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8.28.2006

OMG

Blogger... just. Ack. Blogger fucking sucks, BIGTIME.

Spent so much time writing entry.

And. Lost. It.

The entire fucking entry. (Note to self: stop using the word fuck so much. It's unladylike).

So annoyed. And the bad thing is that is what I was writing about, my annoyance from last week and how peeved I was at mankind, er, dadkind. Right now I'm of the opinion that they aren't worth crap. (Okay so I am always of that opinion, but still...) It bothers me that some baby daddies *read: my babies' daddy* get off so damned easy when it comes to parenting. And I realize, yes, that this isn't limited to single moms. Hell there are married women with the exact same gripe. Dads just don't pull their weight when it comes to taking care of the kids.

Case in point: Thurday night we attended the orientation at our 5 year olds school. Upon entering the auditorium there are tables stacked with folders, organized according to grade and last name, chock full of paperwork for the parents to fill out. He picked up the folder for our kid and took a seat.

And that, my friends, sums up his contribution for the evening.

Jaalyn was hyper as hell, eager to run amok like her other rambunctious classmates and also proud of her big sisterdom and wanted to show off. Needless to say she was off the fucking wall (damn, not supposed to say fuck am I?). So I'm trying to reign her in and juggle Trinity on my shoulder and go through the mass of paperwork in the folder (who's idea was it to create so many damned forms? You think she was entering a foreign exchange program overseas, not kindergarten) and I'm visibly struggling not just with patience, but with the wiggly infant who decides hey let's see just how loudly my voice can echo inside a room with cathedral ceilings and the papers that are sliding out of the folder, off my lap and onto the floor only to be trod upon by Jaalyn who thinks that now is the perfect time for a great impression of Riverdance. And seated beside me is baby daddy who neither offers a hand, a pen, a tranquilizer gun... nothing.

I'm like would it kill you to offer to fill out a form?

Do I have to ask you (three times but who's counting) for a pen when obviously I am going to need one you fucktard.

Did he offer to take the baby so I can fill out the forms (the Enron executive defense teams filled out less paperwork, my God)? No.

So there I sit, perched on the edge of the horrid metal chair, baby nestled in the crook of my left arm, bottle chunked in her mouth held in place by my chin, folder resting precariously on right knee held in place by my right hand as I attempt to write legibly on my "Sure- go-ahead-and-check-my-credit-and-background-from-the-time-of-my-conception-til-now-Volunteer-form" that NO I haven't commited a crime of any nature unless you count the homicide I'm about to commit in the next 10 seconds to the clueless fucking moron seated right beside me who dared to get huffy with me when I dared ask him his goddamned street address.

But I digress (not that there isn't more to this tale). My point is that although I'm controlling by nature, sometimes I'd like a little help every once in a while. A little courtesy. I'm beginning to wish I could be dad for a change you know? Let my responsibility and worries end with the check I drop off each month, come by once or twice a week for an hour or so to play with the kids and then go off and do my own thing; or complain to the tired, overwrought baby mama who just spent the last 9 weeks being shit on, peed on, spit up upon, pulled on, and scratched - the same woman that can't even go to the bathroom by herself, let alone take a shower every couple of days, or eat a meal with out a moray eel of an infant hanging on her every second of the day - that I'm not getting enough "me" time.

And yes, he did actually make that statement over dinner (that he was able to eat hot, I ate mine cold once he finished but that's beside the point, no?). And yes he was rewarded with an incredulous stare from me. HE gets no "me" time??? He's involved in two flag football leagues, a softball league, goes to the gym, has no one to care for daily except himself, can nap, shit, eat, read, whatever without a care in the world...

But has no time to himself.

This is why I will never, ever own a gun. When faced with people like that... ooh the temptation... Instead I solace myself with the fact that I may not get an ounce of "me" time but I get something far greater.


But, what I wouldn't do for a grilled steak served with a chilled glass of merlot, a good book and some peace and quiet once in a while.

