It’s not that I’m bitter. I’m not. But you must know that one day you will know what I know. You’ll feel what I feel and experience all that I have. You’ll know the exhaustion from being up all hours of the night for weeks in a row, feeling feverish brows, poking thermometers under arms and up rectums. The tiredness that comes from rising early and bedding down late, from trying in vain to keep a moderately tidy home and semi-clean kids and clothing. You’ll know what it’s like to crave just a little bit, even a half hour, of quiet time for yourself. A time where you aren’t being suckled, poked, prodded or blessedly hugged or ceaselessly questioned. A time when you don’t have to wipe noses, mouths or butts repeatedly. A time when you aren’t raising your voice trying in vain to get a little one to lower theirs. Just a moment of time and space where you can collect your thoughts and sip a scalding hot coffee or nicely chilled wine in peace. Someday you’ll know the frustration of having the “other” walk out on you time and time again leaving you with dishes piled high, children sick and feverish, homework undone, bags unpacked, chores left undone while they go off on their own excursions because they “need a break”.
Seven days a week I work and I run and I run and I run. I get no time to myself, not even for base needs. I have either someone in my arms when I pee or someone walking in to tell me something that absolutely cannot wait.

MamaRage

My child's father drove across town with my oldest child in the backseat. Nothing extraordinary about that statement except this:

He was drunk.

You got it. Drunk. He drove after having way more than a few too many while visiting my father. I don't know who to be pissed at more; him for being drunk and then driving; my dad for getting him drunk and allowing him to drive; or me for being in a bitchy mood, wanting Jaalyn out of my hair and allowing her to go with her dad on his visit to my dad's house knowing that normally they crack open a bottle of homemade wine and shoot the breeze... except that I suppose I gave baby daddy too much credit because I naturally assumed he wouldn't imbibe since he had his GODDAMNED DAUGHTER IN THE FUCKING CAR WITH HIM.

*ahem*

Sorry, lost the calmness for a moment.

I should've guessed what was going on. I should've seen the signs from the umpteen times he called me to say that "everything's just fine" while he was seated in my parents kitchen. I should've known from his slightly slurred speech. I should've known when I asked him how many have you had and he hesitated before answering "...two. But I won't be having anymore because, you know, got the kid and all..."

But I definitely knew when he came in the door practically in tears because he dropped Jaalyn's milkshake on the ground by accident. I knew when he got really angry with me for pointing out that he was more upset than she. I knew when he placed the plate of food my dad packed for me upside down on the countertop. I knew when he told Jaalyn ten times that he loved her and would talk to her tomorrow. I knew when he followed her into the bathroom to say goodbye (forgetting about the 10 times prior) and despite Jaalyn's emphatic "Um, excuse me daddy I need to get some toilet paper" he insisted on hugging her to death and repeated his outpouring of love for her. I knew when he attempted three times to unlock the already unlocked front door so he could go outside. And I knew from the way he avoided coming anywhere near me, knowing I would smell the alcohol on him and once I overcame my shock I'd punch him full in the face.

Just wait til I see him next.

Puppy Luv

Remember Love#2? Remember I said he should be called Infatuation of the Moment (IotM)? Consider him thus. He's a love. He really is. So sweet, so handsome and so fucking young it's ridiculous. I mean young in the mind, not just in years.

Believe me when I say I am a patient woman. I can easily sit on the floor and play any number of monotonous and repetitive childrens' make-believe games. I can sit through the droning talk of the elderly and the occasional sermon when I haul my heathen tail into a church. But, when it comes to those that are younger than me? Fresh out of the teenage stage and into early adulthood? No patience.

The youthful exuberance is still there. And that I think is cute, albeit annoyingly so. His willingness to fall so (SO!) deep in love with me... and probably anything that crosses his path. But, after a while (okay, the first 10 minutes) that youthful exuberance grated on my nerves. Within the first few phone calls I'm setting guidelines like "No, I won't let you screw me right now... no, not later tonight... not tomorrow either." and answering the age old question of "what are you wearing?" *answer: a parka with a polka dot hoop skirt and roller skates... wtf do you think I'm wearing with two children around the house and I'm frying bacon on the stove? A bikini and heels?*

He's all about fucking and I'm not. Yeah I'm still in my 20s (shut up. I'm hanging onto my 20s until someone pries them from my grip) but either I am way old before my time or I've matured beyond the "what's the freakiest/nastiest/kinkiest/sluttiest thing you've ever done?". It simply doesn't appeal to me. It NEVER appealed to me. He's doing his best to get his mack on (God, do people even say that anymore? Should it be getting his game on? I am old.) and I'm on the other end of the phone reacting like he's just run his naked nails down a chalkboard. God, if I wanted a boy toy this would be the kid to go to. And yes I called him a kid. That's all he really is.

And I've enough kids of my own without taking on a new one.

But he really is so cute. Like a new puppy. But I hate to love 'em and leave 'em so I guess I'll just...

Hm.

It's Snot Smelling Like Roses Anymore...

In fact it's not smelling like much of anything. We've been hit with severe head colds and congestion all the way around. And can you guess who's got it the worst?

Not me.

Not Jaalyn.



Poor thing. She's chock full of snot and just miserable and she's been that way for well over a week now. Day and night she's getting saline up the nose, the snot sucker dohickey shoved up there, tissues wiping and frankly she's just sick of it. It's almost funny to watch the momentary terror on her face as you come near her with one of the aforementioned objects. The eyes go wide with terror, then narrow with anger and the fight commences. The fists come up to block the nose and face, arms flail, legs kick with such force that sometimes she lifts herself off the bed.

It's funny how motherhood can become so deeply imbedded in you that you don't even think twice about sticking fingers up noses, down throats, wiping butts and the occasional shit that gets on your fingers fails to gross you out anymore; instead you just wipe it on the nearest baby wipe and keep on going. That's mama love there. I mean really if I were dating a man and the odd humdinger was hanging out of his nose how likely am I to stick my finger up his nose and pluck it out without so much as a break in conversation?

Yes, I'm lacking in romance. Is it noticeable?

But I did do something remarkable. Something reminiscent of my former self. I approached Love #2 mentioned here.

Yup. I spoke to him. You might not realize why this is such a big deal but you have to realize this is a guy that I've not-so-secretly been lusting after for more than a year now but hadn't said more than 5 words to a week ("Hi, How are you?"). But we did in fact speak... we did share... and we exchanged numbers... sort of.

