Why do I blog?

MammaLee, that's like asking why do I breathe? Why do I crap? Why do I scratch an itch?
But I'll play along because you know, I can't say no to a meme...

Sorry it's taking so long...I thought this would be easy.

But as you know, I can't just follow a meme...So I'm gonna switch it up a bit. I'm in a listing type of mood today. I'm making lists for a bunch of different things that need to be done this week...blogging isn't on there..but it should be.

"What would happen if I don't blog"...(of course)

1. I'd probably have to go back to therapy and spend way too much money on medication.
2. I'd just be some weirdo playing Dungeons and Dragons or Mah Jong online.
3. I'd spend more time with my daughter and she wouldn't ask me if I was done with my computer already.
4. I'd get a rash.
5. I'd have to spend more money on doctor visits and medicine for said rash.
6. I would be writing long-hand in my journal instead, that takes too long.
7. I wouldn't have these cool memories all typed up and ready to read.
8. I'd have nothing to do during those rare nap times. Wait! Change that to my house would be cleaner.
9. My DVR can't accommodate me as well as blogging can.
   
10. I would have never met these really cool blogger friends that I can't seem to live without these days.

There ya have it. Go forth and tag yourself.

Girl at large

We met Girl's new pediatrician(s) last night. What wonderful women. The only male doctor in the practice couldn't make it to the consult but that's okay. I loved these two women.

Dr. L was strong yet lovable with Girl and Dr. K was so sweet, I couldn't take it. We made a point to express our concerns and issues that we had with Dr. Anus and we told them that really the only thing we wanted was a practice that accepts us for who we are as first time parents. Silly questions and all..and their answer, there are no silly questions when you are a parent. Ah-Men!

Dr. L talked straight to Girl and expected her to answer politely, make eye contact and be well behaved. I was shocked at how well Girl responded. She pulled her usual, "I'm not talking" act but Dr. L didn't fall for it. She told Girl that she has four kids at home, one being 13 and Girl was 'nothing!" I loved that.

We discussed the potty issue and they agreed it was a power play because really all she can control in her life is two things. Potty and Food. So, she is acting appropriately for her age and she'll get it. They assured me. They didn't seem the least bit annoyed about her pamper.

She offered Girl cookies if and only if Girl said "please and thank you" and she offered Girl a lollipop after the consult was over but Girl could only eat it after dinner. Of course Girl fought it, but Dr. L just replied..."Well, then you don't get a lollipop." Plain and simple. How easy. I know.

And guess what? When we got home, Girl made sure that only after her dinner would she be able to eat the lollipop. I was floored.

Of course, I questioned my authority with Girl after the meeting because I felt that Girl looked a little bratty to the Doctors. But Mista set me straight. He had to remind me where she was just a year ago when she wouldn't even walk into the new place without a major meltdown. She seemed confident and sure of herself. Bratty, but confident. I'd rather that. I can reform bratty, I can't teach confidence...

So, all in all it went well. I like the Doctors and I think they are a good team. I liked the way they interacted with Girl and let her know they mean business but were soft and caring at the same time. I think I'll like it here. I hope.

I can't seem to stop questioning my abilities especially after meeting with doctors. I always feel like a schmuck. But I guess I'll just hafta get over that one. Just like Girl hasta get over her brattyness.

Yes, I had wine when I got home last night. A yummy Pino Grigio. Made everything seem a little better...

We have a birthday party to go to this evening...Get ready everyone!!!
And thank you for all the fantastic comments with my last few posts. Damnit I swear, I never had this many cool people in my life before...You guys all rock.
**************************
On a totally unrelated note: This man is my new favorite. We watched the movie last night. "Is Nice!"

We went to go see my BFF's dog in "Day Care" at PetSmart while she's yukking it up in Las Vegas for her Birthday. This is what we found. "They having sexy time...is nice!"

AntiPamper Superstar

I am changing F's Pediatrician.
He's a dick.

I decided.

I can't continue to let him make me feel stupid for being 'overly' concerned about the ONLY thing that is important to me. And I can't let him continue to make me feel incompetent because my 3 year 3 month old is still in a Pamper. Fuck that.

I call to talk to him or make an appointment and his secretary is rude and obnoxious. To the point that I feel like I am bothering her. Oh! I'm sorry, did I bother you...at your job? (I am even having BD call to request her records be transferred...he will beat that grump at her own sarcasm and rudeness game by a mile...)

I get to see this doctor and he's so sarcastic (and I'm a HUuuuuuGe fan of sarcasm..see hubs) that I feel belittled. I'm all for sarcasm in the right place, but don't use it on a first time mom about her only child. It's just plain wrong. No matter how strong willed or competent that mom may seem. It's a thin veil and you're tearing it up. Dick.