8.24.2006

Anger. Delerium. Sleepdom...

Men have to be the most useless creatures on the effin' planet.

Fathers in particular.

When you need help the most, they stare stupidly into space for a few seconds then give you a look that says "why can't you handle it?"

This is why there are homicides. Moms pushed past the brink of insanity seeking to end moronic behavior.

I was on the cusp of insanity. Only the fact that we were in a building housed between a church and active convent saved him. Although in retrospect, I could have killed him and eulogized him by merely walking next door. As it were, the heat from my gaze practically cremated him on the spot.

More on this tomorrow. Tired. Need... sleep. Probably won't get any.

P.S. Am sexy. So, so sexy. I wore heels and bared massive cleavage in the presence of nuns.

Naughty girl am I.

8.23.2006

Baby, I'm back

Watch out world, the bitch is back. With a vengeance.

I haven't felt so much like myself in so long. It's good to be back.

You know, on my birthday I felt so, well, sad. I felt awful. I felt fat, ugly, useless, unloved and unwanted. Much of that had to do with my mother and her constant criticism and comments. Much also had to do with some deep rooted issues I thought I'd put to rest long ago. Evidently I didn't kill those self deprecating thoughts; I merely masked them and moved on as if they never existed. But the depths of my depression caused them to resurface and as I lay in my bed staring at my ceiling I allowed my mind to wander and stared those thoughts, feelings and fears in the face.

Dude. So. Not. Pretty.

As is my wont, I typically spend the eve of my birthday pondering all that I've accomplished in the last year and what improvements I could make in my life. This time was a bit different considering I was depressed to begin with. This time I pushed the depression aside and you know what?

Life ain't half bad.

January 22, 2005 I wept for the loss of my child. Once I overcame my sense of loss and fear I made the decision to try once more to have a baby and succeeded on the first (albeit quick) try. June 21, 2006 I celebrated the life of a new child. In between the loss of my second child and the birth of my third I changed alot and I became stronger.

8.18.2006

8 weeks…

A letter to my youngest daughter:

You’ve been a part of my life since your conception last October. You’ve held onto my heart for 8 weeks and two days. As cliché as it sounds, before your arrival I just couldn’t imagine how you would fit into my already full life. How would I be able to love another child when my love was already steadfastly set in Jaalyn? I was prepared to like you of course; but the sweeping love from the moment I saw you slide out totally caught me off guard.

We’ve gone from this…



To this…



And now….



You’re so much like your sister, yet so completely different. Your personality, your temperament, even the way we bond is so distinctly different from what I‘d been accustomed to. Your face, your expressions, your hair… all so much like my own and Jaalyn’s yet so completely you. Love everything about you from those precious folds of skin over your eyes to the deliciously fat rolls in the back of your meaty thighs…



to the outie belly button you’ve been sporting since your surgery that seems light-years ago. The kissable toes, the kissable nose and all those chins… *sigh* my God is it possible to love you more than I do?

As I did with your sister I promise to do my best in raising you. I promise not to fuck you up the way my parents did me. I promise to always be here for you, no matter what; I’ll never, ever leave you.

And one more thing I desperately want you to know. I promise Mama won’t always be this sad sack of a woman that she is now. I’m not normally this dismal, short tempered, weeping shell of my former self. I will recover. For your sake and mine.

And Jaalyn?



Mama loves you even more than before. I’m so proud of your sisterly attitude and your outpourings of love and (smothering) affection for your new sibling. To you I also make the vow that I will bounce back.
Otherwise you might fall prey to becoming a daddy’s girl.



And I can’t have that now can I?

8.15.2006

Two loves and a like...

Doing my bestest to move away from the PPD subject for at least a day...

Oh my God I'm beginning to show qualities of being human. Not just human, but distinctly female. Heaven help me. This reigning Ice Queen can feel something melting the frost on her heart. Ugh.

