Lately, I’ve found myself wondering if I’m really cut out to be a mom.
When I look back on this pregnancy, it feels like it’s been one stressful event after another. I didn’t even know I was pregnant at first. At the beginning of the year, I thought my emotions and exhaustion were coming from everything else happening in my life—dealing with issues with my roommate, returning to work, and coping with the disappointment of trying for a baby in 2025 without success.
Just as things started to feel normal again, my mom ended up in the hospital. I spent my time worrying about her and trying to be there for her. Then I started a new job and had to learn new responsibilities, new personalities, and a completely new routine. By the time life finally seemed to settle down, I discovered I was already in my second trimester.
Now I’m almost six months pregnant, and this past week has been a whirlwind. I’ve started experiencing cramps, and just as I was getting used to feeling my daughter move, there are hours when I don’t feel her at all. Everyone keeps telling me that as long as I’m not spotting, everything is probably fine. But I don’t feel fine. I feel confused. I feel concerned.
Today I’m going to the doctor because I can’t stop wondering whether all this stress has affected my baby. I know I can’t blame myself for the stress before I knew I was pregnant, but even after finding out, life didn’t slow down. A month later, I learned I had to move.
Moving is stressful under the best circumstances. Moving while pregnant and dealing with bad credit feels overwhelming. That’s the biggest reason we haven’t been able to find a place of our own. The reality is that I’m going home to my parents for stability, and even though they’re supportive, I can’t shake the shame that comes with it.
Years ago, my ex-stepmother told me that her father once said he’d take the dog back before he’d take her back. My parents have never made me feel that way, but somehow I still carry that fear. Going home feels like I’m a dog with its tail between its legs, admitting defeat.
At the same time, everyone seems determined to convince Hector to move with me. But that may not be what we need right now. What we need is stability. We need one of us to keep working, to keep paying down debt, and to keep building toward a future where we can afford a place of our own.
Yes, we might be able to scrape together enough money for a deposit on something small. But what happens after that? What kind of life are we creating if we’re trapped under a $4,000 to $5,000 monthly mortgage payment, constantly struggling just to get by? How does that help our daughter?
Maybe living apart for a while isn’t the failure everyone thinks it is. Maybe making the difficult choice now is what gives us the chance to build something stronger later.
I don’t have all the answers. Right now, I mostly feel worried, overwhelmed, and uncertain. But beneath all of that is one thing I know for sure: every decision I’m making is because I want what’s best for my daughter.
Maybe that’s what being a mom looks like after all.