He called, we talked and I realized something that I'd completely forgotten. He's so cute, so sweet and so adorable and so, so young. I mean he's not jailbait but he's not too far from it. It's evident in his speech, in his dress, in his mannerisms. And I can't believe I completely forgot about the age factor. Now I can clearly recall what scared me off from him in the past. That damned youthful exuberance and persistance. The "I love you's" in the first week; the "when are we moving in together?" the second; on to the "let's do everything as a couple and be completely inseparable because I love, love LOVE you SO much I can't bear not to be apart from you one millisecond and I must hear your voice a bazillion times a day because if not I will simply DIE."

But. I think he may have realized that I wasn't as into him as he was into me. Because he's less enthusiastic this time around. Or it could've been the "I don't want any type of commitment" line from me that clued him in. He's such a complete love though. So wise in the ways of the street but ignorant in every other aspect. Typical of young black men, much as I hate to say it. It would be so easy and SO tempting to take on the role of teacher in this instance. To teach him to make a woman happy in and out of the bedroom (and if you're wondering, NO I have no clue what he's like behind closed doors. Bad enough he sneaks kisses to catch me off my guard.)(and if I have my way I'd prefer to teach him everything outside of the bedroom because really? The whole sex thing isn't working for me right now). That's a role I haven't had in about... nevermind. In a long time, okay?

But, getting back to his absolute cuteness and adorableness. Do you remember getting your first puppy as a child? The absolute joy and esctasy of having something so darned cute but then as it grew you gradually lost interest in it? Until the next cute pet came along? It's the Paris Hilton syndrome.

I could totally be this boy's (sorry, MAN) sugar mama. I could totally spoil him rotten and lavish everything on him. But would it be fair to him because I know damned well that my feelings for this one won't last? Safe to scratch the moniker Love #2 and quickly rename him Infactuation of the Moment. To my credit, I have told him already that I'm not looking for committment, that baby daddy is somewhat in the picture though as what I'm not sure, and that quite frankly I don't know what the hell I want but I do know I don't need a serious relationship right now. He says that's cool, he's kinda in the same boat and get this. His desire is to spoil me.

So, we'll see. I'm single mommy to two. Might be sugar mama to one.

Okay, okay, Let me clarify what I said...

Yes, I wrote that I was thinking about marriage.

I did not write that I was getting married. See the difference?

I did not say that marriage would make me happy. And for those that tend to read a little too much into what I write allow me to say:

Marriage will not make me happy.

Yikes. The messages. Everything from congratulations to "what the fuck are you thinking?" to just plain "WTF?"

See, the thing is I've sort of lost my will and drive. I'm not striving to be deliriously happy anymore; I'm striving to be content and to make my kids supremely happy in every way that I can. If it means making a sacrifice here and there, so be it. I can see myself being content with baby daddy but not happy.

And truth be told, I don't think my prince will ever come. That's the kicker right there. I don't think there's a Mr. Right for me. There's not even a Mr. Right Now for me. No man of the moment. Nothing. Nada. Of the three individuals I detailed here nothing has changed. One still has his woman, the other I love from afar and still don't have the balls to admit the depth of my feelings and then... there's baby daddy. Not exactly my prince, but part maker of my babies so I guess that's a point or two in his favor. In a relationship I could rule and reign with my iron fist and there'd be little protest. So I suppose it could be... nice. Not thrilling. Not heart pounding passion. But okay in a monotonous way.

And keep in mind these are thoughts. Not like I'm passing out invitations to the black tie event. More like I asking someone to please slap me with some wit and wisdom to help me regain my old blazing and fiery personality. I've pulled away from the postpartum depression. I feel good. I'm even beginning to feel a little something about my appearance in general.

Okay, that's a lie. I still care very little about my appearance so long as I'm clean and neat and maybe a bit of makeup but I confession it's jeans and t-shirts every day. I look like a teen mom with my baby daddy cast off shirts and ponytail. And it's amazing how when I put on makeup I tend to look younger vice older. Go figure.

A Single Mom Confession

Well I got my DVR and I love it. Still trying to figure it out (would probably help intensely if I actually found the directions and read them) but all in all it's great. I've only missed one show so far that it didn't record and I think that's because I started viewing the tail end of the program or because I was watching Most Haunted on OnDemand or... hell I don't know. All in all I love it.

But I am very bummed out because I think my camera is broken and I can't figure out what’s wrong with it. All I get is a blank white screen on the LCD. I’ve changed the batteries, checked the memory card (the pictures I had on it downloaded just fine), checked to make sure all the compartments are closed, punched buttons and pressed things and although it makes all the right noises, the LCD screen stays oddly white.

And, not 5 minutes after writing that baby daddy has fixed it. He did the exact same thing, removing the batteries, memory card and so forth and damned if it’s not working again. I’m happy but annoyed. He said I should have patience; I say you did the exact damned thing I did wtf does that have to do with patience? Anyway, we’re both baffled as to why it’s working again and why it suddenly went on the fritz. But hey, this could be a reason for me to invest in the camera that I really want. Eh?


‘ (that little mark is Trinity’s first blog. She’s fascinated with the keys on the keyboard and managed to hold her coordination together long enough to hit a single key… then she screamed in frustration because she couldn’t hit any more.)

And since this is the Confessions of the Single Supermom blog, allow me to make a confession. The other day I voiced my disdain of marriage. I do truly feel that way. But… at the same token I have been giving thought to (God I canNOT believe I am about to admit this…) marriage to baby daddy.

Yeah. Let that one sink in slowly.

Now let’s get this straight, I’m not thinking of marrying him for the um, traditional reasons. Not for love. It’s not that I don’t have a love for him. I’m not in love with him but I don’t hate him anymore for the past. We’re good friends, probably the best of friends and at one point we were about to walk down the aisle (till the what-the-hell-am-I-doing-he-treats-me-like-shit thing hit me). So, it’s not like I’ve never thought of him in that husbandly light before. But before I wanted him to be a “true” husband, the head of the household, the decision maker, the bill payer. I know now that he will never be all the things I want him to be. He will never be that perfect father, let alone perfect husband. He will almost always give in to what I want or say. I know I will always have the upper hand in the relationship. Since I have a dominating personality I guess a relationship like that will work.