If there are any doctors out there, especially children's doctors...Just remember that your patients, or their mothers are in a very delicate state when they are with you. They are probably insecure and worried. You really should think before you say something rude. And use kid gloves. (Pardon the play on words) They come in all different sizes. I'm sure you can find them to fit you.

So, that's it then. I'm changing her pediatrician.

I already called my daughter's original gastroenterologist from when she was a baby and we have an appointment at the end of this month. One down.

In my quest to find her a new doctor, I have asked around and her preschool teacher recommended hers. Right in our neighborhood. She says he is one that will welcome each and every seemingly silly query with respect and humor. He is one that will welcome me into his office with caring and honesty. He is not one that will make fun or be sarcastic to the point I'm doubting myself. Almost one to go.

Take that Anti-Pamper Superstar. You just lost your best parent.

I can forgive but I won't forget

The apology has been barely uttered.

Years have gone by.

But you can't seem to get it out of your head heart.

The abandonment, the lying, the disappointment. The pressure to forgive a person for something they have done not even to you but to themselves. It still seems so fresh and so real. It's over, but is it ever really over in your head?

She is the one who suffered. She is the one who went through it. But you feel betrayed. You feel the hurt just as deeply as if it was your own.

Life goes on. Life happens and you are supposed to forgive and forget but you have this nagging feeling of abandonment and 'how could you do this to me?' and you try too hard to ignore it but it surfaces when you least expect it, when you need her most. It surfaces and you back away, recoil. You become aware of the hurt and the pain you felt when she wasn't there and you needed her most.

You try deep in your soul to let life go on as if nothing ever happened. But it's there in your heart and you can't let it go. You feel manipulated just a little bit and a victim of her passive-aggressive behaviors brought on by such a difficult life. Yet, you continue to pretend.

You are petrified she'll leave again. She'll do it again. She'll abandon you for good and then what will you have? Nothing. Again.

You will be left alone again. Probably when you need her most.

So why bother?

Because you love her. Unconditionally. And it hurts too much to let go. You can't say anything because, you are afraid you'll hurt her by telling her how you really feel. Even if it means you can't really trust. You have to pretend. Because you love her too much to let her see that you can't trust her. You love her too much to let her know how deeply she hurt you. Even if your heart is suffering because of her.

Monday Miscellany

We went food shopping as a 'family' yesterday.

Fa was acting up. As usual lately.

BD says, "I hate to say this to you, but when we are together alone, she NEVER does this!"

Great!

Why is she much more temperamental and argumentative when I'm around lately?

Why are we bickering more?

Why doesn't she want to hug me as much as she used to?

****************************************************

Some funny things BD said this weekend:

"You haven't lived until you've had Dog's Leather Starfish resting on your bare leg."

"I have a new name for you...Goose tits."
****Updated to add**** We come up with silly names for each other on a daily basis...'Goose tits' just happened to be this week's name...

"I can't believe you don't have mice living under Fa's car seat!"

"You know, you can sweep the floors once in a while, it won't kill ya."

"I thought Smokey Robinson was dead, Oh wait..he is. Look they have him propped up with two 2x4's."

****************************************************

Let's try the cats again...

Cat listening to Stevie Wonder












Cat listening to HOUSE music












Cats listening to Metal












Cat listening to Hip Hop












Cat listening to GANGSTA RAP












Cat listening to Techno(on Ecstasy)

Potty Training Round 5,989

Ok, listen to this. Yesterday, Fa wanted to be nekkid ALL FRIGGIN DAY!
Yes.

Nude.
Bare ass.
Naked as a jaybird.
Nudie, like the day she was born.
All. Day. Long.

This started in the middle of the week. I found her naked in the living room on more than one occasion.

I approached this new milestone in many different ways.

I congratulated her on being able to FINALLY undress herself.

I ignored it.

I laughed.

I warned that we only do this at HOME.

I gently reminded her NOT to pee on my COUCH!

Then, I finally asked what she was thinking. After all, we can't be nekkid all day long. We do leave the house once in a while and she does need to be clothed in order to go to school.

Her answer plain and simple. "Practicing to go on the potty Mom!"

Like, "You stooooopid jerk, what the hell do you think I'm doing...?"

So Friday, we went to go buy a little potty made especially for her. A Princess Potty. Complete with Snow White, Ariel, Cinderella and all the other women she really could care less about.

She was ecstatic! Excited to have it and raring to go...in it.

Saturday, she woke up and refused to put her clothes on. I didn't argue, I figured 'you go girl', make it easy and just be naked...no panties to pull on and off and you can just plop a squat and be ready.

