It's So Easy

I can always tell when I need to re-evaluate my space in this world.

When I need to take inventory of my head and heart and do some spring cleaning.

It's been this way for years.

And the cues have returned.

When I was 18, I listened to three particular albums back to back every single day. Yes, albums. Vinyl. CD's were too expensive for me back then. I listened to all the tracks on these albums repeatedly. I can't even really tell you why it was these three albums in particular. But it was.

Appetite for Destruction had been out for three years already and I knew every word and tune by heart. And I connected to the overall theme of 'destruction' well back then. I felt like the world was 'Out ta Get Me'

(Believe it? I was at that show! The Ritz 1988)

...and I knew the sarcasm of 'It's So Easy' was geared towards me.


And I totally felt "So Crazy' that there was no hope in sight...


Yup, G'NR ruled my days...and nights.

Then there was Bat out of Hell...(I know) It came out when I was five years old and I wanted it so badly, I begged for my Mom to buy it for me at Camelot Music Stores in the mall. God, I begged to go to that store every day! When I got older, it was like a staple in my music collection and I started listening to it again when I was struggling in High School.

I can't even tell you how many times I played 'Heaven Can Wait' over and over again.

And 'Two outta Three Ain't Bad'

You'd think I was dying.

I wasn't literally. But inside I did.

Then there was TNT. That whole album is still one of my favorites to this day. I am in awe of Tony Harnell's voice.

The music of these three albums makes the feeling I got in High School return to this day every time I hear them.

And I woke up this morning singing these songs in my head. Autopilot. Not thinking about it...just in my head. These songs.

This means, I need to clean out my mind. I need to get motivated to trash the anger and release the tension that is building inside of me. Or I will burst.

I need to reorganize my mind's bins again. They sure are a mess.

These songs reminded me of that this morning and I gotta get to work. Amazing how music can inspire you, lead you and help you feel again.

But. It Ain't So Easy. Axl, you're a smarty. Aren't you?

Just my 19th Nervous Breakdown

I find myself digging deep within myself for patience these days.

I notice that I am talking myself through the most mundane tasks in order not to lose my cool over silly things. However, it's not working. I'm pissed all the time. And my fuse is burnt to a crisp.

"OK J...she's 3, it WILL take her a half an hour to brush her teeth and you'll be lucky she actually skims a tooth with her toothbrush..."

"This is normal J, she has to question you...she's curious."

"But she only walks at a turtle's pace because she has smaller legs than you and she is taking it all in..."

"But breakfast isn't really the most important meal of the day..is it?" "As long as she's eating something!!"

"Of course its all about her...you've made it that way for her entire life...you can't expect her to deal with sharing your time now." (Just the other day...I asked Girl to please crawl out of my buttcrack because I needed to talk to her...) She giggled. I wanted to cry.

Why am I finding it so hard to do the easy tasks of each day?

Why am I losing patience with the three year old, who really is only being three? (...and quite a terrific three at that!)

I mean really...How easy is it to be with someone on a continuous loop 24 hours a day 7 days a week without losing it once in a while?

...No matter how much your heart is overflowing with love for that person.

Even people who work three jobs and 95 hours a week get a break from their co-workers once in a while.

(NO, I don't want to go to work!)

Why can't I ever keep the house presentable? And why is the floor/sink/laundry/dog always dirty?

Why can't I call that kid's mother for a playdate when I know Girl loves the friggin' kid...but I just don't wanna be bothered?

Why then, do I complain that I have no mommy friends and no one to hang out with?

Why do I find it so hard to stay happy?

Not get happy.

Stay happy. Stay calm, balanced and just content.

What is the problem?

2 more days

Maybe I'm just a really extra sensitive person. I never thought I was. But I guess I am.

Everything makes me cry.

Is it getting older? Does that make you more sensitive?

Does PMS get worse as the years go by?

It can't always be THE HAT TRICK can it? I hafta get used to this sooner or later right?

Dunno?!

I am extra possessive and protective over my men. Don't mess with me there...

And I am like a raging lunatic to protect my kid.

Nothing has happened. I'm just waiting with my back up. For something, anything to send me reeling into a tizzy...I'm ready to rip someones head off if they look at me the wrong way.

And I'm tense. Extra tense. I've been going back to the chiropractor (God love him) and he's been trying (in vain) to loosen up the gargantuan knot in my spine.

Blogging truly is my therapy and I haven't even been posting regularly. I've been reading a lot of my blogroll and trying to comment but that isn't helping either...Hmmm...Now I know somethings up.

You know, everyone always thinks of J as this easy-going and calm...roll off your back like water off a duck's ass type-o chick...But it's the people who know me (the 3 or 4 of you) that know I keep it all inside. I tense up more and more the more shit I hold inside and I literally explode in one way or another.