Let me back up a bit to when baby daddy and I first were together, before he was my baby daddy. When we embarked upon our relationship we’d both come from, um, a promiscuous past. I’ll admit it, I dogged men. Even when I was young, because of the guys had treated me, I had an extremely low opinion of men. I guess I always have. I was so angry at men for hurting me so bad that I treated most of them like Kleenex: use them once and toss them away. By the time I’d gotten with baby daddy my conscious kicked in and I had decided that from that point on I’d be the good girl. The woman depicted in Proverbs, the submissive, homemaker girlfriend/wife. And for the duration of our relationship I was that woman. But now… oh hell no. I’m not that way at all. I’m bossy, I’m bitchy, I’m opinionated. I still make the home but I can do it alone with no problem. But I look at my girls and I look at him and his ineptitude… sigh. When we were together I mothered him to a certain extent. His own mother had passed a year prior to us meeting and in a way I took her place. What can I say, I’m a natural mom I guess. Anyway, I look at him now and… he could be so much better IF he had someone to guide him in the right direction. Joining forces WE could do so much better. Especially financially.

Would I be happy? Continuously? Probably not. But the kids would be happy I guess and that’s what matters most. Would I be 100% faithful as I had the first time? I’d give it a shot but since he doesn’t satisfy me sexually I can’t say for sure. But hey, I guess sex is one of those things you can practice until you get it right, eh?

All the wrong reasons for taking that leap into a commitment where only the cold clammy hand of death or a helluva lot of cash can separate you. I know. That’s why I’m confessing it here. This blog, my hidden outspoken audience, you my dears are my sounding board.

A very opinionated sounding board.

Guess What?!

Guess what?

I'm happy.

Shh. Don't tell anyone.

Want to know why?

Because I am having my DVR installed by Comcast today and I am so FREAKING thrilled to finally get it.

Why might you ask? Because I am a total TLC/Discovery Channel/Travel Channel/HGTV/Style/E! junkie.

And I'm a complete Most Haunted slut. I love that show. And I almost always miss it because I either a)fall asleep before 10 when it comes on, or b) forget and then when it repeats at like 1AM I'm too chicken to watch it alone in the dark.

See, the thing is everyone that knows me knows I am the biggest chicken in the world when it comes to scary stuff. Even mildly scary stuff. I mean (and I say this with shame) the scariest movie I could watch from beginning to end was Killer Clowns From Outer Space. But hey, I was like 10 or 11 years old at the time. Oh and don't even think about showing me a movies involving dolls.

shudder

Remember Talking Tina from the Twilight Zone? That episode still creeps me out and forever ruined me sleeping with a doll ever again as a little girl. And those ventriloquist dummies? I remember seeing a movie that scared the shit out of me as a kid and to this day I hate those things. There's even a Jimmy Neutron episode with one in it and THAT scared me.

So how come I can watch Most Haunted now? All the spooky ghosties, possessions and bumps in the night? I dunno. It makes me jumpy as hell around the house at night. But for some reason I love this show and all the paranormal shows that flit around the Discovery Channel and Biography Channel, like Ghost Towns, Dead Famous, America's Most Haunted Places.

And now, I can record each and every episode and more and prove that I am Discovery Channel and TLC's bitch.

Because really. How can you not get enough of Little People, Big World?

And Neat? And Clean House? And What Not To Wear? OHHH and Iron Chef America and Paula Dean on the Food Network?!

The absolutely hilarious thing about this entire post is that for years I've always hated to watch tv. Unless it was educational and I suppose all the shows I listed above are educational since I'm learning something (duh, TLC = The Learning Channel. Stupid I am.).

But now? I'm getting moist at having something remotely similar to TiVo. And I can't WAIT for the cable dude to get here.

Happy. Very, very happy.

Randomness...

Random thoughts:

Why is it that every man I know is such a complete asshole? Last week? I had no less than three men, on the same day, utter the most moronic statement in response to my postpartum depression: Get over it and move on.

Fuckers.

Word to the insensitive jerks that uttered such idiotic words. DUH. If it were that easy, I'd have done it by now. Do you think I want to be depressed and feeling like shit under your shoe that you're constantly dragging across the concrete trying to get off? Fucktards.

I am getting just a tad bit better though. It comes and goes. I think a lot of the time my appearance plays a big role in how I feel. The baby weight I've yet to lose, the acne breakouts from all the fucking hormones that are hanging on for dear life in my system instead of exiting like all nice little pore clogging hormones should; My lack of a decent wardrobe and my disinterest in creating one. Come to think of it, my disinterest in life in general is probably the problem. Depending on the day, I no longer care about my appearance; and conversely, depending on the day I will attemtpt to make an effort to look less like a bedraggled mouse the cat dragged in and attempt to look human, perhaps even female and if I've the time I'll even put on makeup.

Okay, truthfully on most days all I'll do is put on makeup and the rest of me still looks like hell. Everyday it's t-shirts and jeans and sneakers. I've little interest and little time for anything else. If I have an extra 90 seconds in the morning I might even put some heat on the shirt to knock out the wrinkles but that's pushing it. Anyway, moving on...

What the heck is up with people asking about my marital status these days? Not that it's anyone's business. But I've noticed a difference in treatment, much like when Jaalyn was a baby, at the daycare, in coworkers, casual acquaintances and so on. Everyone assumes that I'm either married, should be married, should be planning to get married or at least getting back together with the girls' father.

Please.

The last thing I need is a man. Yeah, I'll cop to wanting some affection and companionship every now and then but marriage? Forget it. No. Not ever. In this lifetime. NO. One failed marriage is enough for me and think about it. How many married couples do you know that are 100% faithful to one another? How many married couples do you know that are happy? All around me are failed marriages including mine and my folks and my friends so for the love of heaven why would I even want to chain myself to some Neanderthal for all eternity? I realize that I'm being overly pessimistic but still. It's the pressure and the questions that annoy me. (I'm annoyed alot lately can you tell?). At the daycare I'm treated like a teen mom that's so clueless and ignorant I can't be trusted with my own child. Then they found out I have a 5 year old. In private school. And living on my own sans the dad. Blech. Suddenly maybe I do know a little something... but I'm not left alone with their husbands. It'd be amusing if I actually gave a damn about them or their husbands but since I don't, moving on...

