My alarm clock goes off. It's 4:45 a.m. But I'm already awake because my two-month-old daughter has been awake since 3:00 a.m. She's not screaming as long as the bottle is in her mouth. There's no longer anything in the bottle, but I don't dare take it away from her. So I leave the bottle and pretend I have time to shower before getting to the bathroom and deciding against it because the dog is crying to go out. I run downstairs and hook her up outside. Run back upstairs and half brush my teeth before finally taking the bottle out of my daughter's mouth. The screaming begins. She stops briefly as I change her diaper and as soon as I'm done the screaming starts again and now she's kicking as I try to get her into semi-matching clothes. I finally find a binkie after she's dressed and now I'm furiously searching for the diaper bag as I pull on yoga pants for the third time this week. I don't remember the last time I shaved my legs and I'm reminded of this as I pull the tight pants over my hairy ankles. And then I hear the dog bark and run downstairs (no shirt on) and let her back in. Forgetting, again, to give her a treat.

We finally make it out the door at about 6:00 a.m. and in the car, listening to Machine Gun Kelly, because for some reason it's the only artist she stays quiet for this early in the morning. I think to myself again, that I'm a bad mom for rocking out to MGK with my two-month-old and shake the thought away. As I'm pulling into my dad's driveway so my step-mom can watch her, I think for the 8,000 time that I wish I could afford daycare. Not because I don't trust her or love her, but because I hate hearing from my parents that her clothes don't match, or that I shouldn't use this brand of diapers or that the formula I'm giving her is what makes her gassy or my personal favorite; That's not how they did it when they had me. And as much as I want to scream and yell that I'm doing what the books say (for the most part), I can't. Not because they're my parents and that would be mean, but it would. But because I do appreciate their advice, no matter how much I complain, it is nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. I just wish that they would listen to my ideas sometimes. And I do feel bad that they watch her constantly. Yes, I'm working. I'm not dropping her off so I can go shopping with my friends or go out and party all night (not that they haven't watched her so I can go have a drink once a month), but I still feel bad. I feel bad having to rely on them. And I think again, that I'm a bad mom.

I give my step-mom a quick run down of how her last poop was and what time she ate last and how much. Explain that her jacket is in the diaper bag (which I know will be completely different than the way I just arranged it by the time I pick her up). Then I'm off to work. I stop at the gas station to do my makeup, in my car, in the parking lot of Circle K. Then head inside for my morning coffee, before I pass out from exhaustion. It's only 6:15 p.m. The man behind me in line mentions that he saw me doing my makeup in the parking lot and asks why. I explain that, again, I was running late to drop off my daughter and didn't have time at home. The balding old man with a beer belly then tells me that I shouldn't be working full time and I'm a bad mom for leaving my daughter with someone else all day. It takes everything in my power not to kick him in his giant gut.

I make it to work, late again. While I'm there, everyone asks how my daughter is and I start to miss her, but at the same time, I'm thankful for the break. I think of the old man who told me I was a bad mom at the gas station and wonder if he has kids and think of his poor wife, stuck at home with his children and having to cook dinner for her fat, ugly husband. It's 9:00 in the morning and I'm ready for a drink. By 10:00 a.m. I realize that I've left my credit cards in the diaper bag and don't have enough cash to get lunch. I eat the stale chips in my desk drawer and an orange soda from the break room and think about the baby weight that I haven't lost yet. Even though I follow that one mom, who does all the workouts on YouTube. I usually make it about halfway through the video and then the baby starts crying and I give up. Trying to eat healthy? Forget it. I barely have time to eat, let alone plan a healthy meal. Or afford one for that matter. If McDonald's made a salad for their dollar menu... let's be honest, I would still probably order fries instead. They're much easier to eat while standing and holding the baby.

