The family we were supposed to be.

August 2015: Three pink pregnancy tests all come back positive. I was going to be a mommy, we were going to be a family.

August 2016: I am shaking as I send off court papers to be served so I can have custody of my daughter. I was still a mommy, but we were no longer a family.

We were supposed to get married, I was supposed to take your last name, we were supposed to be together for the rest of our lives.

You left me during my darkest hour, said I was too much, and moved on a week later.

We were supposed to stick together, my family and yours.

Your family threw me under the bus and treated Postpartum depression as though it was criminal, or reflects who you are as a mother.

We were supposed to get our first set of family pictures done together.

I got them done with our daughter alone.

We were supposed to be together every night.

We were together one night a week.

We were supposed to be a team.

You did all the work around the house and at your job, didn't have time to do housework with caring for a newborn. We worked alone and never together. You for you, and me for me.

You watched the dedication I had to breastfeeding, to providing the best possible nutrients for our daughter. You watched me wake up at all hours of the night to make sure she had the healthiest form of nutrition.

You decided you would rather give her processed crap, and fight the bond and health benefits of breastmilk.

I was supposed to be Supermom, I was supposed to be able to clean and do your laundry and do the dishes, I was supposed to leave no housework for the man who worked long hours with a two hour commute.

Most days, I was breastfeeding on the couch all day and didn't even get to put the baby down to go pee by myself.

I was supposed to glisten with new motherhood, use only organic baby products and cloth diapers, I was supposed to wake up early and do yoga while my baby slept. I was supposed to feel this pure attachment 24/7 to the tiny human I carried for 9 months.

I cried and I couldn't understand why I felt so detached.

The family who assured me we would get through it together, used my weaknesses against me in my time of need.

I sought out a hand to hold, and was told to hold my own.

I sought out an ear to listen and was told no one wanted to hear what I had to say.

I sought out a family to be there for me the way I will always be there for them and was told to sink or swim on my own, that I was too much and too hard to fit into their perfect normal life.

I sought out the man I stayed with through his darkest days, the man who called me crying and promising he would change, the man who told me he wanted to marry me, I sought out the man I believed in and pushed to be a better person, I sought out the man I know better than anyone else does to be there for me in my time of need.

You told me I was crazy and too much to deal with because I had Postpartum Depression.

But you weren't supposed to.

For weeks I listened for a motorcycle to ride up in my driveway with roses, begging me to forgive him for hurting me, and telling me he would do anything to fix the family we were supposed to have.

I prayed that you would open my front door, pin me up against the wall, kiss me and say you were more sorry than you've ever been in your whole life. You were supposed to fix your mistakes for our family.

But you didn't, you pushed me out of that family.

The same family I testified for, implied I was a bad mother.

The same family I tried so hard to fit into, told me they wanted my daughter but they didn't want me.

The same family who heard me have morning sickness all 9 months of pregnancy, and watched me turn my whole life into a pretzel to become a mother at 19 told me they were a better "mother and father" for my daughter.

The same family who held me when I cried, used Postpartum Depression as a means to get what they wanted.

The same family I lifted up on a pedestal regardless of their faults, abandoned me in my time of need.

The same family I chose for my daughter, decided they'd be better off without me.

The same father I chose for my daughter, decided she'd be better off with him and processed sugar filled formula than she would be with pure organic breastmilk and her mother.

That he would rather have a new woman be the face she sees everyday.

You are not bad people, you are not a bad family, and you are not deserving to be ridiculed the way you did to me. Telling your story and your feelings is not ridicule.

But you need to learn what love is.

You need to learn to treat people the way they treat you, to be empathetic and understanding, to want to fix the ignorance you have in situations you don't understand, to read and learn about what you don't comprehend and to hold the hands that held yours and would continue to do so.

To know right from wrong is more important than loyalty, you can't defend the person who robbed a bank saying it was the bank tellers fault for watching him break in. You can't say that a person deserved to get hit by a drunk driver because they didn't know the other driver was drunk and should have been more careful. You need to hold people accountable for the suffering they cause other people, and work to mend the bridges you burn.

You have bought my daughter clothes and shoes and diapers, you have given her medicine when she was sick and held her when she cried, you have fed her when she was hungry (granted it was sugar filled crap, but it was still "nutrition") and loved her when she wanted love.

But I did all those things too, and I did them better. I am mommy. And you will NEVER be her mommy.

You will never have carried her, nursed her, or felt her kicks inside you. You will never have been the first person to hold her or the first person to know you wanted her. You can love her endlessly, but your love will never be a mothers love.

I was a picture perfect 18 year old girl when I met you. I owned a business, I worked the same job for three years, I got straight A's, I was a national champion athlete and coach, I modeled for fun, I had the best friends in the world and was a role model to hundreds of girls and still am. I was an animal rights activist and volunteered for Special Needs Kids. I had never done a thing wrong in my life; I didn't smoke, drink, do drugs, I had never even gotten a detention. I didn't steal, lie, cheat or bully. Ask anyone who knew me, I was practically perfect in every way. I wasn't perfect, but I was responsible, smart, and beautiful.

I gave a chance to a man with skeletons in his closet that I couldn't even process. To a man who had always been a problem child, a man who was determined to change and create a life for the woman he loved and wanted to make a family with. I gave a chance to a man who doesn't remember that he used to worship the ground I walked on just for answering his first text message.