I'm trying. I really am, to pull myself out of my slump. That's what it feels like right now. Now I feel like I can pull myself out of this fog and onto higher ground if I could just find the footing to get me there. But I'm so tired I'm nearly demented and I can't see the forest for the trees. It's like I need to take a step outside of myself and examine my life, but I can't. I can't concentrate long enough to do it. No peace. No quiet. There is no time when I'm not doing something. Even in my sleep I'm repeating my to do list like a mantra so that I don't forget anything in the morning (as I invariably do regardless so it's pointless to do it but...).

I need a vacation from myself I think. I don't know. Will whine more tomorrow.

Maybe.

Back again...

Wow.

Didn't realize it'd been so long since my last post. I keep meaning to write and I (obviously) just never have time. No time for anything.

So. A brief update:

Still having PPD issues. No real change there.
Still sticking to my self imposed lack of interest in anything other than my kids. Doing my best to see that they are happy and if they're happy then I am satisfied. I signed Jaalyn up for a year of ballet and tap dance and I'm attempting to spend more time with the baby. We've forged such a tight bond, that little roly poly rascal and I.

I'm examining my parenting skills a lot more these days. Needs improvement would be an understatement. I see how hard I am on Jaalyn, though I hate to come down on her. She's so intelligent and I suppose because of the way I talk to her and treat her, sometimes I completely forget that she's only 5 years old. She converses and carries herself like an 8 year old, yet when she doesn't do something I've asked (repeatedly) her to do or doesn't do something properly or just doesn't plain get what I'm saying I've been blowing my top. And I had to take a step back and apologize to her. But more about that another day.

AND, I went back to the doctor today. Not my GYN, my regular doctor. I went because I wanted another opinion regarding medication to treat the depression, to hopefully schedule an appointment to get the birth control IUD put in, to get a referral to see a dermatologist since I'm still breaking out and I rather be hit by a truck than seen in public and just an overall health check up.

The results of the visit?

1. Blood pressure sky high to the point the nurse did a double take and a double reading. Doctor also did a double take and said it couldn't be right so she took it twice. Still high, very abnormal for me since I've always had low pressure versus high.



2. Dermatologist referral. Yeah I got the referral and an appointment... for March 2007.



3. I gained 11 pounds since my 6 week postpartum visit.



4. Birth control: in order to get the IUD from my doctor, who does gyn medicine also I have to get a referral to see a different gyn who will then call me in for a "consultation" and then make me come in a second time for the actual IUD once they figure out how to order it. I can't go on the pill because I'm a terrible pill taker plus I'm breastfeeding. I can't go on the patch because I'm fat and it doesn't work anyway.



5. I can't get a prescription for acne because I'm breastfeeding.



6. Despite the fact that I am fat I cannot diet because I'm breastfeeding.



7. So I'm a severely depressed, anxiety filled, panic attack prone mom that also suffers from insomnia that should be on Paxil... except for the fact that I'm breastfeeding. (notice a pattern here) I have a new prescription for Paxil, just in case I should feel that I can no longer competently care for my kids. Otherwise, weighing the benefits of breastfeeding the baby versus me being gloomy, cranky and tired, the baby wins on this one.



8. To remedy all of the above it was suggested that I exercise, preferably outdoors. She laughed at the look I gave her then I explained to her my schedule and asked her when did she think I should exercise. Ever see a Chinese doctor look dumbfounded? Bless her. Thanks to those highly arched brows of hers she already looked perpetually surprised. It was my turn to laugh. She said with all the activity you'd think I would be able to sleep at night. She said no matter. Get the stroller, toss in the baby and drag my oldest outside. We need fresh air and a change of environment. She said even if I just do it on the weekends it would be worth it. In the meantime I need to find time to exercise at home as well.

She may as well tell me to suck up the Atlantic Ocean with a turkey baster.



So pardon me while I go retreat to my kitchen, aka the cleanest place in this dirty house, and weep to the point my eyes swell because I'm a fat, depressed, acne scarred mom with high blood pressure and I could use a good cry dammit.

Hate

I hate my mother.

Maybe hate is too strong a word. I honestly am beginning to think she really dislikes me though. I've never seen any mother treat her child the way she does. It hurts. It makes me angry. But day after day, year after year I deal with it. I used to reach my boiling point, explode in anger and then vow I'd never allow her back into my life again. Then I think, she's my mother. I'm supposed to have her in my life. I look at the people I know that are without there mothers or fathers or both of their parents and I feel chagrined that I do have both my parents and perhaps I just don't appreciate them enough.

And then comes the spiteful barbs from my mother. The snide remarks, degrading comments. Generally speaking to me and about me like I haven't a brain in my head. Constantly undermining my self confidence and self esteem since, well, since I can remember. I know when I was my oldest daughter's age she was already priming me to never think I was pretty because I wasn't. Those were her exact words. Vanity is sin. So I grew up thinking I wasn't pretty and that I was worthless.

You know what?

This isn't even worth typing. I'm so sick of being angry. And hurt. And dejected. What I wouldn't give to just feel like myself again.

I give up, Pt 2

I've often told friends and family members, especially young ones, that if you need to make changes in your life, if there's a lesson you need to learn and you're just not getting it, often you've got to reach rock bottom in order to start making changes in your life. Hitting rock bottom forces you to make those changes.

Consider me at rock bottom.

However, I think that my self confidence and self esteem levels are probably at least 6 feet below that point.

But, I am better than yesterday. Sort of.

Yesterday, I thought "God, is my life even worth living?"

Today my thoughts are "What makes my life worth living?"

Obvious answer would be the girls. They are my lifeline, my all in all, my very reason for breathing and living each day. They inspire hope, bring me waves of emotions consistantly, my literal saving grace.

Right now, this very moment, I sit and I want to give up everything. This is more than postpartum depression, this is a nagging thought that's been plaguing me for years. An admission to failure. To face the bald truth that I've failed in life, in my goals, in everything except being a mother. Somehow I still retain that one redeeming quality. I am a good mother, I know I am. I'm just not a good one right now I don't think. Because of my babies, I can't give up though there's no denying I want to... badly. Selfishness goes out when the door of parenthood opens (well, it should but I know that's not always the case). For me to forsake everything wouldn't be fair to them. It'd be like... like what my mother did to me. She didn't give up, but she rededicated her life to taking care of her needs and ONLY her needs. To this day she's still that way. But. Anyway.

