SAHM

I went to my old job yesterday to bring my 'remain in child care' status up to date.

I miss it.

I miss the kids. The colleagues. The principal (A big sweetheart). The Assistant Principal (One tough cookie)...The happy hours.

The Provider is quick to remind me that I always get like this when I visit there. I tend to get misty-eyed and remember only the good stuff and forget all about the bad things like the report cards, parent teacher conferences, up the butt PTA members, homework, tests, standardized tests, meetings that are useless...all that crap I complained about on a constant loop when I worked there. Top it all off, usually, everyone is grumpy, on edge, antsy, overworked and ready for the end of year by this point. (It's a NYC school don't forget)

But when I go there for a few hours, everyone is happy to see me, they are smiling, they want to hear about The Girl, are genuinely joyous over my visit. I feel sad when I leave.

The thing that resonated in my brain during this visit in particular. The question. "Are you coming back?" Constantly, from every person I walked passed.

My answer, "No, not this year."...

And the response....."So, you're still a stay-at-home-mom."

Yeah, I am. Wanna make somethin' of it?

What is with people?

Just because they work (and they know full well, I enjoyed my job) doesn't mean I'm sad being a "SAHM"...The way they ask is like I have the plague or something. Like I contracted some mysterious illness. Their blank stares and pity for my decision is frightening.

The reaction, is of course mixed for the most part. 50% of the people are genuinely happy and jealous of my decision to stay home with The Girl because you never get these years back. And 50% think I'm nuts/How do I do it ALL DAY LONG?!

I don't know either some days. I do miss my job and my place in the world shaping little minds. But this job now is by far the hardest job I have ever had in my entire life. I'm shaping a little mind that I created myself. How important is that job? Really.

So, as I think back this morning about how much fun my old job is...I look forward to my current job as The Girl's Mamma with joy and love. I love being a "SAHM" and I wouldn't change it for all the paychecks in the world...

(Sorry Provider)

Second Home

My classroom always felt like my second home to me and to my students. It had to. I wasn't comfortable otherwise. I had bean bag chairs on the rug in the reading corner and pictures of all the students family members up on the walls (including my own). We had rules and schedules to follow but it was all pretty cool and together.

My kids and I were comfortable and learning and communicating and it always felt like they were a part of me for the 10 months that I had them all to myself. We were respectful and cooperative (most of the time) and we tried very hard to be 'good citizens' in our classroom and school community.

I looked forward to going to our classroom and spending quality learning time in there. It was ours. We respected it and tried to keep it pretty. (As pretty as you could get in a NYC classroom...grey concrete isn't always that luscious.)

Once in a while, we'd have a practice fire drill where we'd have to line up quickly and evacuate the premises as quickly and quietly as we could. It was all very routine for all of us. We had it down to a science. But if faced with the rush of a real fire, would we be able to evacuate safely?

I always had the Columbine Tragedy etched in my memory. It was still a fresh wound in our teaching-hearts. And it made me more aware of the terrible things that people do in desperation. But this was my home. Nothing could happen in my home.

Early one morning, I was called by my principal on the "bat phone" (we used to call it)...He spoke calmly and asked me to please remain calm while he asked me if I had any family in the Twin Towers. I calmly uttered 'no' while he quickly instructed me to act as if nothing was wrong and to please close the window shades and doors and keep the kids calm and IN THE ROOM. (The towers were visible from MY room.) No bathroom trips, no unexpected trips to the yard for an art experiment and no discussing the collapse and attack of the first Tower.

I remained calm. It was all too surreal to act any differently.

I only knew these kids as my own for one and a half days. It was first period and we were right in the middle of a "Getting to Know You Conference". We were all sitting on the floor with the desks shoved in the corners. Giggling and laughing about one kid's pet Chinchilla and his dust baths. Then the shit hit the fan.

