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This is a continuation of a conversation that was going on in the Queen’s journal. The gist so far, for those just tuning in: I was using FAM for contraception when I got pregnant. I was less than studious in my adherence to the rules, and now I’m having a baby. This is in response to someone else who was in a similar situation (taking risks because she wanted to get pregnant when she knew she wasn’t “supposed to”) but is not pregnant.) if you want the rest of the conversation, you’ll have to make friends with , which is well worth doing in any case.

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This is the moment I’ve been living in fear of for years.

I have officially become my mother.

Being my mother is not really so bad. She’s a great person, has good personal hygiene and generally seems pretty happy.

The worst part of being my mother is having to live with her, something I have been desperately (and successfully) avoiding since the tender age of seventeen. My mother and I never lived well together – I was never clean enough for her, never quiet enough, never came home when she wanted or got up early enough in the morning. I was, in her criticism, lazy and selfish and rude and I left towels on the floor and dishes in the sink and doors unlocked when I shouldn’t.

I was, in other words, a teenager, and a poor fit for a suburban middle class household.

Now I’m older and slightly more inclined to pick the towels off the floor, but really no more acclimated to a nice, mainstream middle-class existence. And, having become the woman I spent my adolescence fighting over this, there’s really no escape.

Flickr Photos

A little bird told me…

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