So as I drove back down the interstate this morning I asked myself what makes life worth living, other than the girls? Um, not a goddamned thing? Yeah, I think that's it. Not one damned thing.

You know when I was pregnant with Jaalyn, I think I was about five months pregnant and I hadn't even discovered that she was in fact a girl, I was so depressed and so filled with anguish and despair that I actually found myself on the side of the bed staring at and eventually holding the large, shiny handgun baby daddy kept in his nightstand. I felt the weight of it in my hand, the coolness of it and was so tempted to pull the trigger and end all 23 years of my miserable existance. And then... the baby kicked me. HARD. Harder than she'd ever kicked. And I decided then and there that me ending my life wasn't fair to this child. This child that would probably survive even if I didn't. And the only two people that would be there to raise this child were to two people in my life causing all my misery: my mother and baby daddy. I put down the gun. I stroked my belly and burst into tears. But, once I'd cleaned my face I made changes instantly. I went to my father's job, waited for him to get off work and come out of the building to hug him and tell him I'd see him in a few months; that I was no longer keeping in contact with my mother or him for the remainder of the pregnancy, for my health and sanity and for the baby's health. I started with that first step and I went on from there.

After Jaalyn was born, again I stumbled and fell emotionally but I picked myself back up and what kept me going was my tiny infant that was dependant upon me. She gave me every reason to go on. I no longer mattered; she did. Period.

And here I am again, back to square one mentally and reevaluating my life's purpose. I am going out on a limb here but looking back... I was at my best mentally, spiritually and emotionally when I was alone, with my child. When my sole focus was my child. I think I've been trying too hard to encompass too many things and accomplish too many things. So I'm cutting off all other things and refocusing on my children. They give me pleasure. They provide everything I need on this earth. They do not let me down. They do not abandon me (yet). They love me unconditionally and I am and hopefully always will be number one in their life the same way they are in mine.

I have experienced so much for a reason. I have survived for a purpose.

I have survived molestation.

I have survived rape. Twice.

I have survived seeing my father beat the crap out of my mother, of having him hold a gun point blank in my face and threaten to pull the trigger if I did not move so he could kill my mother. (To this day memories of my mother's cries and screams, the abuse and the arguments haunt my dreams. As recent as this week.)

I have survived an abusive relationship.

I have survived multiple pregnancies, single motherhood, and miscarriage.

I have survived my husband not only abandoning me, but depleting my every financial resource when he did it.

I have survived financial devastation in every conceivable way possible whether it was by literally selling my ass to amatuer porn agencies for photos and videos, by becoming a well paid call girl (fuck, who am I kidding? I was a hooker that simply didn't have to stand on the corner, I took appointments over the phone), or by using my own wits to create a mini Ebay empire to sell every item I owned and every item my ex-husband left behind.

All this and more I have survived.

This too I shall overcome. Just need to regroup, refocus and reenergize.

I give up.

I am so tired. And so very very sad. It's like no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do whether it be finances, school, personal goals, whatever I am thwarted no matter my diligence, my effort or what have you. Just when I think the way is clear, the sky is blue something happens that takes me right back down to the gutter again. I am beyond frustration, beyond tears, beyond depression.

I give up.

The only positive I have left in my life are the girls.

And I'm terrified I will fuck them up too. Just like everything else.

I. Give. Up.

Back to Work

Today is my first day back to work...

Today is Trinity's first day at daycare...

*sob*

I miss my baby.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Also, not doing so well on the emotional front. Am very... sad. Frustrated. Angry at myself and others. But mainly sad.

sigh...

Thought I had kicked the blues. They came back with reinforcements.

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.

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.

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 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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

The Longest Entry to Date (and it won't be the last)

Originally I was going to post a semi positive missive in an effort to pull myself out of this funk that’s been like a cloud overhead. but then I thought hell, why fake it? If I can’t be totally honest here, then why bother having a blog to begin with?

I don’t think men don’t fully understand postpartum depression (PPD). The men I’ve spoken to recently seem to think it’s more of a “I’m so sad, pay attention to me” feeling. Their answer to PPD is to 1) get laid and get over it or 2) smile, be happy and get over it. Um, guys? Imagine having a nice, sharp knitting needle shoved up the head of your penis and bouncing back from that. If you think you can recover from something like with a nice chipper attitude, some pussy and a smile, by all means feel free to dispense advice to me at will.

But in fairness, how can they know how awful it is to feel this way and not know what to do to combat it? Sure it seems easy enough; normally when I am in a slump I can pull myself out of it by just “doing” it. You know, see the problem, find the solution and just do it. That’s the way I usually tackle life’s obstacles. But this… this… I don’t know, this feeling of moroseness, lethargy and helplessness… it’s hard to bounce back. It’s not just the feeling of helplessness there’s a feeling of hopelessness too. Like things will always be this way. I know that’s not true but it doesn’t stop the defeatist attitude and the “why even bother”. Rather than tackle the things that I know should and need to be done, I’d prefer to just sit around in my bathrobe weeping all day. If I didn’t have to get out of bed it’d suit me just fine. But I can’t do it obviously. I’ve two little ones depending on me to be their provider, their friend, their cheerleader and playmate, not to mention teacher (and chauffer and personal loan officer and hair dresser, maid, personal chef and… oh wait, where was I going with this?). You can’t be selfish and self absorbed and be a good parent. Yet at the same token, you can’t be a good parent if you don’t take some time out for yourself. I suppose the key is finding balance. And balance is what I am struggling to find. I’m on a quest to rediscover myself and it’s frightening. I’m discovering things about myself that quite frankly I’m afraid to face. For years I’ve been self sufficient, independent and selfless when it came to my daughter. Now I’ve two daughters and suddenly I feel the need to take time out for me.