Admittedly, I'm lonely. I sit, day-in and day-out at home with an infant. In the evenings I'm with an infant and a 5 year old and maybe baby daddy. Baby daddy is my sole link with the adult world these days, not counting the fucked up parental units whom I'll describe another time. I crave affection and attention and.. dare I say it? Love. And not just the love of anyone willing to toss it my way, it's the love of specific individuals that I crave.

Dude, this is SO not me.

I went through something similar when I was preggers. I was totally in love with a guy from the job. I'm still completely in love with him (and I hate the fact that I am). The problem? He's got someone already and for once in my life for some reason I want to take the high road and not be second. Odd considering I never had a problem being a jump-off before; it suited me fine in the past. But this time... I dunno. It gets to me. And odder still... it's not that I don't want to be second fiddle for anyone. I don't want to be second for him. I want to be the first and foremost, the one and only. And I have never, EVER been that way before. I'm probably the most relaxed girlfriend a guy could ever ask for. So why the sudden change in me? I haven't the slightest. When I was pregnant I put it off as hormones making me crazy. Now I'm not as pumped with hormones and...? I dunno. Maybe it's because I'm older and more possessive. I've become more possessive since becoming a single parent and an ex-wife. Total "what's mine is mine" mentality. And, maybe, just maybe I'm starting to resent being second. It's a change of perspective. Before I would think "Ha, he may go home to her at night but I'm the one he craves." Now it's "I'm the one he craves but he goes home to her at night?" It's gotten so that every man that used (note the past tense) to hit on me is always married/involved. After awhile you begin to wonder, damn... am I not good enough to be number one?

Anyway, with that particular guy, the point was that he already has someone and it bugs me to no end. Alright, fine I'll be totally honest and admit it envokes an uncharacteristic *ahem* jealousy in me. Scares the crap out of me that I feel this way for anyone other than my kids. I hate it with a passion.

Enter Love #2: the guy I love from afar. I see him at his job all the time. We talk, we laugh, I have strong feelings for him, he has strong feelings for me, so why not make something of it? He's actually single, he has no kids but is great with them, he has a good work ethic, multiple jobs... I love him dearly, I don't even think he realizes it. He's expressed an interest in going on to be more than just friends and I can't do it. He's young, well, younger than me; I think I have him by at least 6 or more years. I don't have patience for young men. Their enthusiasm is cute. I swear a week after meeting he declared his love. Total Romeo + Juliet style. Then the phone calls started coming 12 times a day, the "I can't bear to be apart from you", "I love you, do you love me" and all that. So cute, so smothering... and yet I liked it. But at the time I also felt that I could not handle commitment. To a certain extent I still feel that way. I just don't put much stock into committed relationships. I don't know of a single on where both parties are faithful to one another.

If you can't be committed in a committment, what's the point?

So, having hurt his feelings, he keeps his distance from me. Enter "Like":

This one surprisingly is the one I can actually see myself suffering with, through thick and thin, good and bad (and worse), till the cold clammy hand of death parts us (don't get it twisted, I do NOT mean marriage).

Baby Daddy.

We've been good friends for the entire time we've known one another. He's my familiar and we make a good team. We can carry on intellectual conversations, share common interests, of course we have the kids... yet I'm still bitter from the past years of horror, despite knowing that it won't ever be repeated. I do love him, he's one of my closest friends and the father of my girls. In love? Eh... no. Nothing would make him happier than a reconciliation. So why not try and make it work? Again, the commitment statement from above comes into play. I cannot say I would be faithful. I love sex. I love exploring the different facets of sex. With him, I am not satisfied. Plain and simple. I refuse to be one of those people that go into a relationship knowing full well that they won't be faithful. I am unsure that I could adapt to a life of intimacy frustration. But, I dunno, maybe he'd be a little more adventurous now than he was back then. Doubtful.

And then my good old man hating self says that I love my independence, I revel in my singledom and I'm just fine with it thank you very much. And then a small voice in the back of my mind says very softly:

liar.