We trekked downstairs and she sat on that thing every chance she got. She watched TV on it, read and even ate her snack sitting on it. Did she put her goods in it?

Nope. Not once. All day.

She held it in. Again. All day.

After a while (hours upon hours), I could tell she needed to go. She sat and squeezed but only a dribble came out. We cheered and yelled and danced and sang nonetheless, and I gave her a sticker to put on the potty..that's where she wants to put her reward stickers...On the pot.

BD came home from work to find her naked still and eating her dinner on the couch. I knew it was only a matter of time. She had been eating and drinking all day long. It had to come out some time.

She finally broke down. And peed. On my couch.

With that, she became embarrassed and threw the fit of all fits. Screaming and crying and yelling at  her dad to leave the house. She threw her toys and was enraged at it all.

With her begging for a Pamper, I dressed her and she peed.

She relaxed within seconds and that was that.

What the?

Don't get it?

She refuses to sit on the pot. The big pot. The princess pot. Any pot out there...she just won't do it.

The next size up from her Pampers size 6 is Depends.

Anger Management

Since the crying episode, Fa has been intolerable.

She is temperamental and angry and just impossible to deal with. She doesn't like anything, doesn't want to watch videos, go in the basement to play, roll play-doh, color, go to her Papa's house. Nothing.

It seems that she has been effected by that incident and can't seem to get over it. Or, it could be just a coincidence that that happened and her little mind is processing a bunch of new crap all at the same time and it scares her.

Everything scares her lately. The dark, the new side door we put in, the crazy noises like fire engines (that she used to get a kick out of) and especially the vacuum cleaner. That has always been her antagonist, but lately she cries about it when it's not even out. Yesterday, she was crying in her bed, during nap quiet time that she didn't want me to vacuum her up. I was sitting in the kitchen. The vacuum wasn't even around. But she dropped something down the side of her bed against the wall and she was afraid I'd vacuum it. (If only I vacuumed that often!)

And she's been having scary dreams almost every night. She doesn't wake up completely, but I hear her moaning and making noises in her sleep. It's weird because she doesn't wake up for us, she just moans and cries a little. Then, the next day, not a memory of it. She used to have night terrors often, so maybe this is her 3 year old version of them? I don't know.

She also seems like she's had just about enough of her mother and is gearing more toward her Daddy. (Can you say heartbroken?) She tells me to go away and that she wants Dog to be given away. But then in the next breath, she tells me it makes her sick when I go away. I can't even read her these days. She's one confused little lady.

I feel so badly that I can't find a way to help her. I know she's going through something. I just don't know what it is. I am at a loss. She gets so angry and she can't tell me why or how to express her feelings. She's testing all of her boundaries and finding out what is acceptable behavior and her process of discovery is killing me. I need to find a way to help her manage her feelings...sound familiar...Jesus we are one in the same! Maybe we need a break from each other for a while?

I understand that with all this work going on around our house, it has been difficult. We are on edge with different people traipsing through the house and I am not comfortable. And when Mommy's not happy...ain't no one happy! There's no diversion, we can't escape the mess and she needs to me stimulated and that hasn't been happening lately.

Oh, well...the day has begun. F is singing about her blueberry-filled doodie in her diaper and Mommy-duty calls. I hope we can make it through the day.

Here's a question...

Thank you everyone for commenting on this one! I really still don't know what to do. And it seems you are all split on your decisions as well. Some of you are all for it while others are all for the privacy thing. At least you have helped me see that I am not the only one who thinks of these things. God, I love my internet friends.

I think I'm going to give BD his privacy and let Fa know that Mommies and Daughters can be in the bathroom together and Daddies and daughters don't. Unless it's inevitable...Ugh. Whatever. Everyone pees and poops right?
**********************************************************
Do any of you let your daughters watch your husbands pee?

I know. Get to the point. But BD and I have been questioning each other on what we believe. We are in agreement so I guess I am really questioning myself.

Fa cries whenever he goes into the bathroom. She watches me in there do just about everything so she wants to watch her dad too. But I say no. And so does he.

But, if she's gonna learn about pottying, shouldn't she see 'both sides'? It is a healthy part of life and everyone does it. I just think it's a little weird for her to see her dad's hay nanny nanny dangling in the breeze, no?

We are in a quandary. I don't want her to cry when he goes, I think it sends her the wrong message when he closes her out. I don't want her to think its a bad thing and I don't want her questioning in her three year old brain why Daddy is 'different' and she can't watch. Then again, I don't think she should see his thang hang. That might scar her for life....

Boys don't sit to pee so why should he? Or do they? If she sees that will THAT be sending the wrong message too?

