Mia Hernandez

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1/25/19

When I was twelve, I wanted to be a mother. When I was twenty, I wanted to be a mother. By the time I was twenty-eight I despised kids. They were messy, loud, and sticky, not to mention expensive. I had no time. By the time I was thirty I wanted to be a mother, but I couldn’t. Long story short my reproductive area just wasn’t… golden. All eleven of the doctors I visited made sure I knew it too. So, here I am writing in this journal because my therapist told me it would help me cope. I’m coping!

2/4/19

I cannot believe I’m writing in this journal again. So, I guess I should share my inner thoughts you know to get it off my chest. Well I lied, I’m not coping. I mean, I didn’t think it was that bad until Beatrice invited me to her baby shower. Like who does that? She knew how much I wanted a baby, and just to spite me she got pregnant. I am beyond furious, so angry I’m shaking while writing this. Screaming in my car didn’t even help, crying after, did.

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