8.11.2006

writing topics

fucked up parental units. mommy dearezt trinity's appt. my two loves and one like

Was going to do so many posts on how well I've been doing lately. Hadn't been feeling oppressed, I laughed, smiled, everything was good. Then suddenly around the same time every evening I would crash and the gloom would settle upon me. Now today I feel the same way I did before; been feeling gloomy and morose all day long. Still, I feel that some progress has been made and some is better than none. On a somewhat comforting level I've been reading about other moms who've experienced been through PPD too so I know, and always knew, that I'm not alone in this. The only way my situation differs is that I'm alone in this. I've no husband to lean on, no support system established, no one to really relieve me when I feel that it's just too much for me to handle I'm one step away from destruction. Nope. I'm just flying solo. But just as the time period after I'd had Jaalyn, I'll make it through. Each day I know I'm stronger and that much closer to the end of it. I constantly remind myself that this is a temporary thing, it's finite. Like labor pains, those bad boys hurt like a motherfucker but a laboring mom has to keep in mind that no matter how bad it gets, it does end. No one ever labored forever. This too shall pass.



In the meantime I've been absorbing myself with past hobbies and obsessions. I'm making progress again with my genealogy research and I'm thrilled. I'm taking more of an interest in my house other than the God-I-want-to-toss-every-damned-thing-into-the-street-and-start-over approach. I want to make my home my refuge and hopefully with the help of a careful layaway plan and my Ikea obsession I can do just that. The way I figure it, I need to begin anew with a clean slate (this is the same approach I took when I pulled out of my depression after having Jaalyn). I've got to clean house, not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. Should be fun... root canal fun.

Speaking of fun in a fucked up fashion, Trinity had her 2 month check up today. All the nurses reconfirmed what I already knew: baby daddy and I create the most gorgeous children EVAH. She's 10lb, 5 oz and I have no idea how long. I just know she's in the 25th percentile for length, 50th for weight and 50th for head circumference. Doc says I have good milk apparently because Trinity has already started to roll over from back to tummy and of course that means she's a genius (her words, honest). I did get fussed at for not taking care of myself, meaning I need more than a pop tart and three bites of food to sustain my life form. Another big forehead slapping DUH for me because my stupid ass had been wondering why my milk supply seemed to be decreasing. On the plus side, Trinity's eczema is getting much, much better. The stitch that had been poking through her belly button was yanked out by the pediatric surgeon yesterday. And she got 4 shots, that's right FOUR, in those meaty thighs this morning.



Proof that the day's events are too much for the little one. Can we say stressed?

8.09.2006

ARGH!

Tell me why I shouldn't make a nice furry throw rug out of the cat?



Stupid bitch was attacking a bird outside the window.

8.03.2006

A new day

Well Trinity and I made it to the doctor's office the other day, albeit late, and her skin diagnosis revealed a combo of baby acne (normal), eczema, and the beginnings of cradle cap (also normal). Damn her father and his sensitive skin/stomach/everything genes. Orders are to discontinue use of Johnson's baby products (big forehead slap because I ought to have remember this tip from when Jaalyn suffered from eczema) as they are not kind to, uh, pigmented skin; I also have to monitor the types of soaps I use, whether it's facial, body, or detergent soaps; bathe her every other day with Dove Sensitive Skin soap and moisturize with Eucerin lotion (which I personally detest and find useless). Other than all that, Miss Trin is healthy as a short, fat horse.

Soo... I went to the doctor yesterday and guess what? The doctor I was going to see is my OB/GYN, the good ole 6 week checkup and guess what?! Guess what fucking showed up the morning of said appointment? Just take a WILD guess... I got my fucking period folks. The period that should not be. I mean everything I've read, all the people I've talked to, they all say the same thing: if you breastfeed you don't have a period. And what shows up the very day I'm due to get hand in cooch? I mentioned it to the nurse and she gave me a puzzled "Really? Wow. And you say you're breastfeeding?" The doctor gave me a similar response adding with a shrug "well, it's not like it's a bad thing". Like hell it ain't. Today I've got cramps to boot. No wonder I've been in such a rage for no real reason. I haven't had a period in so long I forgot the damned symptoms of having it. The backaches, lack of appetite, breakouts and chocolate cravings (I swear I'm living off coffee and chocolate these days)... they all pointed to classic PMS. Big fat DUH! award goes to yours truly.