Or should she just get over it and learn that Mommy's and daughter's do things like that together and Daughter's and Daddy's don't? Mommy's teach girls about pottying and Daddy's teach boys? I don't know.

I guess I grew up in a pretty liberal home. Dad walked around in his skivvies all the time. It was nothing to me. I saw him 'sitting' on the pot and all. And I was always in the bathroom with my Mother. So, that sort of stuff doesn't phase me. But BD grew up differently. His parents were quite secretive about bathroom habits. It was a private affair and something left for 'your eyes only'.

I never thought about it until this week when I noticed F crying every time BD locked her out of the bathroom. What to do?

Do you let your opposite sex children watch your bathroom habits?

Her hands are small, I know...

I was looking at F's hands the other day. I have always been fascinated by them. They are so small and perfect. When she was a newborn, I used to stare endlessly at her pinky nail. It was so tiny, yet so perfect. How did that happen? I will always be amazed, even as they grow.

Then, I thought about my mother's hands. I always loved her hands too. Strong and always manicured with colored nail polish. They held me with tender care but threatened when I misbehaved. They absorbed all my pain in one, fleeting touch, yet stood powerful in the face of danger.

As I was watching F play, I looked at my own hands helping her adjust a toy to her specifics. I remember when they were kid's hands. Small and soft. Like F's are now. I was always embarrassed by them because I bit my nails. So I made a New Year's Resolution when I was about 9 years old to stop. And I did. Now, I make sure they are manicured most of the time...But Mommyhood has a way with them. I only hope I can use them with tenderness for F like my Mother used them for me.

It makes me wonder, how my Mother kept her hands so soft all the time. She was a Stay-at-Home Mom (like me) with a penchant for cleanliness (uhm, not like me) so her hands must have been in water a lot. But they were indeed smooth and soft and caring.

I wonder if F will examine my hands like I examined my mother's? I wonder if she will think the same things of us as we grow together? I used to be attached to my Mother. We were together all the time, a lot like F and myself. So I was always watching her and analyzing the things she said and did. I took notes and use them to this day on myself about how a Mother should be.

Our hands may not be exactly the same but they serve the same purpose. They caress, they love and they discipline all in a split second. A daughter's hands become a mother's hands and a mother's hands become a grandmother's hands. They may not be together in the flesh but they are connected forever by reverence. Heart and soul connects us in spirit and our hands connect us with a single stroke. Forever.

I Remember You

Since I'm on the Mom topic. I feel I need to give some insight to her passing and to her past. For my heart's sake, I think I need to say this. Please, this is quite personal and I debated putting it out there, but I have to. (I feel better already...especially with all the friends that have come out to support me...thank you all!) If you aren't up to it...come back another day.

My Mom died of breast cancer when I was 17. I can't even tell you I remember the entire ordeal because I don't. I was too scared to live it at the time. I just assumed she'd get better. I didn't allow myself to hang around to watch the illness too closely. Besides, I was a self-absorbed teenager and at the time I thought I had better things to do.

I was dead wrong.

I regret not being there for her when she needed me. I regret not telling her how much I love her and wanted needed her to get better. I hope know she knows now how much I miss her.

I do remember some impossible to forget things. I remember her many surgeries to remove the cancerous tumors bombarding her breasts. I remember her refusal to have a mastectomy because it would take away her 'sexiness'. I remember the radiation treatments and chemo sessions that took away her soul and her hair. I remember that shower when she was crying because her hair was falling out in clumps. And the hair everywhere...I remember trying to tell her it didn't matter because she was so beautiful no matter what. I remember her wig and her hating it with a passion... so I drew a face on the Styrofoam head it rested on and by accident it resembled Kaity Tong.

I also remember the many hospital stays. The last one being the worst. The sounds she was making to struggle to breath and that cough. I'll never forget the cough. She was delirious toward the end and talking nonsense and I remember her calling out "Geronimo" more than once. We all giggled and teased her at the time but I didn't know then that that was her being called to the other side. I remember clear as day when I was leaving her bedside for the last time. I told her I'd be back later (who knows what I had to do) and kissed her and she told me I didn't have to come back. I thought she was crazy and I told her not to worry, I'd be back. I didn't know then that she knew she was dying and she didn't want me there to see it. I wish so badly I never left. I never saw her alive again. I regret that moment to this day.

I remember not wanting to go to the funeral but being told I'd regret it if I didn't go. I went. I hated it. But I'm glad I went. I'd hate to regret that too. There were a lot of things I didn't do back then being the stupid teenager I was. But I thought she was invincible. She never proved otherwise. She was tough and I thought she would beat it. But she gave up. She didn't want to fight it anymore. It was that tough. Unbelievable with her penchant for fistfights, I still can't believe she let it beat her. The only fight in her life I think she ever lost was the battle with cancer.