I don't regret meeting you, I don't regret being there for you when you needed me, and I don't regret all the love I put into your family.

What I did for you is a reflection of me, what you did to me is a reflection of you.

We were supposed to raise our daughter together in a house in Virginia with a little white picket fence, we were supposed to have lots of puppies and fall asleep next to each other every night.

I am now fighting to get the daughter I carried for 9 months, the daughter I nursed hour after hour, the daughter I grew in my womb and agonized over whether or not to induce labor, the daughter I suffered morning sickness with, the daughter who's weight I brought to 10 pounds solely from the nutrients my body provided (most breastfed babies weigh under 20 lbs the first year because it's easier for their bellies to digest and promotes a healthy metabolism unlike formula) the daughter I grew in the fruit of my womb and sought out help for postpartum depression so I could be the best mother I could possibly be, the daughter I traveled hours for to find postpartum specialists, solutions and answers.

I now have to stand in front of a judge and defend my love and ability to care for a child I wanted and cared for all along. A child I cared for more than anyone else, a child who's life I put above my own.

A child who came to me when I was only 19 years old, a child who could've very easily have taken my youth, a child I could've said I wasn't ready for.

I said "fuck being young, this baby is mine and she's coming in 9 months."

We were supposed to sit around the table at thanksgiving and wrap presents for our 9 month old for her first Christmas, we were supposed to dress her up for Halloween and take her trick or treating even though I would never let her eat candy.

She will have every holiday she ever has, twice. She will have two separate days spending each birthday, Christmas, dance recital, graduation, and life event. She will never have her mother and father together in the same room.

She will not have a complete family photo of us every year.

She will never have a mother and father to show her what real love is, she will never have a mother that catered to a man who worked long hours and she will never have a father who worshipped the ground her mother walked on and treated her like the goddess all mothers are.

She has parents who gave up on their love when the going got tough.

She will never have an example of what pure love that will fight through anything is.

We were supposed to have a lot of things that we didn't have.

I was supposed to be strong, I wasn't supposed to get depressed, I was supposed to cook and clean and do all these domestic things Idek I'm not domestic at all but I was supposed to do them. I was supposed to care for a newborn all day and still give a neck massage to the man who set out to provide. But I fell short.

I was supposed to pack you lunches and sterlize bottles and clean up dog poop. I was supposed to get a job and be a stay at home mom and buy a car. I was supposed to be superwoman and do everything with no stress at all, but I couldn't.

We were supposed to be a family that stood by each other through everything, a family that never stopped loving each other even through our darkest times, in sickness and in health till death do us part.

We were supposed to be together long enough to enter a nursing home with each other in our senile state.

We were supposed to show our daughter what real love was, every second of every day. My family and yours were supposed to come together and get along for our daughter. We were supposed to show her what a woman should give to the man who gives it all to her. We were supposed to show her that real love stays strong during the dark times, and to teach her to never expect a man who wasn't as good to her as her father was to her mother.

But we couldn't.

And that's hard to accept.

We fought, we yelled, we screamed, we cried, we tried.

And on those days that she sees her friends with their mother and father, I hope she remembers that we tried.

And on days when she has two different holidays to go to, I hope she remembers that we wanted her to only have one.

And come a day when a man treats her wrong, I hope she remembers her worth the way I remembered mine.

I hope that she will embody the grace and dedication to her family, to love them through all of their faults like I did. I hope she is fearless and a hard worker like you are. I hope she is the person who pulls over to see if the person broken down on the highway needs help like you do. I hope she goes after her dreams at 18 years old like I did.

I hope she is the listening ear for all her cousins, I hope she wipes her cousins tears away after a heartbreak and tells off any girl who cheats on her cousins. I hope she recognizes their issues if others can't see, I hope she is there. I hope she reminds her grandparents that love is the most important. I hope she hugs her aunts and uncles on hard days. I hope she is able to bring compromise where no one else can.

I hope her life can teach them things I tried to but I never could.

I hope she forces me to become more independent and makes you want to be compassionate.

I hope they will want to be the family for her that they couldn't be for me. I hope they never let her down the way they did to me.

And I hope that I am strong enough to watch her be apart of the family I wanted to be apart of without crying.

I will always picture myself just having taken your last name, just after I walked down the aisle, with our daughter, a legal full and complete family till death do us part. I will always remember that love created our daughter, and that it used to be there.

Sometimes life doesn't happen the way it's supposed to, and so many families have to adapt to unforeseen circumstances that should have been prevented by endless work and dedication to the love they had.

But when we can't, we parent anyway.

We wipe tears anyway, we have two separate cheering sections at cheer competitions and we tuck her in on different nights. We hear different laughs and see different smiles, we fight for the good of our daughter and give her the things we should've given her together.

Accepting that things didn't turn out the way you believed they could've, that you could've built and learned and grew and been the family our daughter deserves, accepting that we fell short.

We move on.

We continue to teach our daughter right from wrong. We continue to teach her how women deserve to be treated. We continue to teach her independence and strong will. We continue to teach her to work hard for her dreams. We continue to teach her to love and care about EVERYONE regardless of their income, religion, race or sexuality.

We continue to hug her, even if we hug her separately.

We continue to put her needs above ours and co-parent, she deserves parents who can parent her together even though they are not together.

We are not the family we were supposed to be.

But we will always provide endless love and support to our daughter in two separate homes.

And I hope she remembers, we tried to be the family we were supposed to be.