My next child’s name will be Patience

Hello everyone. I hope everyone had a great Wednesday! Tomorrow’s Friday -can you stand it? Having a break in the middle of the week like that can really throw a schedule off. I kept thinking today was Sunday and was looking for Power. If you’re not hip to Power, if you follow my Twitter account (, you will. I am so happy it’s back on and already sending (silent) death threats to Tariq and Dre. Yes, I know –characters on the show. You should have saw me when Holly was on the show. Power fans -you feel me!

Anyway -this post is not about one of the best shows ever. A friend of mine and I were talking about trying to conceive, particularly my journey and how I was doing. I gave her my usual ‘Eh. I’m alright.’ She didn’t like that answer and made me elaborate. It’s a path that I’ve been on before. The negative pregnancy tests, the waiting, the wondering, the slight tinge of jealousy with a new pregnancy announcement. This is all been there, done that. It’s killing me softly this time around because I know I can have children. So what’s the problem? What’s the issue this time? Especially when we’ve done everything the same—it starts to mess with your psyche. Then it double sucks for me because of where I work.

So good ole Indiana has three female prisons and I happen to work in one of them. Where you have women, you tend to have pregnant women. Doesn’t matter if they’re in prison. Doesn’t matter why they’re in prison but a lot of them tend to come in pregnant. So imagine me wishing, praying, trying to chug the water of my pregnant co-workers while rubbing baby dust on me and interacting with women who seem to care less about pregnant because now they’re in prison. I say seem because I don’t know. When I first started, I saw a lot of women were in for drug charges and I would automatically think it was a drug charge received because of their boyfriends or husbands. You know -saving him from doing time so she does the time for him. Now I just avoid looking up their charges but the moral of the story is it used to be that I would be around just pregnant co-workers. Now it’s women who seem to not care about themselves or their unborn babies. It’s actually been getting harder to work there because of this reason.  8dc5cf715be653362440b701dfab85bd.jpg

But…but I will survive. I will love on my son a little more. I will thank the Universe a little louder for my family. I will keep pushing because I know greatness is coming. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll name my next child Greatness. Or Patience. 

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