Why couldn't wouldn't she fight the cancer? I'll never understand. To this day I figure I'm destined to get it. If she lost fighting it, I just have no chance in hell...(BD would kill me if he knew I still feel that way) But how could a woman so strong in all aspects of her life be so weak with the most life threatening? Didn't she know I needed her desperately to survive?

Have I ever told you about the time she pulled a woman out of her car and beat her up because she cut my mother off under 'the El' in Long Island City? She totally yanked her ass out of her car and beat her to the ground. Two grown-men cops had to pull her off the woman lying on the street and my Mother still had the woman's thumb in her mouth. They had to yank the woman's hand away from her mouth like a rottweiler. Crazy woman! I still can't believe they didn't arrest her. I wasn't there. But the story lives in infamy within our entire family.

I remember after she died when people would tell me "I'm sorry for your loss." I wanted to snap their necks. I hated that phrase. I still do but I have softened with age and experience to accept it as no other way to express sorrow. My usual response was "Don't be. It's not your fault, you didn't kill her." That would totally throw people for a loop. But I was so angry and so rebellious because they didn't know what I was truly feeling. How could they deeply be sorry? The way I needed them to be. I know now that I am not the only one who has ever lost a parent and it is difficult for everyone and maybe people really do feel sorry for my loss because they have felt loss in their own lives. I understand that now. (My virtual friends here have taught me so much in so little time!)

I remember so much of my mother but then again those same memories are fading from my mind because they were so long ago. I can't believe it's been 18 years. I've spent more time without her than I have with her. I fear my life will parallel my Mother's and F's life will in turn parallel mine. I fear that I will also leave my daughter early because I am destined to get sick like Mom did. I was the same age when I had F that she was when she had me and when F was born I was worried I only had 17 years left with her...Unreasonable I know. But it's a genuine fear. I have a difficult time grasping that that concept may not be true. And I should be living my life to the fullest, but I am struggling. Hence the continuous verbal regurgitation.

There is a lot in my head these days about the past and my way of dealing with it (or not) and I need to sit down and sort them all out. I have come such a long way even without my Mother and I need to keep that in mind. I know I am strong and capable. My Mother taught me to be that way. She taught me to love myself because others may not. She used to tell me...no one will love you like I do so you better start loving yourself. I believe that now. As a Mom, I feel that for my own daughter. She always told me I was smart and beautiful and capable of following my dreams. I wish I believed her then, it may have helped me to believe that more now.

Even without her here, she continues to teach me about motherhood because I use her model as my backbone. I turn to her when I need her most and I find myself asking "What would Mom do?" when I need to figure something out. I know she is here with me always and I consider what she would think of my actions when I do something I'm not so sure of.

I talk to her often and I see her in my dreams, but her image is cloudy because it's been so long.
Sometimes she speaks back in her own way...sometimes I feel her behind me...(She always had my back) I remember her dark hair and her broad smile and her olive skin, I'll never forget her because she is in my heart, but her image is fading slowly from my mind. I remember wanting so much to look like her when I was a kid.

I remember when she used to call me 'Jane-t' (pronounced Jane-tee) and she'd write my name like that too...It embarrassed me as I got older but I just wish I could remember her voice calling my name just one more time.

The way I learned it.

When I was about 7 years old. I was in the bathroom with my mom (a usual occurrence) and she had "Aunt Flo"; she called it "her friend". I asked what it was and the answer flat out: I have my period. The conversation led to a woman's menstrual cycle and why we get it and what happens when you get it. Which led to "the birds and the bees".

Once again, Mom was real and honest and didn't use 'baby' terms for anything. Now, looking back I am grateful that she didn't sugar coat anything and that she was real, open and honest. I literally could talk to her straight about any-thing! One of the many of my mom's best qualities.

She used the technical terms for everything and she whipped out different books geared towards teaching children about sex. I have them still, I just can't find them. They looked a lot like this site here. (pretty graphic for a 7 year old) One book (that I can't find online) was called "Before You Were a Baby" by Paul Showers. I still have it in my basement. I plan on using it when the time is right.

I am all for explaining it the way you feel most comfortable. Some people find it difficult to talk about certain topics like how and why you 'do it'. But like my mom, I am most comfortable just saying it. (when it comes to this stuff) I hope when the time comes and Fa is inquiring, I'll be ready and willing to share the secret.

I remember moments like this with my mom and I miss her terribly. I wish she was here to talk about other things like being a Mom and family and well, sex. I am thankful that she taught me certain things but regretful that she still can't be here to teach me more. I always respected her outlook on things. I still wish I was like her.