People running through the hallways and talking loudly in a panicked tone prompted the kids to question the commotion. (They were sixth graders and street smart..they knew something was up). I waited until word from my Principal to say anything and while immigrant kids were being escorted out of the building by extremely frightened parents, I began to discuss the matter as openly and calmly as I could with the kids. It was scary.

We had an emergency assembly with the remaining students and had to wait until about 6pm until all the kid's parents were present and accounted for. Surprisingly 'only' one little kindergartener lost her Daddy that day in the entire school. (One too many in our school family)

We were in a state of panic.

After that. It just wasn't ever the same.

Emergency lock downs were practiced and bomb drills were rehearsed on a weekly basis. They are not the same as a fire drill I assure you.

Locking two classroom doors, covering all the windows and remaining mouse-quiet with 30+ children at the back of the room while you wait for the 'secret code' to come over the loudspeaker to let you know the intruder is out of the building or being detained is scary stuff. That I can promise you.

Yes, they were only drills. However, they were constant reminders that things have changed. The once homey classroom felt like a prison that we couldn't escape in the clutches of terror if need be.

I saw the kids differently after that. They had their own lives to live and families to protect them. Who was I? I was just a scared and newly-wed woman who wanted to go home to her own family, but whose responsibility was to protect her young charges. Could I? If faced with such a tragedy as the other day at VA Tech., could I protect my students if their life depended on it?

I pray that I could.

I send all of my love to those families from Virginia. And those brave and honorable teachers who lost their lives trying to protect their students. In an institution that is supposed to be a safe-haven and a second home, it was invaded and lives were taken. I am reeling.

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.

I curse therefore, I am.

So what?

But, Kate got me ta thinkin'. She is trying very hard to curb her colorful language and I think that's a great idea. For her. I see her points about cursing in front of the kids and I wish her all the luck in the world. I admire her for admitting she has to try to stop. I know it will be difficult because I have a mouth like a drunken, pirate hooker. I do. Big D thinks I do it to get a rise out of him. I really don't.

Some say it's a lack of vocabulary skills, I disagree. I have a fantastic vocabulary and I am a phenomenal speller (not typer).

Others would argue that foul language is a bad example for children. I can agree, somewhat. I mean I didn't curse at or in front of my past students and I try hard to curb my expletives in front of other people's kids. I slip up occasionally, but not usually. But, it's not my job to teach other kids how to curse...let their parents do it.

When I'm home or comfortable or just being 'me'. I swear, I curse, I use foul language. I do.

Fa hears it. I feel a tad bit bad for it, for a split-second. She is young and impressionable and hears Every-Thing! She repeats things. Then, we giggle. We igonore it. We say that Mommy says bad things and she shouldn't. But it's me, and I can't help it. And it really is funny to hear her say "R crapped in his crate again." or "We hafta throw my shit in the toilet."

When I am in public, she sometimes asks if she could "touch my bosoms" because we always say "Don't touch Ma' Bosoms!" when we are joking around. We laugh. I "bite her arse" and play "babbaloo on her bum". She breaks out in hysterics. We use 'funny' language as a tension release when she is tantrumming and I say; "Aw, cut the crap!" She cracks up.

When I'm mad I say, "oh shit" or "fuck!" or "Damnit to all that is hell" or even "Your mother's balls". When I am happy I say; "hell yeah" or "Hot damn" or "Wholly fuck" I have even been known to say; "Shit on my rake and call me Uncle" or "Slap my monkey and call him Shitburger" or my all time favorite "Balls"... We pee ourselves with hysterics. When someone cuts me off on the road, I call him an asshole or a prick. I may even give him the finger. Well, what else should I say? "Oh, snufflepuffs, you cut me off dear lad...I'm so sorry sir, was I in your way? I promise not to ever be in your lane ever again." (fucking shit head) That pisses me off. Oh wait, I'm sorry, That really burns my britches. Is that better? It may sound better to your average prude but I don't talk that way, and Fa will know the difference.

Cursing is so benign in the grand scheme of things. There are other worse things I could be doing. Crack comes to mind. Cursing lets us laugh and be silly. It helps to get out emotions. It lets each other know we mean business.