I think that’s part of the problem now, you know, with the PPD and all. Since Trinity’s birth not once have I had a rest. It’s been like a train wreck in slow motion. From the moment Trinity arrived I’ve worried nonstop; I worried about her surgery & her recovery and leaving her alone in the NICU. On average I think I slept perhaps 2-3 hours per night. All other time was spent in the NICU until the nurses kicked me out every few hours to go eat and rest (ha). And since then I worry about SIDS, her constipation, this goddamned acne that is wrecking her beautiful, tender skin… Is she gaining enough weight? Is she gaining too much weight? Am I showing her enough attention? Am I showing her too much attention, especially when Jaalyn is around? Hell, am I showing Jaalyn enough attention? I look into my girls’ eyes and I wonder what they see. Do they see their mom that loves them more than life itself or do they see mom with her haggard appearance, a false, too-chipper-to-be-real façade, alternating between being really sad and really angry? Do they see the loving home and refuge I try to provide for them or do they see a dirty, cluttered house that mom just can’t keep clean to save her damned life?

I’m worn out. I need a break. I need to be selfish in a way that’s not destructive to the household. I need to be loved and I yearn to be loved. Not just by another person, but by me. I miss feeling confident. I miss being in control. I miss being ME. I need a life change, a new image and renewed self confidence. I need a clean fucking home and a place to relax. The house had gone to pot when I was pregnant because I either never had the energy to do anything, Jaalyn destroyed my progress, or the items that needed to be moved were simply too heavy for me at the time. Since I’ve been on maternity leave and depressed the house is out of control. I’m ashamed of it. I pay too much to live in this stupid townhouse to let it look like this (and yes even as I write this I’m trying to psyche myself up to clean up my act.) The problem isn’t the actual cleaning part, it’s my perfectionism in cleaning. I’m completely anal when it comes to cleaning therefore it‘ll take me an hour or more to do something that would take a normal person 15 minutes. For example, if I’m cleaning the bathroom, not only do the necessary components get cleaned (i.e. the tub, toilet, sink and countertops) but I have to take it a step further: the grout in the tiles must be spotless, floor scrubbed (by hand), the baseboards must be thoroughly cleaned with a special brush, walls scrubbed free of dirt, mirror streak free and so on. I exhaust myself in one room with the little details. So imagine looking at my kitchen, bedroom, living room and Jaalyn’s room with my eyes and inclination to be absorbed with minute details and imagine how long it’ll take me to get everything together. And OMG, you haven’t seen the closets… and the attic… and…

*sigh*

Man I’m feeling discouraged all over again. Where to begin? The house? Or within myself?

Then again why even bother?



Guess that's reason enough.

I actually wrote this earlier this morning and since then the day has steadily gone downhill. I don't think I've ever felt as bad as I did today. I mean so low that it actually frightened me. I even scared baby daddy. But, this evening after yet another rough time something amusing brought a small smile to my face. Jaalyn is in my room now, talking incessantly, playing doctor with her little plastic doll babies. Since she's been in here I have witnessed the following:

1. When she first came in she had a doll in one hand and a syringe in the other. The syringe was inserted in the doll's, um, vagina. My God she gave her a pussy shot. I'm so demented that this alone nearly sent me into hysterics.

2. As if the shot weren't enough, Jaalyn left the room and came back later explaining that she put the doll on the potty for 100 minutes because "she really, really needed to go to the bathroom".

3. After removing said doll from said potty she was carefully examined by Dr. Jaalyn. Dr. Jaalyn says the patient's heart isn't beating and that means she's really sick. The patient's mommy (me) wonders if she should inform the doctor what a non-beating heart really means...

4. Now I've been told that since I'm the only mommy in the hospital I'll be taking all of the babies home and caring for them. Gee, I feel so lucky. Really.

5. I've been subjected to an examination that shows I'm exactly nine pounds tall and I've been given a paper stating I get to keep the baby. For my trip home from the hospital I've been given the baby, a blanket, a potty and a bottle. And if the baby seems sick I can bring her back for another shot. I can't imagine where the needle will go this time around.

Wait, the baby is sick once more and just got a needle in the mouth. I love it.

And I love her...

Been out of the loop the past several days. I hate to admit it but I do believe postpartum depression (PPD) has hit me hard. These days it takes everything in me to get out of bed, shower and paste a smile on my face. It’s not like I’m spending the entire day weeping though. It’s not all bad, all the time. There are many bright moments; I just wish I could fully appreciate them without this cloud of discontent hanging over me. Hoping that within the next week I’ll pull out of this funk, if not… I’m woman enough to ask the doctor for help.

So instead of writing about how cruddy I’ve been feeling I’m taking the easy way out and listing the good, bad and the ugly in the most positive way that I can.

1. Good: Last weekend Trinity began smiling the wide open mouth, “check out my gums” smiles.
Better: This past weekend she’s started to softly coo at inanimate objects and that sound alone is enough to brighten even the darkest day.
Ugly: Once she realizes that the mobile, rattles and stuffed animals aren’t exactly providing the riveting conversation that she desires she launches into an ear splitting rage filled tirade. But even this brings a smile to my face; she’s got my temper 100%.

2. Good: The cat isn’t throwing up as many hairballs this week.
Bad: Note the phrase “as many”, meaning she’s still doing it.
Ugly: She tossed her cookies on the foot of Jaalyn’s bed.

(Anyone want a free vomiting feline? Eh? No takers? Damn)

3. Good: Jaalyn’s attitude has greatly improved from the “let me show my anger by punching small preschoolers in the throat” thing that she had going on.
Better: I’m having a bit more success with patience when dealing with her antics.
Ugly: The primary reason I’m more successful is because I’ve been utilizing a very efficient babysitter.
Real ugly: The baby sitter is about 54” wide, 60” tall and plays SpongeBob, Jimmy Neutron, and Fairly Oddparents at the touch of a button, any time, day or night.

Don’t make that face, I feel guilty enough as it is about doing it. But I swear having her underfoot, reciting line after line of her favorite cartoons and/or movies, destroying my living room or her room and talking non fucking stop is driving me crazy. Using the tv as a temporary babysitter is wrong, wrong, wrong - but it’s so much better than me yelling at her unnecessarily because I’m overtired and depressed.

4. Good: Baby Daddy (BD) and I are getting along better and are back to our typical co-parenting team.
Better: BD now totally appreciates and sympathizes with me in regards to being a single parent to the girls. It completely wore him out to try and play superdad this weekend and more than once I had to rescue my baby from him when she’d screamed herself hoarse (no I’m not joking about this) because he simply couldn’t figure out how to calm her. Made him feel like shit when as soon as I’d taken her from his arms she quieted immediately and gave a weak little cry like thank God you came and got me.
Just Downright Friggin' Hilarious: BD, in an attempt at romanticism, misguided optimism or something, bought a 3 pack of latex free condoms from the drugstore and laid them on my dresser.

