This post contains discussions of child abuse and may be triggering for some readers.
My daughter was born on October 22, 2020 at 12:40pm. That's her in the main image. You are seeing my baby before my own parents ever will.
Even if I hadn’t had this baby in the time of COVID, no one would have been hanging out in the waiting room to see her. No two sets of grandparents playfully fighting for who gets to hold her first. No coos and baby talk and cell phones capturing hundreds of photos.
My husband’s parents both died years ago, and my parents, very much alive, are dead to me.
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Blood is thicker than water.
I can’t tell you how many times that aphorism has been quoted at me as if a few words from a stranger could shame me into doing anything.
Blood may be thicker than water, but water was there for me when blood wasn’t.
I was raised like everyone I know to “honour thy father and thy mother.”
I’ve read, “The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures” (Proverbs 30:17).
I know what’s expected of me as a daughter: to forgive my parents their trespasses, to believe they did the best they could.
I’ve even been told, “You’ll understand what it was like for your parents when you become a parent yourself”.
I’ve been a parent for over four years now. This baby is my third. Becoming a parent didn’t help me become sympathetic to my parents. Instead, it showed me why I shouldn’t let them be in my children’s lives while my children are young and helpless.
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