Crying, yelling, throwing the remote...But I always do it when I'm alone.

I think I need to explode.

But herein lies the problemo.

I'm never alone.

And I will NOT explode in front of the Girl. Even though I have been extra edgy with her too these days. She is starting to think I may be Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde...

Then I look at the calendar and I realize the calendar reads June 28th...Two more days till July and my three months of mourning is over...for now. I did nothing to remember Mom on the 25th like I thought I wanted to...But I guess I did what my subconscious wanted me to. I did go back to the chiropractor for the first time that day....Was she pushing me to?

Or do I need some serious meds/detox/work out to chill me out again?

Probably.

Thanks for listening.

Bunny

This latest Bunny/Girl incident got me thinking.

I have told a few people about this but it hit me recently that Bunny is making herself known quite often these days. She is trying to tell me something. I know it. I know she's been around recently I have felt her close and I know I'm not losing my ever lovin' mind. I just wish I knew what she was trying to say. I hope it's just that she misses me too...

Girl knew who Bunny was way before I started talking about her. She met her for the first time (I know of) when she was about 16 (give or take) months old.

She was crying inconsolably late one night and I didn't know what else to do to make her stop. It had been going on for hours and Provider and I were both at a loss. Remember, Girl was colicky in the first few months of her life and I was so damaged by her incessant crying early on that when she finally grew out of it, I panicked every time she even welped a little...

Well, this wasn't a welp. It was full on screaming bloody murder. For hours. Upon hours. Until, I finally broke down and started crying right along with her.

We were sitting in her rocking chair. She was facing front and I was crying behind her. I was talking to Bunny in my head and asking her why she left me and how do I handle this and all that stuff you'd call your mother for at 2 in the morning when your kid is screaming...

After about 5 minutes, Girl started giggling. She broke out into fits of laughter. I'm talking screaming, crying one minute and in a split second later she changed to fits of giggles...

A warm feeling came over my neck and shoulders and all turned calm. Silent. I asked what Girl was laughing at and all she said through her laughter was "Bunny!"....

Through tears of mixed emotions; fear, joy, greif, sadness, helplessness...I realized my Mother came to us that night. When I needed her most, she was there to help.

And she's back again his month...I hope she stays longer this time...

Bittersweet Symphony

This motherhood thing...

I know I am not the only one who feels this way, this time of year.

But, why is it always so hard?

Why can't I just enjoy the day without crying, stress, pimples, fear and resentment?

Will it always be this way?

Am I being selfish?

Am I wrong for feeling so bitter and betrayed?

Is it possible for me as a Motherless Mother to ever enjoy Mother's Day?

Or am I destined to feel this pain forever?

And when do I get to dictate what I get to do on Mother's Day? Why do I have to be the second/third/fourth mother in a line...

Will I always be this resentful?

I need to take joy in my daughter and learn from her.
I need to realize that this is now my life and I either need to embrace it or live semi-depressed forever.
I need to snap out of it.
I need a cup of black coffee and a shot of Southern Comfort.

I need my daughter's hugs and smile and maybe I even need to hold her hand for a while...That always makes me feel better.

I need to feel my mother's love through the love I feel for my daughter. Because that is the way I stay connected to her.

But this is all very difficult to do.

Stuff

When your head is buzzing and you are feeling lightheaded, you go to the doctor right? I think I may be sick, or I think I could be stressed. Which is why I haven't seen a doctor yet.

My jaw has been clenched since about Wednesday. Every time I loosen it up it clicks and my head gets a rush of blood. The headache is constant. Then I begin clenching again.

My stomach is in knots.

The dreams have been terrible lately. Dreams of loss and death and sexual abuse and murder and falling and the paranormal all swarming my nightly slumber.

Mista says I bring this on myself. Like I'm waiting for this feeling to return. But he's wrong. I have been over analyzing crap and that usually calms me down. I have been mentally preparing myself for this time of year and I thought that was working. I thought this time would be different. I was armed with an awareness like never before and more knowledge of myself and my feelings. I was wrong.

Then. A came over yesterday for a wonderful visit. But. She started talking about when Mom was in the hospital and I felt the nausea hit and the tears well up inside my eyeballs and I had to stop eating because I thought I was going to vomit all over the kitchen table.

That's it.

I can't stop thinking about it. It is my every other thought throughout the day and I am nauseous because of it.

They say time heals all wounds. That's bullshit. Time only makes you able to live with those gaping wounds and survive every anniversary. The rest of that passing time, you are in a slight fog. Pretending to be normal. Even after you have a kid. You pretend to be normal. Then the anniversaries creep up again. And all that time that has passed means nothing.

Because it's like you just lost her all over again.

And when you are around women with their mothers for special occasions like bridal showers and weddings you pretend it's all good. But you are hurting so deeply inside because you wish you had your mother during those special times. And you didn't.