I remember one time, I was in maybe 7th grade and I was talking poorly about some chick, I don't even remember her name. Wait, yes, I do. But I won't tell you. She approached me and asked if I was talking about her. I admitted it and said I was talking about her because I hated that she "did so and so things" (I think she was just a bitch) and not many people liked her because of it...even the girl that told her I was talking about her hated her. I was shitting my pants but she didn't know it. It ended there.

I went home that day and cried to my Mom. I was upset that the other girl, "my supposed friend" ratted me out and that the chick I was talking about had the balls to call me out. My Mom's advice: "Fuck 'em. Tell both of them to go shit in the woods and tell them to stay far away from you or they'll be sorry. And if you have to, get her down on the ground...they are all the same size as you when they are on the ground." Uhm, OK.

So what did I do? I did what Mom told me to do, of course. Was I shitting? Yes. Guess what happened after that? I was the coolest chick in the 7th grade (for a while anyway). No one fucked with me and everyone wanted to be my friend. And I didn't even have to try to drag her ass to the ground. Yes. Sweet Success.

My Mom was a tough chick. Once, she pulled some lady out of her car and beat the shit out of her for a parking spot under the "El" in Long Island City. The cops came and had to pull her off the woman. Mom had the woman's thumb in her mouth and she was biting down on it and she didn't even realize. She grew up in the Queens Bridge Projects and fought everyone. If you know NYC, you know the Projects. You don't wanna be there. She beat the piss out of boys and girls, she didn't discriminate. After she fought with them and totally kicked their asses, they became her friends and protected her.

I always valued her toughness and hard ass. I wish I was like that. I pretend to be, but I'm not. That's the way I learned about life. I hope I can be as tough for my daughter. I hope Mom's toughness spills into her, my toughness is flighty and unreliable. Our mouths are exactly the same though.

But I did wind up getting my daughter an extra lovey...just in case.
I told you I'd do anything for her.

Between the Tears

BD and I went to see Fa's "pre-preschool" last night. I cried. A lot.

Fa will be 3 in late December, so that leaves her short of the cutoff date for school. This means that she will be one of the oldest in her class...all the time. She is just short of the separation program, so we will be in "Mommy & Me" one more year. (Fine with me) The school is a Co-operative day school which means that parents volunteer their time throughout the year in order to cut tuition costs. (Not my cuppa tea, because I am an outcast...but that post will come later, for sure)

The director is a sweet lady who used to be a parent to two students in the school. Her kids are now 24 and 20 and she cried speaking about how fast the time goes. On gushed my waterworks. I cried when she told us to cherish this last time with our kids in a "Mommy & Me" school environment. Especially since I feel that way already. I cried when she told us how our children will mature and change as the year progresses and we will marvel at their emerging independence. I cried when she told us that the entire staff gets teary-eyed when they talk about their love for this age group. We clapped for her tear-inspired speech, then it was time to meet Fa's new teacher.

I cried when she smiled at me and told us we are our children's first teachers, I cried when she read a story about a little boy's first school experiences and I cried when she told me that she brought her kids to the same school 20 years ago and she sat in 'that corner right over there' with her son for a week because they couldn't separate form each other. I cried when she started tearing up because the time sure does fly.

"What the hell man?" was BD's thought as he snickered at me tearing up the entire night. He loves to see me whimper like that...he thinks it's silly. I am an emotional ball of booger when it comes to Fa and I cry over everything anyway, so this just topped the cupcake right off.

Time to sign up for snack duty. We signed up for two days each. Those are the days that we are required to bring a nut-free, healthy snack. Teary-eyed, I signed up for October 30th (Good Halloween day) and I signed up for December 18th (two days before Fa's birthday) Uneventful, but teary.

Then, 'Questions' were opened up to the parents. Here's where I learn that the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. The very first question was a food allergy question. Great, I need to know what not to bring on my snack days, informative and helpful.

Here's the winner: "What exactly will the children be learning here in school?" C'mon douche...they're TWO! So, I giggle between the tears. The teacher stresses that it is a "Learning Through Play" philosophy and they will learn to share, cooperate, learn pre-math and science skills, learn patience and self-control, reading...I loved the teacher's answer, I wanted to hug her because those are all the things Fa needs to be exposed to. I love this place. As a teacher, I understand what the pre-school teacher is thinking and I know how she is going to relate to the students...I will never understand how she is so patient with the pain in the ass parents.