Anyway, got everything checked out, scheduled my appointment to have my IUD placed, showed off my baby that everyone agrees is absolutely gorgeous and talked to the doctor about postpartum depression. She give me a sample box of medication and a prescription for more after I complete the 2 week sampler. I asked her about a different medication that I heard was safe for breastfeeding moms and she expressed horror and touted the brand she had handed me. So upon do a wee bit of research on WebMD I discovered this little gem:

"This medication passes into breast milk and may have undesirable effects on a nursing infant. Therefore, breast-feeding is not recommended while using this drug. Consult your doctor before breast-feeding."

And looking on the drug's actual website I see this:

Can I use Lexapro if I am breast feeding?

Patients should be advised to notify their physician if they are breast feeding an infant. Lexapro, like many other medicines, is excreted in breast milk. Therefore, the doctor and patient must decide whether to continue or discontinue either nursing or Lexapro therapy. The decision to continue Lexapro therapy should take into account the risks for the infant and the benefits of Lexapro treatment for the mother.


So I am back to where I started. I was hoping for a quick fix to the situation, a magic pill to make everything better and apparently there isn't one. This means I have to fight the depression on my own which is pretty damned scary. I mean if I don't win the battle... what happens?

I'm trying to ward off the usual feelings of self pity and dejection by throwing myself into my old hobbies and interests; primarily geneology. I fired off a few emails to the Catholic Diocese of Richmond (school division) to see if they can locate my father's old school records from when he attended Van de Vyver school in the 1950s and I've a couple of other ideas to help me get over the roadblock I hit a few months back. So... so far so good today, but it's only 11:30 a.m. We shall see...

p.s. I had some pictures to upload but Blogger is acting fucking retarded and I'm losing patience. Will add them later.

8.01.2006

Not Good

I am slowly, no make that rapidly losing what little sanity I have left. This morning I found out Jaalyn hit yet another child yesterday, the cat barfed twice at the top of the staircase, there’s a faint scent of spoiled milk coming from somewhere in my room but I can’t locate the source of it, and Trinity went on a I’m spoiled/please hold me even though you have mounds of work to get done and a report due today crying spree.

The crying jag is what set me off. No matter what I did she cried her ass off simply because she wanted to be held and she was fighting sleep. And the scary thing was that at one point I was looking at her screaming in her swing thinking, I can totally see how babies get shaken to death. They cry and cry and cry and all you want is for them to shut up so you can do whatever stupid ass thing you were doing yet they continue to wail at the most inopportune times. I didn’t shake her. I buried my head in my arms and closed my eyes. I let her cry until I could get myself together, when I was sure that I wouldn’t do anything rash, when I was certain I could respond to her lovingly. When I did pick her up and set her on my lap facing me her eyes were puffy and red and her cheeks were wet with tears… just like mine. When I kissed her forehead I could taste the salt from when she’d cried so hard for so long she broke into a sweat.

I got up, went and turned the a/c a little lower, grabbed a snack and settled back into my desk chair with Trinity in the crook of my arm. Work and deadlines be damned. I read another mom’s blog for a while and when I next looked at my baby she’d passed out from exhaustion.



So now at noon I begin my day: my assload of work to get done, the leotard I have to locate and wash for Jaalyn’s ballet class this evening, the clothing to locate and iron before Trinity’s doctor appointment at 2:45. And somehow through it all I hope to at least squeeze in a hot shower and a much needed cup of coffee.


And goddammit all to hell, she's waking up again.