But the time that has passed should have helped you heal. It didn't.
It only makes you better able to pretend it's all good. The passing of time only enables you to make believe. Where as before, you would have just bawled your brain out and maybe not even shown up for the special occasion involving moms and daughters.

That's what time does for you. It doesn't heal. It temporarily bandages.

Regrets, I've had a few...

But missing my prom was certainly not one of them.

I'm still not sure what makes this gorgeous woman think I'd have fun this time around???

But hey, she is the first person ever to actually ask me to go to the prom. I hope she'll be my pseudo date. And I just know SF will jump at the chance to dress up and go dancin'!

When I was 18, prom time, I had been getting ready for the 1 year anniversary of my Mother's death to breast cancer. I had my head in the clouds and my feet as far from reality as I could dig them. I had been out of high school for a year already and just earned my GED. I was brainlessly working in Kennedy Airport to fill some time. I was miserable. Depressed. And to top it all off, my boyfriend just broke up with me. Anus.

Prom was the last thing on my mind.

I didn't miss getting ready for the prom. I couldn't focus anyway. I didn't miss getting my hair done. I didn't have the money to do it. I didn't miss buying a frilly dress. I never wore those anyway. I didn't miss dancing to Bon Jovi's "I'll Be There For You" with my so-called boyfriend because I couldn't be there for myself let alone another human being. And I certainly didn't miss the people in High School. They could all rot in hell for all I care. Even today. What douchebags.

I did miss my Mom.

I spent a lot of that time partying at bars and going to the beach and hanging out and sometimes, occasionally dabbling in the wacky tobaccy. Prom was so out of my range of consciousness. It never once crossed my thoughtless mind to go to prom. Who would I even go with? I hated the 'boy', I hated the other kids there...the ones I did hang out with were too stoned to actually prepare for the prom so they didn't go either. I hated life. What would prom do for me?

That actual night, I vaguely remember going to see some friends play in their band at the local bar and hanging out with Bud(wiser). That's what I think I did on prom night. I'm still not too sure. If you asked me what my life was like back then, the only answer I could give you was: lost. The memories don't return to me until about age 23. That time I think I could safely say, I remember well. Before then, a total blur.

I still get sad when I think about all that time wasted and unused. I could have been something special if I just put my mind to it. But I was filled with fear, sadness and worst of all, grief for the loss of the only woman who could ever love me that deeply. Never again did I think I'd return to this world sane. I still have my doubts.

So Mamma, thank you for inviting me to your prom, because it is the only one I've ever been to, emotionally, spiritually or physically. I will try not to be a downer. And I don't have any pictures, but maybe SF and I will scrounge some up for the occasion. We do like to dance around in the living room.

Party on Wayne, Party on Garth.

Not really busy...

...I just haven't been motivated lately.

I have been reading other blogs and commenting and there are some really great writers out there. I want to hang out with all of you and drink margarita's for Cinco de Mayo. Next to you all, I am a peon. I just haven't felt like blogging myself. I guess it gets old. Who wants to hear me anyway?

Some things I've been thinking:

I'm going to take pictures of girl's old rug and her new rug. They measured her room. Home Depot is full of assholes so I'm sure there will be a fuck up sometime soon. Plus, they are coming to measure my yard for a fence. Oh, Joy. Plenty of excuses to fuck up there. Can't wait for the festivities to begin!

Spring has sprung. But I feel like snow. Cold and annoying.
March has never been a great month for me, not terrible, just long. When you are teaching in NYC, March is the longest school month without vacation and the teachers used to get very antsy. I still feel that way. Antsy. I am waiting for the nice weather and in the meantime I can't enjoy it in the moment. I hate that. Years of therapy have taught me to enjoy the moment and I have forgotten how to do that already. It hasn't been that long since I've been away from it.

My dog is eating my kitchen cabinets.

Here's what most of them look like:

Here's what he's done:Here's the dastardly dog in action:
(Notice the fucking chew toy right in the shot!)
Here's what's gonna happen to him:

I swear to all that is holy!
I am not kidding.
I hate this dog.
No matter how hard I try to like him, I just can not.

Then, there's the dust. It doesn't matter how many times I dust. The bastard bunnies rear their ugly, fluffy heads and attack. They are under every item of furniture and on top of every smooth surface. Now, with the sun shining in through the windows I see it more prominent than ever. All the areas I have missed or neglected are calling my name. Swiffer how dare you betray me! Dog hair be damned!
I surrender. The dust bunnies have won.

I've been going to the gym a lot these past few weeks and my body feels trim but older. I can't help it. I'm getting older. Older. And weaker and less flexible. I'm aching in areas that never ached and feeling it. Boo Hoo. Big Baby.