Wanna take a guess as to where they are now?

If you guessed placed far back in my underwear drawer you win the prize.

P.S. Thanks Peaches for checking up on me to see if I was okay. That meant a lot to me.



Methinks perhaps Mommy should begin doing her hair and maybe a little makeup before getting up close and personal otherwise instead of the lovely smiles she's becoming accustomed to receiving she'll get stares of incredulity instead.

Last time I'll talk about it for a while, I promise...

** Note: I've a small confession. I admit I am suffering from a bit of the much dreaded post partum blues (read: blues NOT depression). It comes and it goes and it's probably why I have been doing so much soul searching as of late. Bear with me as I search for peace and ramble. This blog is my primary outlet now.

For someone that claims she doesn't need or even want a man, I sure do spend a lot of time pondering them. I confound myself. I used to be so certain that I did want a man (back when I was younger, er, in my late teens/early 20s); then I was so certain that I didn't want a man. In a way, I still don't want a man.

Ugh.

Head... hurts... thinking too much.

I'm fighting hormones and postpartum blues by brainstorming. Forgive me this day's rambling session. I look around me, at my daughters, my townhouse, the fucking cat that decorates my floors with disgusting mucky hairballs... and the realization hits me that I want more. Not just for me but for the girls as well. I feel unspeakably cramped in this place. It's un-fucking-believable how much crap I've acquired in recent years. When I moved out completely on my own - sans a boyfriend/baby daddy and with my 9 month old baby - I literally only had a crib, one fork, spoon and knife and a box of canned goods I'd gleaned from my parents pantry on the sly and a lamp. I think I maybe had a towel and washcloth and a bar of soap and that was it. I slept on my carpeted floor, no pillow, no blanket. I had no pots, pans or dishes. Nothing. But I was happy as fuck to escape the misery of living in my parents house. I could deal with the inconvenience of having a stiff neck from sleeping on the floor if it meant not living with those lunatics.

Anyway, my point is that in the 5 years since that time I've accumulated massive piles of pure JUNK. Some stuff I've managed to sell on Ebay, some I've thrown away, but it's like the crap leftover is secretly humping in a corner and procreating overnight because no matter how much I get rid of the stuff keeps piling up around me.

But my point is that I'm SO ready to move out of this neighborhood. But it's just not in the budget right now. And that's another thing that's been on my mind too: expanding my slightly tight budget. I'm not hurting for money, but just like everyone else I wouldn't turn more of it down. So I've been brainstorming different ideas to take me from Target rags to Saks riches. I've got plans in place for one part time gig; thinking on starting up an online business or two as well to bring in some extra income. I could go back to selling stuff on ebay, but the only downside to that is that all the crap I'm trying to get rid of will still be in my house until it gets sold and shipped. I'd have a yard sale but I, uh, you know... don't have a yard. More like a pine needle covered patch of dirt the complex passes off as a yard, but regardless, yard sales are against leaseholder policies so that's out. Can't use the folks' yard either because they live at the end of a cul-de-sac in the middle of nowhere in the county. I'm actually thinking of leasing a table at an open air flea market and trying to rid myself of stuff that way. But therein lies another issue of how to transport my junk to another location. The Hyundai can barely hold two carseats and a diaperbag let alone a household of crap to unload on unsuspecting buyers.

sigh...

You ever notice how complicated it is to simplify something? At least I have inspiration to instigate change.

Late (for me anyway) Night Thoughts...

Attempting a second post while the baby sleeps peacefully in her crib.

My second post of the day comes from random thoughts crossing my fatigued mind… given all that I’ve experienced with the girls’ father I’m surprised that I haven’t gotten the usual “hates-all-men” chip on my shoulder. Am I really just that worn down and dejected about the quality of men I encounter or have I reached the point where I really don’t give a damn anymore? Usually when I am feeling hurt, angry, or any other wide range of emotions caused by a male I embark on a man hating, ball bashing rampage of sorts. This time I didn’t and not because it didn’t occur to me to do so. I just… I don’t know… I just didn’t feel like it.

Boy that sounds lame doesn’t it?

I dunno. When I was pregnant I fell hard for a guy and when the feeling wasn’t returned not only did I cower in the corner and licked my wounds, I became angry. Not just at him but at men in general. So much so that I’d plan to take up my “Kleenex” approach once I did begin to date again. (For those unfamiliar with my Kleenex theory: men are just like Kleenex, soft, strong and oh, so disposable.) But, I figured once Trinity had been born I’d lose interest in men as a whole anyway the same as I did when Jaalyn was born. I fall so completely in love with my children that everything else falls by the wayside. Companionship, relationships and everything else in between just don’t matter when compared to the first shaky smiles of a newborn in her sleep. And I was right. Now that Trinity is here she and Jaalyn are my primary focus; and yet I still in some small corner of my heart yearn for occasional companionship. It’s a weird feeling. Like I want to be held and loved and coveted but on my terms. I guess it stems from a longing for adult companionship in general. I can only take but so many Spongebob/Jimmy Neutron/Fairly Oddparents cartoons without cracking my head open from banging it repeatedly upon the coffee table. The sad thing is I find myself watching these things even when Jaalyn isn’t home.

Perhaps the longing for adult stimulation is what keeps me from my usual man hating persona? Perhaps I want someone to do to me what I usually do for people of importance in my life. I’m normally not a “taker” per se, but right now I would love for someone to spoil me for a change. The last man I was seriously involved with was the first and only man to ever really give back to me and it felt good. It took getting used to but once I realized his actions echoed mine and were truly out of love, not because he had an ulterior motive, I finally saw how wonderful it could be. And I don’t mean spoiling in a monetary, materialistic sense. I’ve never been that type of person. But sometimes I wish that there was someone looking out for my best interests as well as me looking out for theirs. I have a token few good friends that do this, but in more of a familial way.

It sucks to be a girl when all these stupid hormones are running through your veins and prompting you to be philosophical at the most inconvenient of moments. But who knows? Maybe one day my Superman will come… I can only hope I’m not so bitter that I fail to recognize his coming. (one day I’ll have to sit down and write about my Superman obsession. I deeply covet anything and everything Superman. As it stands I am ready to redo my bathroom in entirely Superman logos. AND I’M NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT DAMMIT!)

