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I told myself it was motion sickness. The tour bus had lost air conditioning, my entire college chorale sweating our way back to campus from a tour of New England. I tried to distract myself in conversation, but nausea won out and I ran for the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus. “Did you get your reading report turned in, yet?” A friend asked as I whizzed by. I shook my head.

When we got home, my husband and I stopped to grab groceries and a pregnancy test. I didn’t keep them stocked because I had no intention of needing one for over a year — when I would graduate with a journalism degree. We wanted to start our family young, just not before graduation.

I had ignored early symptoms until fatigue consumed me a few days into the tour. I pushed on in denial, trying not to throw up lobster rolls and clam chowder. The positive pregnancy test didn’t surprise me much, but it did send shockwaves through our little world. We were grateful and humbled (so much for natural family planning).

My journalism professor’s reaction captured my own tension between delight and overwhelm.

“Oh are you?” He asked with a congratulatory smile. “But how are you going to do all of the things I need you to do?” I laughed and assured him that, God permitting, I would do it all.

Conversations about the benefits of getting married young are cropping up all over the internet recently. Pronatalist activists are encouraging people to have more kids, and sooner. Simone and Malcolm Collins are a pronatalist couple warning about the birthrate crisis and aiming for 14 children through IVF. They recently argued for having kids in college, especially if universities better support parents. They even imply that college could be an ideal context in which to have kids: “Late night wake-ups with a baby are no problem for college students who are used to pulling all-nighters,” they say.

I believe children are a gift from God, and I was given remarkably favorable circumstances for finishing school with a baby. But I learned that college and kids are a difficult, not an ideal, combination. You just can’t do it all.

At least attempting to graduate was a no-brainer for me.

I once wandered a park with my boyfriend and our conversation drifted to whether we could get married while still in school; he could graduate a year before me and work while I finished up. But I worried that dragging debt into a young marriage was unwise and impractical. Would it be too much of a burden? He listened thoughtfully before responding.

“If you really want this, I’ll work hard and we’ll get through it,” he said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you finish.”

We got married two years later over Christmas break, and jumped back into classes together. Fast forward to April, and we discovered our baby was due at the beginning of Christmas break (a truly providential due date). I hoped that professors at my Christian conservative school would be supportive. I still wanted my degree and one more year in a community I loved. But that year would look starkly different from my dreams. My paradigm would shift from “soak in senior year” to “survive.”

I carried a bag of almonds with me through the end of the spring semester like a talisman to ward off nausea. I nibbled them behind the piano at strategic moments during chorale concerts. Getting out of bed in the morning felt impossible, and I drove home to sleep through classes I couldn’t sit through. I only made it through finals thanks to weeks of extensions from professors.

My husband helped me prepare for my new normal. Stress about academics was not an option. Health was the priority for me and the baby. Previously nicknamed “Hermione” for my type-A approach, I would need to settle for passing grades.

Extracurriculars had been the frosting to my college cake. I loved chorale, moot court, and drama, and I’d even started an a cappella group. Now I had to cut back or let go. Before I told my close friends my news, I told my moot court coach. My goal had been to secure a competitive partner and shoot for the national championship. But now that I likely couldn’t compete in January, I didn’t want to disappoint an ambitious partner.

I front-loaded an immense credit load for senior fall to make the spring semester with a newborn a little easier. I registered for 17 credits plus another 8 credits of intermediate French online. I waddled around in maternity blouses and slacks, battling brain fog. All that French I paid thousands for? It’s pretty much gone. I qualified for nationals in moot court, but made the painful decision to opt out.

I finished finals before my due date and emailed professors to make sure I could bring my baby into class. Then I slept, curb-walked, and pulled my first all-nighter birthing my daughter into the world.

I had no idea how the spring would unfold. My mother-in-law flew out for three weeks to help me resume classes. She stocked our freezer with food. I stocked the stroller with burp cloths, pacifiers, and nursing covers, taking notes when I wasn’t breastfeeding or walking hallways.

Nighttime feedings weakened my academic abilities. Research suggests that sleep deprivation impairs your brain’s ability to retain new information. I’d stare at a single physics problem for an hour, my mind just as blurry as my tear-filled eyes. Before the baby, I had been reveling in a rich education. Now I was just hoping to secure a degree.

I also felt cut adrift from class camaraderie. I was known to one student simply as “that girl with the stroller.” I skipped social events and felt my wit and energy wither. My classmates were soaking in their college experience. I was savoring quieter moments with my family of three.

Community looked different, but it was still sweet. Some friends took slots to play with my daughter each week while I tackled assignments. They helped me with diaper blow-outs during physics lab. They endlessly encouraged me. Guys in my classes helped me wrangle the stroller in and out of classrooms. My daughter became a mascot in classes, cooing happily on her blanket while I took notes. I dreaded being a distraction, but she brought smiles and baby fever everywhere she went.

Just a few weeks before graduation, we got strep throat. I spent days in bed tending a feverish baby and feeling the weight of late assignments with every excruciating swallow. My mom flew across the country to help me catch up. Through it all, my husband worked full-time, washed countless dishes, rocked the baby, and folded laundry.

By God’s grace, I walked across the graduation stage with my 5-month-old in attendance. I’ve already forgotten my final grades. I don’t even remember the GPA threshold for the honors tassels I earned. I do remember the pink tassel I found hanging in my apartment before commencement. My husband bought it to represent an honor that wouldn’t be recognized on my diploma: bringing life into the world and nurturing it. I couldn’t do it all, but the sacrifices were worth it.

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Clara York is a freelance reporter and poet writing on family and religious issues. She lives in Virginia with her husband and two young daughters.

The views expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.

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‘That Girl With The Stroller’ — I Loved My Baby, But College Was Never The Same