But, then again my "Hat Trick" is coming up and I think I'm gearing up for that. Therapy has taught me to face the shit head on and I think I am trying to do that this time around. It is just a scary scene. Brace yourselves.

However, I'd like to end this rant on a positive note. (If you are still reading.)
Girl is getting really into dancing. She is dying to take a dance class ( I don't think she realizes I won't be there). But she's been obsessed with dancing. Dancing all over the house, yard, wherever you let her.

"Red Ballet Dance"
by The Girl

She has been perfecting the moves she already knows by heart. And adding newer, graceful arms and kicks. I am so proud. I will git that kid into dance class if it's the last thing I ever do!

There's a Place for Everything and Everything in it's Place

When I'm feeling out of control, there's only one thing for me to do. Organize. If I can't get my brain in order, the least I can do is get my actual stuff in order. That coping mechanism has always worked for me and when my crap is out of control, it makes it harder for my head to get in order. It also seems that when my head is messy, so is the stuff. I take comfort in organization.

Over the New Year's weekend, BD left me to my devices for a much needed 'break' and what did I do? I organized toys. I really needed to. For my brain and for my closet's sake. I didn't know it at the time, but I needed to put our stuff (and my brain) in order. I threw out a whole pile of old toys and crap. I put all of the new stuff in bins. Beautiful bins. Bins with labels made on my computer. I wish my brain was in labeled bins. I should have paid more attention to the brain that day. I'm paying for it now.

Organization makes me feel secure. I have always needed to feel secure. My entire life has been a quest for security. Emotional. Financial. Organizational. Security. Years of therapy have taught me that the "inner child Laundress" has lost that security after the passing of my Mom at 17. My "inner child Laundress" is still 17 and will always be 17. Unless I help her grow up. I use organization to help her. It gives her control over something, anything she can get her hands on. Instead of focusing on her head. Which she needs to do more of. But that's hard to do.

It's tough to find that balance between the "17 year old Laundress" and the "Motherless Mother". How do I get them to live together in harmony?

Years ago, as the "outer Laundress" was attempting to become an adult, I organized my life with controlling the amount of food I put in my body and the amount of hours I exercised. A tangible way to harness the real things that were out of control, the grief of losing a Mom. To this day, I have never fully accepted her passing and I can not find a way to get over it. I still obsess over the things I can control in order to reign in the fears that I can't. My body image has suffered for years because of that.

I am angry. I am hurt that my Mom left me so young with the thought that "Moms don't leave" but they in fact do. And I feel like such a liar when I tell Fa that "Mommy always comes back" when deep down in my heart, I know eventually that is not so true. It makes me hurt so deep in my soul that I can not fully enjoy life with my beautiful daughter for fear that I may one day leave her too early. It makes me sad that I can't move past that for the benefit of my daughter. Once again, I have been stunted by my Mother's death.

The grief all seemed at bay until my beautiful baby girl was born. Then, the anger and the fear came rushing back. Uncontrollably. Disastrously. The loneliness and fears returned tenfold and I was once again disabled by grief. When I was without a child, I only had to worry about myself. Now, not only do I fear for my own self-esteem, I fear for F's as well. And I fear that I am crushing hers because mine isn't developed. I also still struggle with control and organization except now it makes me feel helpless. Especially now...it's not so easy to keep organized...that's impossible with a preschooler.

Therein lies the insecurity I have been feeling as of late. And I am angry. Severely angry. Therapy has taught me so much about myself and I still need to learn more. However, feeling anger is real at this moment and I need to sort out that emotion now. I know that anger is an emotion fueled by underlying fears, sadness, anxieties and unresolved issues. Anger, the bitch that she is, is brought on by other deep-rooted emotions. It is not an emotion in itself. It only lives by leeching onto other emotions such as sadness and fear. My anger once again is brought to the surface by stronger feelings that I need to organize in my mind.

My mind, if I could put it in the basement in 12 labeled bins right now would look something like this:
However, my bins are all toppled over by life and the only thing exposed is:
I take notice now how only the top four bins are positive emotions that are overwhelmed by eight negative ones. I need to get my head in balance again. What my mind's labeled bins should be, look something like this:
I notice here that only the last three bins hold room for feelings that I'll never truly abandon. It's just not in my nature. But the top nine bins are overloaded with positive emotions. Something I need to get back into my life.

I would fill those positive bins with the fantastic memories of my Mother and my family. I would overload those bins with the overwhelming joys that I experience with my beautiful girl. I would stuff those bins with the memories my husband and I have made together as a team and as F's parents. I would bombard those bins with more beautiful children to love and cherish and make our family a special unit. But for some reason, I can't get those bins together, let alone open them up to fill them.

I am still that scared, 17 year old girl who is waiting for her Mom to come home from the hospital with an "all clear" from the doctor. Only to have my Dad come home to tell me she didn't make it. I am still that same kid who after years of living without her, still waits for her to come back because "Mommies always come back". And I am angry that she hasn't returned miraculously after all these years to help me cope. That is stunting my parenting skills to the point of immobilization. It makes me angry. Very angry.