Admit it, home is where we can be ourselves. Fa has to learn that there is a time and a place for everything. This goes for kissing, hugging, arguing, cursing and even farting...another joy in life. She has to know that she can't call her teacher a fuckface just because she is one. Face it. When someone says "fuck you, fucker" it stings. Words hurt, curse words too. So she needs to be taught the acceptable platforms that allow you use such language. She needs to learn when and where to use these colorful words.

We learn to be polite, to hold back, to speak our minds. We learn not to pick our noses, we learn not to eat with our hands. We also should learn curse etiquette. I curse at home. I also use other ways to express joy, anger and sorrow. But cursing just feels good. I curb my tongue out of the house only because others have this mentality that 'cursing is bad' or 'cursing is evil' and I am raising the 'froo-its of evil' by cursing in front of her. C'mon. I learned when to curse (from my mother), so will she. My mother also taught me about "the birds an the bees" with a very cut and dry demeanor. That's for another post. Stay tuned.

Fa's only going to be 3 but she hasta learn some time. Should I wait until she's in school and some shitty kid is cursing at her and totally freaking her out? No, I'll arm her with some witty comebacks, good vocabulary and a little colorful language to spark things up and if any little prick decides to be mean, she'll put them right in their place. It will take trial and error. I'll probably get some phone calls from school. Then I'll meet with with principal and tell her that we do have alternative ways to express ourselves and Fa and I will work on them. And on my way out of the office I'll call her a douchebag under my breath. I truly believe that cursing is a way of life. My life especially. And if Fa decides she hates foul language, than more power to her.

We should embrace colorful words and let cursing be. The more we try to hide it, the more taboo it becomes and then Fa will really be looking for ways to use it. Now, I'm not going to be able to keep her away from all things taboo. I know that. And I surely wouldn't give her drugs or teach her how to inhale to show her the dangers of drug addiction. But, I will have to teach her about healthy choices and making smart decisions. Is cursing such a bad decision?

Oh, Fuck it!

With or Without Me

My Beautiful Flower,

You had such a ball at school today, I am so proud of you. It was your first time in a new school (Mommy & Me) and you enjoyed it thoroughly. You walked right into the new classroom even though I wasn’t ready to go in yet. I was unpacking our things in the hallway and you went right to the teacher and said “Hi!”. You moseyed on into the room and surveyed your new surroundings. I walked in to find you already comfortable at the water table. (Sorry about that, I didn’t bring a change of clothes!) You spent most of your time there but you were just as happy when other kids came to play with you. This is something new with you. You like other kids now. You still have a hard time taking things from others and giving things to others, but you do not shy away like you used to.

You were brave and tall and you played right along side the other kids the entire day. It is such a pleasure for me to watch you interact with others. I know how difficult it was for you at first. Last year, you would not have been so brave and so independent. You would have clung to my leg and even cried to go home. Not today beauty. You enjoyed your time in school.

You painted at the easel with red and yellow paint and you were so proud at your new discovery...Orange. 

The teacher eyed your painting and you puffed up with pride from her compliments. I am sure you felt great about her noticing your beautiful art work, I saw it in the sparkle in your eyes.

You also painted with "dots" and you loved it. You adore the different colored bottles of paint and you even love lining the bottles up in a row. The play-doh wasn’t a gigantic hit with you today, maybe because it was home-made and you’re used to the commercial brand. But you held out until snack. I’m sorry you didn’t like the snack selection today. I never knew you hated pretzels that much. Oh well, maybe Monday they’ll have something you like.

I’m sorry we couldn’t go straight into the basement-play area when you wanted to. I know it’s hard to wait for something you really, really want. But once again, you held out like the patient girl you are until the story was read and the songs were sung. I know singing and dancing in public is not your greatest joy, but you liked watching the other crazy kids jumping around like different animals. I thought you liked hopping like a frog. You do it in your room every night! We’ve gone through every animal movement in your bedroom, you just hate doing it in a crowd. What’s with you and crowds anyway? What am I asking you that for? I’m the same exact way. You hate them, so do I. Too much for the senses, I get it.