On my way home from work, sitting in traffic, I think about the internet bill that I didn't pay this month and wonder if my wireless will be shut off. I check my bank account from my phone as I'm sitting in dead stop traffic and decide I'll put it on my credit card when I get home. There goes trying to pay off that card this month. At least I have formula and diapers to last me through the month. Then I remember that I forgot to pick up water. Because for some reason, that I don't remember anymore, babies can't have tap water, it has to be distilled. I don't know what perfect mom came up with that, but I'm pretty sure 100 years ago, they didn't do that. They just breast fed us and then gave us fucking milk when they couldn't breast feed anymore. Whatever happened to that? But, for fear of being a bad mom or screwing up my daughter's stomach, I stop at Walgreens and grab two gallons of the baby water. I go to throw it in the back seat and realize my car is a mess. I basically live out of it and suddenly I can smell the overwhelming aroma of a dirty diaper that I'm sure is floating around back there somewhere. I decide, since I'm early picking her up anyway, I'll stop and clean my car a bit. I find the diaper and a bottle that rolled under my seat so long ago it's growing mold. I look at it. It's a Tippy Tommy bottle. Those bitches are expensive. I die a little inside as I throw away the now green bottle. I find four binkies and smile as I throw them in the glove box.

I finally get to my parents house and pick up my daughter and my overly excited dog. She pees on the floor a little bit when she sees me and as I'm cleaning it up my dad mentions again that I should probably get rid of her. But I'll keep her. I'm holding on to the last little bit of control I feel I have over my life. Besides, as annoying as she is, she's the perfect guard dog, she loves my daughter, and she's the only thing that keeps my ass walking everyday. I drop the dog off at my apartment and head back out to the store as I realize we have no toilet paper and I'm running low on dog food. Walmart is cheapest. My daughter sleeps the whole way there and I say a silent thank you to the Gods that she's napping. But my victory is short lived, because as soon as I get everything I need she wakes up and stares at me. I'm at the back of the store and I say a silent prayer she doesn't start fussing. But the face scrunches and no matter how much I bounce and shush quietly, she won't stop screaming. Everyone is staring and I'm suddenly the young mom in the store who can't control her kid. I want to cry. I'm the worst mom in the world. I opt for self check out because I don't want to try talking to anybody over the loud screams of my fussy child. I get everything scanned and in a bag, for the most part. As I'm walking out the door a woman stops me. I left the diaper bag on the checkout. She seems annoyed that she had to run after me and I apologize. But my apologies are drowned by my still crying kid. As soon as we're back at the car, she's quiet and I wonder if she knows and thinks it's funny. I shake the thought away.

Back at the house, groceries put away, dog walked, baby fed, played with, diaper changed 9 times, fed again and now she's finally asleep. I'm thankful for the quiet and wonder again, if I'm a bad mom because I'm happy my kid isn't awake. My roommates are downstairs watching Criminal Minds and I want to go join but don't have the energy. So I lay in bed, and fall asleep by 8:30.

I wonder a countless number of times everyday, if I'm a bad mom. If I'm doing everything the right way. If she's growing as much as she should be. If I should have her in those water classes my dad suggested. If I'll be able to afford ballet if that's what she wants to do when she's older. Single parenthood is the hardest thing I've ever done and everyday, no matter how far ahead I get, I still come out behind. Being a young parent, I feel like everyone is judging me, which is self centered and probably isn't true, but I can't help but think it. I love my daughter with all my heart, but I wonder sometimes what my life would be like if I hadn't gotten pregnant when I had. Or what we would be like if her dad was still in the picture. Would it be any easier? I don't remember the last time I had a hot shower with enough time to shave my legs and deep condition my hair. I cooked eggs the other night and was thankful that I could make myself a homemade dinner... not exactly a dinner, but I was thankful none the less. I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. But I'm trying. And maybe, I'm not the worst mom in the world, but it would be nice to hear it sometimes. I remind myself of that when I'm at the store and see the mom with three kids, who looks like she's about to cry. I always try to walk up and tell her that she's doing a good job, because sometimes, that's all you need to hear to make you keep going.