Younger Than Him

I am a blessed new mother of a beautiful and perfect seven-month-old baby boy. Being twenty three during my pregnancy, my age was not one of the things I was worried about, one way or the other. When my friends and family first learned of my pregnancy, I got an odd mix of "you're still so young" and "about time you had a baby" that I didn't quite expect. The most unexpected reaction, however, was how people reacted to my boyfriend's age.

As a teenager, I had a tendency to (probably not legally) date slightly older boys. Most of my boyfriends were high school dropouts that worked fast food, if they worked at all, and could buy alcohol. After a two year roller coaster of a relationship with the first person my age I dated seriously finally ended in me gathering only as many of my belongings as a Toyota Camry could hold and two of our collective four dogs, I decided I was not going to try to force common ground with anyone again.

My current boyfriend, the father of my son, is sixteen years my senior. We met at work about a year before I had left my ex. He was a senior data analyst working for the same company as I, but not the same project. He was promoted from lead of his team to service manager, making him my direct supervisor. Our interactions were always pleasant and friendly, but certainly not flirtatious. It wasn't until I was promoted to work the team he had previously been lead of that we became good friends at work and started to see each other outside of the office. We had not been seeing each other long when we learned I was pregnant; less than a couple of months.

With having before thought I couldn't have children, becoming pregnant was a shock I wasn't sure how to handle. It is more than an understatement to say that I reacted poorly. Anyone else may not have stayed by my side during my pregnancy. My mood swings, mostly negative, were horrendous. I asked him regularly if he was sure he didn't want to leave me, saying that I could do it myself if he did not want another child. He insisted that everything was going to be just fine, and that we were going to make everything work.

The day our son was born was both the most amazing and most terrifying day of my life. After an emergency cesarean, I got to see my son for the first time. My first thought was that he was beautiful, and that he was going to be tall and long-legged just like his daddy. My boyfriend got to hold him first—the medication from the cesarean had me in and out of consciousness, and when I was awake, I was shaking uncontrollably. I fell asleep so amazed that my boyfriend could be any more perfect.

Our son looks exactly like his paternal grandfather's baby pictures, so much so that even my boyfriend's grandmother said if we took a photo of my son in clothes of that period and weathered the photo to look as if it sat in her garage all these years, she would be none the wiser. Even so, that didn't stop family members of my boyfriend's from saying my son looked nothing like my boyfriend or his other children at Thanksgiving this year.

Another assumption frequently made that was voiced at his family Thanksgiving this year, was that he has paid for the house we've purchased himself and that I have quit my job. Neither of these are true, and it was hurtful to hear, as I have always been prideful of my independence and self respect. As much as I would love to spend all of my time with our son and his older two children that we have every other week, I work. I work the same hours as my boyfriend at the same company as my boyfriend.

Friends from work have asked me if my boyfriend is ever mistaken for being our son's grandfather instead of his father, or mistaken as my dad instead of my boyfriend. Others have asked me if I am sure he is the father, and if so, if I'm scared that I will be raising our son myself if he passes away. The list of silly questions and incredulous comments goes on and on, but none enough to make me regret the relationship we've built, or our beautiful son.