As usual, there will be that one parent that totally rubs me the wrong way. Someone who grates on my very last nerve and just makes me want to spit down her neck. She fucking asked the teacher if they will be using flash cards and other teaching tools to enable the kids to learn colors, letters, numbers etc...They are fucking TWO. Now, I'm not braggin', but Fa knows all her letters, colors, numbers 1-100 and she reads..honestly, I'm not lyin'. But, I spend time PLAYING with her. Not using Flash cards, or practicing anything...we p.l.a.y. Period.

Just let the kids be two. They'll never be two again. They will have to deal with life and everything else that school and bullies and other kids throw at them. I can not wait to see what this woman's kid acts like. I bet you she's just as obnoxious as her mother. This should be a fun year. At least, I won't be crying so much because I'll be worried about conflict with dopey and her daughter. So, between all my tears, I'll be arguing with an asshole.

31 Months

Fa is 31 months today. July 20th. It seems like yesterday I brought her home from the hospital...the both of us crying and unsure of what to do next.

Now, she's just such a joy in my life and those initial, unsure moments have passed me by. I can't believe I ever felt the way I did back then. I was so sad and scared and afraid of what might happen to her that I couldn't enjoy the 'moment'. I had severe PPD. I was a mess. I thought I was the only one who ever felt that way and I thought I would die. I wanted to die. I didn't want to be a mommy. I wasn't good enough to be her mommy. She deserved more than I could ever give. I wrote a letter to American Baby in response to an article I read a few months ago...they never published it. But I want to put it here. So someone else can read it. Not just me.

August 5, 2005

Dear American Baby,

I just finished reading your article: (left blank) in your August 2005 issue…and I cried. Not because I remember it happening like that, or because I miss those times, but because my first three months were nothing like the article. I had Post Partum Depression and I would have given anything to have those “new mommy” issues that the author had instead of the ones I had. I want to tell you my story because I also took notes, but I really don’t need to refer to them, I will never forget how I felt when my daughter was born.

Day one:
The day my daughter was born was when I began crying. I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and I could not breathe. It took me nine months to get used to having that little being inside of me. I depended on feeling her kick, hiccup, and move around at all hours of the night but nobody warned me that I would not have the same amount of time to get used to the fact that she WASN’T in there anymore. A part of my being, my reason for breathing.

The night she was born, I missed her so greatly that it felt like the loss of my mother all over again. I cried the entire time I was in the hospital. To top it all off, it was around Christmastime and the hospital was short staffed and short tempered. One nurse yelled at me because I called for help to go to the bathroom even after my allotted “two times” to make sure my bladder was functioning. I told her I couldn’t do it and she yelled, “Are you going to need to hold hands every time you go? What are you going to do when you leave here? How are you going to take care of the baby?” Good question. I wanted MY mommy. She wasn’t there. I was alone. I felt it from the first second my daughter was taken from me.

Day three:
Taking her home from the hospital was a different story. Like the author of the article, I sat in the back of the car with my daughter too. However, I was praying deep down in my soul for my husband to crash on the LIE so I wouldn’t have to live anymore. Once we were safely in the house, we stared at her for what seemed like an eternity and I hoped her parents would come and pick her up because I was done with her.

Breast feeding was a nightmare, I had no one to help me figure it out and my nipples were cracked, bleeding and literally falling off, so I had to stop. The hospital promised a lactation consultant who never showed up. I was devastated. I felt like a failure and a horrible person because all I wanted to do was see my daughter’s face from that special angle that no one else would ever see. Instead, I fed her the bottle hoping she would choke, this way it wouldn’t be my fault.

Day four:
I also figured out that at 32 years old, I was afraid of the dark. I hated being alone at night with her because that was when the thoughts and visions would be the clearest. I had thoughts of people breaking into the house and killing us all. I would see my daughter being sucked up by a chainsaw or lawnmower and I could not stop it, nor did I really want to. I never did anything to hurt her and I never would, even at my darkest, (I would rather have killed myself) but those visions were scary and made me very unsure of my sanity. I felt like I was losing my mind and my sense of reality. I wanted to die. I wanted to escape, run away and never see her again. I wasn’t good enough for her.

Week two:
The day my husband went back to work was when I realized I needed help. He was afraid to leave me alone with our daughter and most of all I didn’t want to be left alone. I was afraid she would get hurt and I couldn’t save her. I was afraid to drive in the car with her alone and I was afraid to leave the house even to go for a walk with her. What if someone kidnaps her, or me? I was afraid of her! She knew more than I ever would or could. I would look into her eyes and ask for her forgiveness because she got stuck with me as a mommy. I promised her I would find her a better mommy and one day she would understand why I left.

