I had just begun to date a man the I loved before I even met him. We move in together almost immediately! Four months into the relationship, we witnessed the scary two pink lines on the preggo test. We weren’t ready, and we had many personal problems to face; Just moving in together, money, our jobs, legal matters…We just didn’t know how to pile a baby on top of all that. As time passed by, we were both in denial. We kept going out having fun, and after the first time we sat at our fave joint, and they asked us what we wanted to drink, I hit some level of realization that I have a little jelly bean in me. I guess you could say that I’m a 23 year old carrear loving, goal oriented woman, and I gave it all up for my son Ronan, whom I gave birth to after 21 hours of labor. He was too big for me to deliver vaginally. He got wedged in my pelvis. My epidural had worn off, so I was wisked away for a c-section. 15 minutes later, I kissed the chubby soft cheeks of my 10.8lb babe-arian (as my boyfriend and I like to call him) I’m pretty shallow about looks sometimes. I hate to admit, so I feared strech marks and sagging boobs or a vagina that was so streched out, that if the wind blew just right, you could hear the ocean from it. After I held my Ronan for the first time though, I didn’t care too much for how I looked. Now, writing this entry almost 2 weeks post partum, I look at the fading marks that will never go away and I’m actually proud of them. It’s a subtle badge that states I had a HUGE healthy baby boy!