My Girl

She’s my everything.

The reason I wake up.

The reason I strive for success.

The reason I live and breathe.

And she probably doesn’t even know it.


It’s been thirteen years, nine months and two days since my baby girl was born. I think about that Friday afternoon in Waco, TX. I think about that whole weekend actually. How life would be different for both of us if only I had realized how much I would miss by not being her mom for real instead of from afar and in secret (to her that is). I question my judgment. I question why those who I thought and said cared for my well-being would not see how much… I question everything.

I have a picture of when she was nine taken by my cousin. She went to see my grandmother in Pledger for the holidays. Everything about her was me at that same age. EVERYTHING! The hair. The skin color. The smirk that usually said “get that camera out ma face”. Her hair looked longer though. I can’t remember exactly what I looked like then nor do I have any pictures at my current residence.

In the last few weeks, I have been thinking a lot about her. Actually, I have been torturing myself more than usual because I missing her more and more as she gets older. I constantly relive the day she was born. The day I signed all my rights as her legitimate mother to my aunt and uncle. The day I made the decision to step out of her life because I didn’t want to cause any drama for her or prevent her from having a somewhat normal childhood. I often wonder what she looks like. What she sounds like. What kind of personality she has and if it is as snarky and cheeky as I was as a teenager and even now. So many questions and yet hardly any answers. Of course, I suppose I could seek out the answers to my questions but the question is am I really ready for those answers.

The truth of the matter is that I am not as strong as I thought when it comes to my baby girl. I’m not sure what mother wouldn’t be a hot mess. Well I suppose I should say that I wouldn’t be able to understand a mother who wouldn’t be a complete wreck about missing their child; whether the child(ren) were with them from birth or not. It’s not that I’m asking for sympathy or anything. I’m fully aware of what I did when I was younger and I’ve been living with those decisions for the past 13 1/2 years of my life.

Thanks for reading…

The Southern Yankee

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