I started comparing my mother’s life to my own. I had my daughter the same time my mother had me. However, my mom died 17 years later and I started thinking that was my fate as well. I wondered what it was all for, if I was going to leave my daughter in 17 years like my mother did. Or sooner. Was it worth it? She really didn’t need me around at all, I thought. Just get it over with and let her live a fairly normal life without me….Mike would re-marry and she would have a person who could really take care of her… She was better off without me. That went on for a few weeks until I finally broke down. I didn’t want anything to happen to her. I didn’t want anything to happen to me because without me, she would be a motherless daughter like I am now. I didn’t want to live like that anymore. I didn’t want her to ever suffer the pain of losing a mother, like I have.

Week three:
Unlike the author, I didn’t join a mommy group because I was sure I was crazy and no one has ever thought of the things I think about. They’ll surely have me arrested or put away somewhere and take my daughter away from me. Not one mommy out there could possible feel the way I do. They are not in my head and they will never understand me. Those mommies are all living in a dream. It can’t really be as easy as they make it look. What’s wrong with me?

Week six:
I called my OB/GYN and told him my story. He referred me right away to a psychiatrist. I went to see him that same day. He prescribed Wellbutrin for the depression and Klonopin for the anxiety. I resisted but knew there was no other choice. I was going to hurt myself, not my daughter and I needed to fix things. It was a slow recovery. Aside from the physical aspects of childbirth, the mind can play fantastic tricks on you. Physically, I was a wreck. My body was not healing quickly and I had issues down below that no woman should ever deal with. It was scary. I felt useless and helpless and motherless and with medication, I was finally ready to be the mother that my daughter needed me to be.

Nineteen months later:
I thank the stars above that I used what little courage there was left to make me take a step in the right direction. My daughter is a well adjusted, active toddler and I couldn’t live without her. She is the air I breathe. My husband has been my rock because without his strength, I couldn’t find my own to help myself. I realized I wasn’t totally alone. I had people to help me and I had support when I needed it. I am forever grateful for my husband to teach me about life and love and motherhood.

I hope this letter helps just one woman out there who might be feeling a little the way I did. It is normal and not everyone has sparkly and bright experiences when they take their child home for the very first time. It is unbelievably scary and no one is truly prepared for what is to come. Especially when the crying, the diapers, and the all-nighters are the easiest things to deal with, compared to the visions, thoughts, and terrible fears you can have as a new mom.

Please use this letter if it helps just one woman out there. I know I went through such horrible experiences and I’m sure they are hard to read just as they are hard to share, but it would all be in vain if I did not help someone because of it.

Sincerely,
me

***No one has ever read this before. I am not sure I want it out there. But it seems fitting to compare myself now to then. I was so lost and I felt so alone. But I got through it and I look at my gorgeous Fa now and I cry. She is the heart that beats inside of me and the air that keeps me alive. Without her, I am nothing. Without her, I will die. I truly live for her smile and to see the joy in her eyes when I enter her room first thing in the morning. As happy as she is to see me, I am overjoyed to see her. I love this little girl with all of my being and I cherish every moment with her...even the first scary moments. For without them, we wouldn't be here today. My big girl. My love. My heart.

Pink Lady

Pink Burpie…Pink lady…the light of her life.
This child loves her burpie. It’s like her American Express Card…”Don’t leave home without it”.

Fa: “Mommy, can you get my pink burpie, please?”
TL: “Why does it hafta be the PINK one lady? You have 20 different burpies”.
F: “Pink Lady is my friend.”
TL: “Why is it only the pink one that makes you happy?”
F (exasperated): "Pink Lady loves me, Mommy, please get my burpie!?”

Sorry, I just would love to know what goes on in that gorgeous little brain of yours...

Good thing I have 2 "Pink Ladies". I wash one while the other is muy occupado….

Am I the only one?

...who still changes her 2 year old on the changing table?
...who only likes her own child?
...who feels like her heart is running around outside of her body when she looks at her child?
...who hates mommy & me classes?
...who is having such a hard time with potty training?
...who loves her daddy so much it hurts sometimes?
...who cries when her daughter is sick?
...who is reading this blog?
...who misses her husband when he's at work?
...who hates being this pale in June?
...who misses going out drinking every weekend?
...who loves the smell of her child's feet after a long day in the sun?
...who loves to read "Goodnight Moon" 20 times in a day especially when SF recites it word for word?
...who misses going to the gym?
...who feels so alone?
...who suffered from PPD?
...who loves her some soap operas?
...who really hates potty training more than anything else in the world?
...who never thought it would be this hard?

Why can't you get syrup out of hair without washing it?

Here's some words of wisdom for anyone who's listening:
Don't ever feed your 2 year old waffles before an important birthday party, unless you have time for another bath.

Do I look FAT in this?

Don't ever ask that question. You might get an answer that you don't want to hear.