The basement was the highlight of your day. That sparkle came back to your eyes when we got there! You were so excited; you didn’t know where to go first. You drove the cars and filled their bellies up with gas and made sure they were happy. You played with ‘Thomas the Train’ and the race cars and even the sand table. I love that you tried to ride the gigantic tricycles but you were too small to reach the pedals. Maybe by May you’ll reach them. If not, there’s always next year.

You taught me something again today beauty. I am always amazed at how you can continue to teach me when I am supposed to be teaching you. You taught me that you know I am always there for you. Even when I am out of sight, you know I have your back. You taught me that you are brave enough to explore a new surrounding with or without me near. I watched you play so independently and have great fun in your new school, and I also watched you keeping an eye out for me even when I wasn’t so close. I saw that you can do it alone and that you are capable of so many things! I also see that you are glad when you see me near you and you are happy when I wave to show you I’m there. I see how fiercely independent you are becoming and I don’t ever want to take that away from you. However my love, it is a bittersweet notion to see that you will be okay with or without me.

That being said, I will always be here for you, I am happy you know that. I will help you whenever you need it. I will happily watch you grow more independent and I will take pride in the fact that you are so strong. I may not always be with you when you have to make decisions but I sure hope that I will be leading your heart to take the smart direction. Mommy will always be in your heart. After all, you are Mommy’s heart forever.

Out of all the little girls in the world, I got the very best one!

I love you forever,

Mamma

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.

Unda 18

No, that's not how old I wish I was again. (I'd never do that again, even for a Billion Dooooollaaaaars...pinky to mouth)

That is a drainage therapy that I have started as of yesterday. I went back to the chiropractor/homeopathic therapist yesterday and she said my whole body is "out of whack". Literally.

She has begun the process of adjusting my spine back to normal again (I am quite crooked) and she started me on the detoxing treatments. I also have a very restricted diet to remove all possibilities of anything adding toxins to my body. I can only eat the foods that she tested on me that don't irritate my body right down to the cellular level. I have been surviving on these foods ...an issue, but they are making me feel crummy so I guess, I'll just hafta adjust. Today, I can not have coffee..(I plan on having one cup at breakfast or I WILL DIE), no vegetables at all or any root veggie, no wheat, oats, rye, (any carb...ugh), dairy and hardly any fruit.
On the positive side, I can eat:

• water
• blueberries
• chicken
• turkey
• all rice products
• any beans including green beans
• sweet potato (yay, love those)
  
• eggs
• UNDA 18

Finito. That's it. I can survive on that, but oh so frickin' borink!

I have also explained to her that I am thinking of going back to antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds but I wanted to try something homeopathic first. That is her specialty. So, she is starting this with me as well as chiropractic and physical therapy. N.E.T is very new to me, so I am very interested in its healing properties. I hope this works. I guess, just being excited about something is a first step, huh? It is quite an interesting process. I'm still learning about it as the treatments continue.

I know initially, I am going to feel like I am detoxing drugs out of my system. I am already starting to have withdrawals. Seriously. It feels like you are getting sick, before you actually start to feel great. I've done the detox thing before and it sucks big beans during the initial stages but once you are clean, you can even see better. It is amazing. I am looking forward to that. At least I know this crappy feeling only lasts a few days, until the hurtful shit it out of your system. The good feeling lasts a whole lot longer. The last time I detoxed was over a year ago, and now I'm doing it again. That's a pretty long time. For me, anyway.

So wish me luck. I am already starting to crave caffeine...Starbucks? Shit, no.

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.

A New Study

A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.For example: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.However, if she is menstruating, or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple and a bat jammed up his ass while he is on fire.Further studies are expected.


This just might be my most frickin' favorite e-mail ever received.
`TL