Then, I hear BD in the back of my head saying, "When you are ready, you will change things." And he has been right each and every time. I should learn by now that I can trust him with my life and he will make sure that F's Mommy always comes back even if her Mommy doesn't always believe it herself...

What bin should I put that in?

One day?

Miss Blue*

Let me just start this post off with a disclaimer...I have PMS, I understand if you leave now.

But it did give me some energy to design my new header...like it? I was in a "time out" when I did it.

Ok, with that done. I have to say, I am feeling blue this week.

Maybe its the end of the holidays, the excitement over, a new beginning with nothing to look forward to, missing something or someone...a mixture of it all.

I don't know. I'm just blah. I'm cranky, tired and angry at everything. I even banged into a car with my door on purpose yesterday because the douche bag parked too close to me in the lot. This is something I usually get mad at, I mean really....There were plenty of spaces on either side of the dork and me, but he had to park right next to me, up close and personal, like he was giving me an enema for crap's sake (ha)... but my emotions seem heightened this week and struggling with my daughter to put her in the car seat while I was sandwiched between the car and the douche just got to me good. So I dinged the douche. Nope. It didn't make me feel better. Just more pissed.

I feel like a crappy mother. I feel like I have no patience for anything F does good or bad and I feel guilty as sin. When she's good she's very, very good but when she's bad I want to run away and I question every move I ever made in life. It feels bad. To feel that much anger toward a little girl who is just testing her boundaries. I just have no patience. And she has to take a god damn bath. It's not up to her. But I have no resources to help me in changing her mind. I can't read parenting books, they make me feel worthless, I can't ask anyone...So we fight.

I love her with all my heart and soul but my fuse is blown and I need to regroup. Fast. Or I may teach her that anger (and a lot of yelling) is the way to deal with everything in life...She can already throw a mean tantrum when she wants to and I know it's because she sees me do the same thing with the adult version of what a tantrum is.

I already feel like I have made her uncomfortable in social situations because I am that way exactly. I already feel like I am not exposing her enough to life and the way you should live it fully because I am so stunted as an adult. I already feel that yeah, I look happy on the outside, but inside I am a disaster and I don't want her thinking its her fault. And I don't want her thinking that's normal.

I also know that I do have PMS and while it's not an excuse, it is real and my hormone levels are way low. That really effects my balance. I have been doing so great with genuinely being happy and enjoying life. I know I am lucky and I have a wonderful family and home and husband and daughter...but there's a but. And I don't know what to fill it in with.

Just this weekend, BD gave me the 'day off' and took Fa to his Mom's house for the day. I had the whole house to myself. I had a plan. I organized the entire basement play room. (Fun, I know, but organization makes me shiver with joy!) I was going to go to the gym and the mall...but, he took the extra car's keys (accidentally) so I couldn't leave the house. I was stuck. I was mad. Why? I don't know. I hate feeling stuck. My plans were foiled again...

Then I started to miss F. I look forward to her having fun without me then I can't wait for her to get home to be with me. I feel like I am stunting her growth because I can't allow myself to grow without her. I am too connected. I know she we need to have her our own individual life and be independent. I know I need to have my own life. I know therein lies the problemo.

Then I felt them creeping in. The blues. Why is blue the color of sadness anyway? It's such a beautiful color, why is it when you are sad you are blue? The sky is blue, eyes are blue, blue and red make purple...my favorite color. Blue should be a good thing.

Every time I feel this way I fear that it will get as worse as it was before F was born or even scarier, after F was born. I don't ever want to be that low again... and while I usually get out of it fairly quickly on my own (thank you years of therapy), it still haunts me. Especially that ppd.

That creepy, dark blue space that I was once in. The space I fought so hard to get out of because it was so lonely. That blue abyss that I was drowning in with no way out. Thankfully, I was successful. But when I feel this way, I get scared. Scared that I will sink back into it and I don't want that memory to be in F's head about her crazy mother. The one that acted all happy and nice on the outside but inside had a real struggle going on.

I have posted about this feeling previously and got into trouble with 'people' about it so I have to be careful not to sound like a mental patient. But it is my fear and it is how I'm feeling and this is about me and this is a way to sort out my mind and keep it in writing to look back on. For prosperity's sake? I don't know. Sorry if I'm not making any sense.

I just know, I'm feeling blue. Maybe I can find it inside of me and get it out here. Maybe that would make me feel better. Maybe I just have to get out of the house.

*It's a song by Filter

Turkeys, Ornaments and Memories...Oh, my!

This is a long one...Come back when you have time unless you are in the mood for a good vent.


