Since my baby boy was born, I’ve been living with my parents (or it’s the other way around – they are living with me). We all live together in a two-room flat. I share the bedroom with my boy, and my parents sleep on the bed couch in the living room. I know that in some parts of the world, it’s normal. It’s not that usual in my part of the world. Family don’t live together for too long. Parents don’t come back to live with their children when they are getting old. But more and more often, children come back to live with their parents, after leaving home to study. They even come back with their kids or spouse. This is due to unemployment, real estate prices, life getting more and more expensive.
I was not ready for this. I was not ready to sign for it. But I was not alone. I had a little one to take care of. And I was on my own, separated from the father of my son. I had an entire life to rebuild. I needed help. I could have asked other people for this help. But they’re my parents and at the time I came back home, they were the only ones who could offer me the support I needed. My parents don’t care much about travelling or enjoying time together. They are family people, and they were delighted to be there to help me raise my little man.
So we started a new life together, sharing each moment, each joy and nearly each moment of pain, doubt, worry. Read more HERE