In My Dreams

So, I got sidetracked this morning...That's what I get for obsessing over Statcounter...

I had a really scary dream last night. Anyone out there who interprets dreams?..I need you.

It's fuzzy still but I woke up many times during the night, scared shit. And it wasn't because of BD's snoring 'sawing wood'...That noise can wake the dead!

I was in a dark, wood cabin. It was buried deep in the woods. Lots of trees covered in snow. It was dark. I wasn't cold. But it was snowing, crisp and snowing. I recall looking up to the night sky to see the stars and a full moon shining down on me.

I was with a family. Not sure if it was my blood family or another family. I think I was staying with a family. Not my own.

They were all vampires. Beautiful vampires. They were gorgeous women with flowing dark hair, bright red lips and sharp fangs. The men were unbearably handsome, long-haired and shirtless...(yum.) Hey, even in my dreams I know a hot guy when I see one... I was unaware that they were indeed vampires. But they turned into them slowly. Like it was a natural event. They were trying to get me to become a vampire too...It wasn't gruesome. It wasn't gory. But I was scared shitless.

They were all telling me secrets about each other to get me to turn against the other. I was confused. But I listened to every one and then I remember feeling strange when I saw the person I knew the secret about. It was so uncomfortable. Like I didn't belong in my own skin.

I couldn't escape. It was too far into the woods. I couldn't make a phone call, or get this...send an e-mail. They kept me locked in the house, not tied up or restrained, but I couldn't escape.

Every time I woke up, it was like I was still under the dream's spell and I'd fall back asleep and continue the SAME dream. It went on 3-4 times. Until I thought I heard Fa calling me softly..."Mo-mmy!"...."Mo-mmy!"..."Mo-mmy!"

I finally woke with a start and jumped out of bed. I'm not sure if she was really calling me or if it was still in the dream. Because she was still quiet when I peeked in on her.

Ugh. I can't get it outta my head.

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.

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!

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?

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.