Jesus. The holidays are upon me. Here we go again. It seems I can't get away from dealing with this shit. There is a point throughout every year when it all just has to get dealt with. From the 'Hat Trick' to the Holidays. I'm never away from it.

Thanksgiving is my Dad's favorite holiday. He loves turkey and he lurrves that crazy cranberry-can shape-globule. You know the one, he practically begs for it every year. I love spending time with him and Thanksgiving is no different. It's just that with Fa, now everyone wants to get a hold of her for the holidays and there is just not enough time in the day. I miss him during the holidays when I am not with him. And I am not the 'social butterfly' that you may all think I seem to be...hee hee. I like it quiet. At all times. Even the holidays. I have reasons.

I am a hermit and the holidays just make me shake. With all the people and touching and hugging and kissing. Ugh. And they don't even do it to me. They do it to poor Fa. Who also hates being mauled. I hate seeing her so uncomfortable in the crowded atmosphere of the holiday table. I get that 'Mamma Lion ready to pounce on anyone who makes her cry' feeling in the pit of my stomach. (And anyone getting in her grill makes her cry too). It makes me so nervous.

I have read in all the parenting mags that forcing your child into a crowded situation does not make her more comfortable. People must keep their distance and let her warm up. But no one wants to hear it. I want to cry. I know I make it worse because she feeds off of me and she knows when I tense up in these surroundings. Then, she gets just as tense. I try to breathe deeply and reassure her that its okay, but inside I am a tangled mess of sickly intestines and she knows it. Damn intuition.

Then, after turkey day. "The box" comes out. My therapist knew this box well. It took a long time to acknowledge "The Box". I didn't have a Christmas tree for years and when BD and I were living together and he finally wanted one, we only had lights and bows. I didn't want to deal with "The Box".

You see, it is filled with all of the ornaments that I had as a kid. The same ornaments that my Mother held so dear to her heart. Every year, she'd pull out "The Box" and reminisce about her past and show me her favorites and listen to Johnny Mathis on the record player while she happily put up the tree. I loved that day. I loved seeing her happy! Tree trimming day. We would watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and all those other Christmasy shows with "Rudolf" and "Charlie in the box" at the Land of Misfit Toys. Then, we'd slap Johnny Mathis on the record player and get to work. Every year, I wished that day would never end.

Well, boys and girls. That day does indeed end. And then, it leaves you with hurt and sadness and grief and you never want to see that "Box" or that day again.

Until Fa came along. I had to get "The Box" out. I dreaded it. But it was inevitable. I had to spice things up during the holidays for her. Her birthday is 5 days before Christmas so I had to get in the spirit. It sucked. I hated it. Especially the first Christmas when she was five days old. I was a mess of ppd. Damn, you couldn't even look at me or I'd cry. But then, the next year it got a little better and so on and so on. This year, I want to start new memories, but I don't have anyone to ask how to do that. All of my holiday memories are stunted. And memories of my Mother are vivid but few. How do I create a happy place for the holidays when I am not feeling so happy about the place I'm in?

These days, I can take out "The Box" without hysterics. However, that feeling in the pit of my stomach always returns. I am torn. I want Fa to enjoy the memories that we make together but why does it have to hurt me so much? Will it ever get better? Or should I say, will the pain ever get duller?

I pray Fa understands that she is my air and she is what makes me tolerate another holiday season. I do it all for her. Holidays are brighter because of her and I cherish her for that. Now, how do I create some really special memories for me and her to share? How do I create memories that will dull the sadness in my heart and bring a smile to our faces throughout the holidays and beyond? How do I teach her that memories are a great resource to go to when you are down, when my memories bring me so far down?

Pssst...Over here!

I have a secret. Can you guess what it is?
I'll tell ya....

I'm not perfect.


I know, you can't believe it, right...Well, my friends...Believe it.
Sometimes I sit here and wonder how others haven't figured me out yet.

~I watch too much television. I could literally veg out in front of the tube for hours without flinching. I think it's a sickness...
~I sing out loud even though I can't. I think I sound like a rock star but it sounds so different in your ears than in reality...
~I'm a 'helicopter mom'. I am always hovering over Fa. I am afraid she's gonna eventually get sick of me. I see it in her face already, she looks at me like..."Moooooom! c'mon, I can do it myself." But, I'm afraid to let her go. She's my heart and I try to protect her from, let's see...everything.
~I should be spending more time with my husband. We haven't spent a whole lotta time together. I miss him. I hope he misses me too.
~I'm insecure. About, uhm, everything.
~I'm afraid of a whole crapload of different things. I can't even get started about that.
~I sleep too much. I love to sleep. I wish I could sleep more than I have been. I miss sleeping for hours at a time even in the middle of the day. I guess this makes me lazy.
~I haven't used my mind in such a long time and I'm getting nervous that I'll lose my mind if I don't use it. I miss reading for a purpose. I hated schoolwork but it gave me a feeling of accomplishment when I completed a project and got a good grade...

