To describe my life to anyone, always leaves them squinting and trying to connect dots. Everyone's version of what 'normal' is so drastic in measure that it's almost humorous. I don't expect anyone to understand. I just turned 30 and for the first time in my life I feel like I am my own person. Finally free of childhood and all the misconceptions that come with it as far as what we are taught and told we should believe. For once, I have a mind of my own. I have 3 children, I live 1100 miles away from them and all my family aside from 1. My father (my best friend... My person) died in 2013 at the age of 47 to lung cancer. We found out on my oldest daughters 3rd birthday. My mom is married to a woman and have been together going on 16 years. They currently have my two girls. My baby boy lives with his father, who is 51 and resides on the same block as my mom and her wife. My youngest daughters father is also my moms wife's nephew. Him and his wife live next door to my mom and her wife and share a back yard. To anyone else, it has been jokingly described as an episode of 'Jerry Springer'. However, you'd be surprised to know that it's not. Everyone gets along and my children are more secure than most in this society. What kind of mother isn't with her children? How do I consider myself a 'good' parent? Well, there is no perfect one. I have fallen on my ass often. I worked as an escort in 2013, and spiraled out of control. Addicted and running from the inevitable. My father was dying regardless. I stayed so high I couldn't feel anything. How do you live nearly a year, waiting for the worst day of your life? I was respected in my home town. Not perfect but I was a good girl. I still am. I worked with the elderly and disabled for 9 years. If you asked anyone that new me, if they pictured me working as an escort, far away from home, her children and her dying father... They would have all laughed and bet anything against such a thing. But it still happened. I also won 100,000 dollars off a 5 dollar scratch off that year. I stayed too high that I couldn't be excited. I ended up giving most of that away. You learn pretty quick who was really there for you. I found out I was pregnant with my son two months after my father died... In the deepest ocean of my addiction. I was angry at first. Irate. How was this possible? My body so dehydrated and malnourished. Then I felt a strange calm... And I said aloud "Well, my dad is giving me my boy." Both my parents where in the room, as well as my grandma and close friends when I had both my girls. My brother, 5 years my junior, cut both my girls cords (neither of their fathers where present). My dad was all about his grandkids. He had a car accident a year before I was born resulting in TBI (tramatic brain injury). I was my father's voice when he couldn't get his words out right. To anyone else he seemed 'normal'. I didn't make it back to my family until I was 8 months pregnant. Addiction doesn't just go away when you find out you're going to have a baby. I'm guessing I was 8 months pregnant when I felt my body shift. Meaning I knew that labor was just right around the corner. That's when reality sunk in. If I had this baby here, so far away from my mom and my family... And I tested positive for drugs... They would take him. He would be another child lost to the state. My mom couldn't even get him. Somewhere feeling crashed through me. Oh god. What have I done. For a long, harsh moment the real me came forward. Addiction makes you a prisoner of yourself. I text my mom and told her it was time to come home. I had been gone for a year and a half. But it only felt like a little over a month. I made a silent promise to my unborn child, my father, and to the lord himself if he even fucking existed... That if I could make it back home... I wouldn't touch a single drug and I would make sure he came into the world as peaceful as possible. I owed it to him. I owe that little boy my life. I made it back home, but no one knew exactly how far along I was. I had never been to a doctor. I requested my on to drug test me every week until I delivered. I have always been honest to my ob and my sons pediatrician about my drug use. I never wanted my own guilt to stand in the way of his best interest. I had done enough. I had my mom contact her attorney to file up the proper documents signing temporary custody of my unborn child over to her. So that in the event he tested positive for anything..that the state wouldn't take him away. Fortunately, that was never necessary. A month later I went into labor. The 4th of July. I French braded my daughters hair and iced brownies. Keeping my contractions to myself just in case it was a false alarm. My sons dad and my mom went with me to the hospital. I had them dim the lights... They stayed quiet. I declined all drugs including an epidural. Every contraction remembering my father's voice as I had my girls... And visioning the moment I laid eyes on them both. Keeping that at the front of my thoughts and allowing my body to do as it was supposed to do. My son was born beautiful, alert, almost with a smirk on his face, content,and the best part... He tested negative for any traces of drugs. We made it. But my story spins out one more time before it lands me where I'm at today. I fly home for the 4th time this year to see my kids and family. I am blessed... And I'm finally starting to enjoy my journey as myself. This time next year... I hope I'm writing littlemem after tucking my children in myself.