abroad program to Rome that fall. I cried for 12 hours straight when I saw that second line. No one told me that you can cry for 12 hours and still choose to keep the baby, by the way. That’s the first unspoken truth: your feelings don’t have to be one or the other.
No one tells you that even at 21, with all the “young energy” people keep talking about, you’ll still be so tired you’ll nod off standing up at the bus stop. I had a third-degree tear during delivery, and I still have minor discomfort when I go for a long run five years later. No one mentioned that in the “what to expect” books, just that you might have some mild soreness for a few weeks. I missed my college graduation walk because my son had a fever that day. I finished my final sociology exam two weeks after he was born, sitting in a stuffy lecture hall with a leaking breast pad through my sweater. I once cried in the Walmart parking lot for 20 minutes because they were out of the specific type of hypoallergenic formula he needed, and I only had $12 in my checking account.
But it’s not all bad, obviously. No one tells you that when you’re a young parent, you’re still flexible enough to chase a toddler around the playground for an hour without your back hurting for three days after. I can still climb the oak tree in our backyard to get his stuck kite, and I don’t need a nap after. I never had 10 years of a high-powered career to walk away from, so I don’t spend every night resenting that I gave up a big promotion to be home with him half the week. My big 21-year-old dream was to backpack around Europe after graduation. Now my big dream is to take him to Disney World next spring, and that feels just as exciting. It’s not a smaller dream, it’s just a different one.
From what I’ve learned, there are a few small, concrete things no one tells you to do that make everything far easier, even when it’s hard. First, before the baby comes, make a list of everyone you know, and mark down who will show up for the small stuff, not just the big events. People will line up to throw you a baby shower, but that doesn’t mean they’ll bring you a casserole at 8 pm on a Tuesday when you can’t leave the house. I cut my old partying roommate out of my life for three months when I got pregnant because everyone told me she was a bad influence. Turns out she was my most reliable free babysitter for midterms, and she’d bring me iced coffee after a bad night of no sleep. If someone likes you and wants to help, let them help, even if they don’t fit the idea of a “good influence” you have in your head.
Second, start a separate savings account right now, and put $20 a month in it for unexpected kid costs. You don’t need a huge nursery full of fancy stuff, but you will need a new car seat six months in when your kid outgrows the newborn one faster than expected, or a $75 cream for the baby eczema that insurance won’t cover. I didn’t do this, and I ended up with $400 in credit card debt from random baby costs that took me two years to pay off. $20 a month adds up, and it’s not going to break your budget when you’re already pinching pennies.
Third, you don’t have to be brave for everyone. I spent the first two years of my son’s life smiling and saying everything was great every time someone asked, because I didn’t want anyone to say “I told you so” when I struggled. Once I started saying “this week is really hard, I need help” out loud, I actually got help. My old sociology professor connected me with a grad student who babysits for $10 an hour when I have work shifts. The librarian at my campus gives me free kids books every time I come in. You don’t owe anyone a perfect, happy young parent story.
Last night, after I cleaned up the pickle juice, we sat on the front porch and watched the fireflies, and my son told me that when he grows up, he’s going to be a pickle scientist. I didn’t get the life I thought I would when I was 21. Some days, I still sit in my car after dropping him off at preschool and eat a whole glazed donut by myself, and I think about what it would be like to have three hours of uninterrupted free time just for me. Some days, I can’t imagine loving anything more than I love that little pickle-obsessed kid. I don’t know what that 21-year-old who DMed me will decide, and that’s okay. The honest truth is that it’s messy, it’s ordinary, it’s hard more often than the Instagram posts say, and it’s yours, whatever you choose.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » I’m 21 and Pregnant: Honest Realities of Young Parenthood From Someone Who’s Been There