But I think it's time for being positive today:
~I have this daughter who adores me.
~I have this husband who (I think) does the same.
~The dog hasn't pooped or peed in his crate for 8 days straight.
~I can sit in front of the T.V. to watch my favorite shows and those fantastic reality shows, I'm a grown up, I can do what I want!
~If you don't like my singing...too bad. My daughter loves it!
~I am smart enough to realize that I have insecurities and imperfections and I work hard to change them or deal with them.
~All this thinking, is leading me to better things.
~I'm feeling pretty good about myself since detox and going to the gym regularly...BD noticed I lost weight!!!
~I get to be home with my little girl to help her grow up and watch her bloom into this precious 'flower'.
~Fa is loving "Mommy & Me"!!! She has a blast every class, she paints, plays, discovers new things like riding a tricycle by herself...She frickin' cries when it's time to leave. She says, "No, don't sing the 'goodbye song', sing the 'hello song'!!" and "I wanna stay here, can we please stay and play more?" I am ecstatic!
~I am liking "Mommy & Me" too...I adore spending the time with her in school and watching her have fun and not ALL the moms are arseholes.

How lucky am I?

Conflict Resolution

There’s an internal struggle that I deal with on a daily basis. In my head I am fighting with many thoughts. They are of course, about my relationship with my daughter and where it is going. I wonder sometimes who decided that I deserved to be a mother? Who gave her to me, that perfect little thing? Who out there thought that I would do her heart and her self-worth justice in this world? How will I enable her to become a strong, independent woman…when I am not the woman I need her to be? What kind of examples will I set for her when I can not deal with life on a daily basis? Enter (like gangbusters) the two struggles I fight with.

The first conflict is: “How am I going to show my daughter that she is more loved by me than anyone in her life will ever love her?” I sit and stare at her sometimes and my heart wants to explode with a love for her that I have never felt in my life for anyone. My entire being breathes for her. My skin yearns for her touch and my eyes aren’t happy unless they see her smiling face. I wake up in the mornings wanting to climb into her bed and shnuggle with her until dinnertime. I watch her growing and I marvel at the developments and milestones that she accomplishes with ease and determination. I know her quirks and tics and I understand what she is thinking even though she doesn’t believe that. I feel her pain, her joy, her accomplishments, her fears and her confidence and her self-doubt. I agonize at how I am going to show her that life is not so bad, that she is a lucky and smart lady and that she has the brain and the capabilities to conquer the world if she chooses. However, I fear for her.

Introducing my second conflict: Life sucks (sometimes), how do I get her to enjoy it even in the midst of war, school violence, child predators, illness, death? I struggle with the thought of how to keep her safe and secure. Sure, it’s possible now. She’s only just turning three. But when she grows up and enters the real world, how do I keep her safe? How do I keep her from the fears of losing dying parents and friends and relatives, strangers that can harm her, bullies that will be jealous of her, boys? How do make her heart believe that she can overcome anything, especially losing loved ones…when I can’t feel that for myself? I fear that I will get sick and leave her and I feel terribly guilty for bringing her into this world to suffer the consequences of life. She didn’t ask for what life brings, she wasn’t involved in the decision to have her. But she will suffer in this life like we all do and I can not tolerate the fact that I did that to her.

I feel sorry that I don’t have the tools to teach her to survive. I am helpless and scared and fearful of so many things. I am not sure I can help her understand that life is wonderful (sometimes) and she should enjoy it for all it can give her. Every day is a gift, but how do I teach that to her when I don’t truly believe that? I am always waiting for the “other shoe to drop” and even when I am overjoyed, I am looking over my shoulder for evil and illness to take over.

How do I emerge above the conflict in my heart and help my daughter become powerful? How do I give her the strength to survive when I struggle to find it every day? How do I become the mother she deserves before I ruin her and send her to therapy for life?

These are the daily struggles I face.

After the love I feel for my daughter drowns me, after I envelope her in my arms and kiss her until she giggles and can’t breathe from joy. After I chase her around the house wanting to smooch her and hug her and tickle her neck just to hear that laugh. After we sing together to music we both love, after we dance around “like crazy people” in her bedroom. After I tuck her into bed for the night and I kiss her soft cheek and we tell each other we love each other and we are best friends forever, that’s when the struggle erupts inside me again and I have to suppress the fears so I can be her mother for another day.

I must resolve this conflict in order to be the “Mamma” she deserves. She is what keeps me going and she is what keeps my head free of fear. Because with those fears, I am stunted as a mother and she deserves so much more than that. One day, she will be a mother and she will understand what I am feeling. Until then, I must stay strong for her and teach her that she is wonderful and deserving of all the spectacular things that life has to offer…even if I don’t feel that about myself.

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.

I always feel better after a good 'ol shopping spree!

Hubby took Fa to his parent's house to swim in their pool and I'm all alone..in a good way. I thought I wouldn't know what to do with myself, but I figured it out, fast!

So, I went shopping. For nothing in particular. Wait, I lie. I really wanted these, so I went out to go get em! I was very happy they had my size and I didn't have to waste a trip to the shopping center. So that put me in an even better mood. I decided to look for clothes for Fa. (Because she's so deprived of everything, she really needs more summer clothes)

Then, I realized I had a gift certificate to Children's Place from Fa's birthday in December. I found some really cute summer styles on sale...A treat in itself because I NEVER find a sale item. Then, you're not gonna believe this; I had another gift certificate to Macy's from Christmas from Dad for makeup. I spent it all on Clinique and Benefit...I bought: This, and this (because I need some "plumping up") and this because I need to hide the suitcases under my eyes. I bought this in green and some of this in true Kakhi to try to make my "brown eyes green" and this because I needed it and the sales lady told me it was the best. I was so frickin' happy with all my purchases. It really put me in a great mood. See, all I really need in life is Fa and Hubby, some time to myself, a blog and some gift certificates! I don't ask for much. Really. I don't.

Score Another Hat Trick for This Girl

Well my “Hat Trick” is over for another year. Thank Christ, until next year, all fucking over again.

My Hat Trick returns like clockwork every year, without fail. I can always depend on it; like when Gretzky used to perform those amazing hat tricks regularly in a game... Yeah, well just not as graceful. Even if I think I may have forgotten it, it rears its ugly head when I least expect it. And I have nothing to do but live it out all over again. Year after year I guess, until Fa has her own “Hat Trick” of some sort.

It starts around the first week of April, when I stumble upon something to remind me that the 30^th of that month is my mom’s birthday. This year she would have been 65. The feeling begins like a sick stomach ache. It lasts for a few days and then I realize that it’s not really a stomach ache, it’s just April. I spend the rest of the month denying that it’s that time of year again and that feeling lasts until May. Mother’s Day.

I always seem to cry on Mother’s Day. I can’t help it. I just can’t enjoy it like I deserve to. I am too empty to be able to sit back and relax with my own daughter…the thoughts just keep making their way into my dizzy head. How many Mother’s Days do we have together really, before Fa is suffering the way I am now? This usually ends a few days after the actual day, once I have accepted the fact that I got through it without much incident. (Crying is the least of the many symptoms of the dreaded “Hat Trick”)

Then June sneaks up on me. I am always so happy for summer to come and the heavy coats to be put away for the season. Then before I can say “ice cream anyone?”, the 25^th rolls around. That’s the anniversary of her death. It always seems like I’m the only one who remembers because no one discusses it ever. It’s like some sort of taboo topic that if you bring up, you’ll be cursed into hell for eternity. However, if only they would acknowledge it, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to take. What’s so hard about saying; “You know what today is right? Damnit, I miss her so terribly.”

But I know. They haven’t forgotten, she was too amazingly wonderful to have anyone forget her. The day comes and goes and not a peep is uttered by anyone. Usually, I can depend on my Aunt to remember some hysterically funny thing that she might have said, cursed or done. That helps and I appreciate the effort to reminisce about happy times. But that’s the extent of it. The cemetery is bare. The area where she is seems cold and untouched. Every year when I go to see her, it feels like I was the last one there, from last year. Then, like a whip, June is over and my Hat Trick is too.

By this time Big D is about ready to slap me. I am so bitchy and annoyed by everything. I am very difficult to be around. I just wanna be left alone, but then I feel too lonely to carry out my own wishes. I cry at the drop of a hat and at pretty much anything Fa does. She just tears at my heartstrings on a daily basis anyway. When I start to feel like I’m losing her by every aging second, damn, I’m a mess. It so difficult to enjoy my life with her when I know the ending result won’t be a happy one for her. In the end, I’ll be gone and she’ll be left to fend for herself. That just doesn’t seem fair to me. Does it to you?

I guess I am satisfied that I made it through another year. A sigh of relief exits my entire body and soul. But shit man. I have been living this Hat Trick for 17 years now and it never gets any fucking easier! Especially since Fa came around; she has magnified the whole experience 10 fold. Every move we make as mother and daughter scratches deep into my core and I ache for my own mother, terribly. It is never easy even to get through a regular day. It just pelts away at my heart knowing that I don’t have my own mother there to ask questions, to bitch and complain to, to laugh with, to hug. There are times when I want to yell; “I want my mommy!!!” But no one hears me. Maybe my mother does, but I'll never know it for sure.

Oh damnit, It's July 2nd already! How did that happen? All I know is that it’s over. For now. See you next year.