Weepfest '06

I re-read my previous post and all I can do is shake my head. Yesterday, the girls' father and I had it out. No yelling involved this time, a small miracle in itself, but this time I ended up completely losing it and embarked on a major weepfest. He hurt my feelings so badly I cried for hours about it. Part of it was probably due to postpartum hormones, but partly because I simply couldn't believe the accusations he was making. Ever since Trinity's birth he's been on my case and making accusations that I put one child before the other.

Let me explain something about Trinity's birth; when Trinity was born she had this abdominal mass, something I mentioned in a previous post. That mass turned out to be a twisted, dead ovary that required surgery to remove it. However, it wasn't until the actual surgery that we discovered what the mass was. Prior to the surgery she was whisked from my arms, taken for MRIs and CT Scans and ultrasounds... she was taken from the nursery and put in the NICU and so on. It was a very traumatic time for all of us. Jaalyn was staying with my parents and was delighted to do so. What should've been a 2 day stay in the hospital turned into a 7 day nightmare. I was discharged after 2 days but my baby remained. What prompted my tears yesterday was that he accused me of putting Trinity's needs before Jaalyn's and because I did so it fostered this rash of misbehavior in Jaalyn now. He implied that Jaalyn's behavior is stemming from the fact that her mother let her down and cares more about the baby than her. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I missed Jaalyn terribly when I was in the hospital with Trinity. I had no idea I'd be there so long but nothing could've induced me to leave the hospital until I knew that everything was okay with Trinity. The way I saw it, Jaalyn is 5 and was in good hands with my folks; Trinity was days old, was breastfeeding and everything was up in the air about her and her safety. For example, yes, she needed surgery but the pediatric surgeon made it perfectly clear that while this wasn't necessarily a routine operation (routine on a woman, not an infant) there were certain risks involved and the fact that we could lose Trinity was a very real possibility. No one knew how her tiny body would react to anesthesia, the doctor didn't know precisely where the mass was located and depending on the location it heightened the risks... I could go on and on listing reasons why I made the decisions that I did but the bottom line is that if I had to do it all over again I'd still do the same thing. He certainly couldn't breastfeed her, he had no insurance information, couldn't authorize medications, surgery, etc. none of that. I stayed around the clock to bond with her. NICU nurses don't hold the babies unless they are changing them, feeding them, or changing bedding. I needed to bond with Trinity and was encouraged to do so. Breastfeeding was the best way possible and it helped establish my milk.

And for the record, once Trinity was out of the danger zone and adapting to the pain on her own without the aid of morphine I did go get Jaalyn and spent the night with her in our house. This was on the 6th day of Trinity in the hospital. I had the father (grudgingly) stay in the hospital with Trinity and the following day my prayers were answered and Trinity was discharged. But I did see Jaalyn during my stay at the hospital several times; she went with me to the NICU to see her sister and hold her; we visited the gift shops, cafeteria etc. But she (and I) wanted more. By this time she was tired of staying with her grandparents and just wanted to come home to me and I echoed her sentiments. I made sure we talked on the phone, that I told her I loved her and that I was so sorry to be away from her for so long.

So when this attack from the father came, first on the third day postpartum and again yesterday, I was cut to the heart. The point I kept stressing to him was that there were no other options, I had to stay in the hospital with Trinity. But he continues to blame me for Jaalyn's current behavior. He claims I spend too much time with the baby, that I'm intentionally avoiding spending time with Jaalyn. That's simply not the case. We spend time together, we still bond, we are also still learning how to be a family of three; I'm still learning how to be a mom to two. And it's hard... unspeakably hard. I do get discouraged, but I know this is just a temporary feeling. It too shall pass.

Today, I feel stronger. I am angry still but I am sick to death of fighting, especially with him. All these arguments and accusations and such go down in my memory as reasons not to reestablish our former fucked up relationship. Every day I thank God for the clarity He's given me and the giving me the strength needed to make this journey on my own.

Houston, we have a problem...

I am a mother of two now.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. For five years my heart and soul and worry and tears went into one; now, everything is doubled. It took so long for me to find a balance between my love and devotion to Jaalyn and my love and devotion to myself as well. And now I'm unbalanced all over again.

Single motherhood is never easy, I acknowledge that, but at some point you can usually find a happy medium if only for a little while. I desperately need to reach that point now. I'm 18 days into motherhoo for two and I don't like the person I've become. I'm tired and cranky of course. That is to be expected. But I feel like I'm treating one child differently to the other. I mean on one hand I have my newborn; fresh and beautiful and so new... just like I did with Jaalyn, I have this overwhelming "God, I really hope I don't fuck this up" feeling. She's with me 24/7, she stares at me with open, smiling eyes, and we're developing a true bond that goes deeper than the initial breastfeeding bond. Enter the cliche, before I had her I couldn't imagine life with her, and now that she's here I can't imagine life without her.

On the other hand there's Jaalyn... just as beautiful and special in her own way... but unbelievably obnoxious, rebellious and so forth. Typical 5 year old behavior with a touch of new sibling jealousy. I see it, I understand it, but yet it still bothers me. I yell, I get angry and then I feel like shit afterwards. I cannot find balance. I'm tired and hungry (often I have to skip meals or simply forget to eat because I'm either doing something with the baby or Jaalyn or something else.) and admittedly I am VERY short on patience. And I hate that. I've always had tons of patience with Jaalyn, right up til I became pregnant with Trinity. As the pregnancy drew to a close, one of the main things I looked forward to was the loss of the extra hormones that I knew caused me to be irritable. Okay, stupid ass me forgot about the fact that I'd be sleep deprived and prone to be Mommy Dearest in the flesh.

Enter the if onlys:

- If only I could get more sleep some way, somehow then I'd have more energy and wouldn't be so goddamned cranky.
-If only the girls' father would be a bit more helpful. And when I say a "bit" I mean in the sense that the Washington Monument is a "bit" tall.
-If only this damned house were completely spotless. I'd have more time to devote to Jaalyn instead of having to fuss about this being left out, this toy being tripped over.
-If only I could get rid of THIS FUCKING CAT of Jaalyn's.

If only I could be a better mother to both my girls.

I know I can do it, it'll just take time. And I am so damned impatient.

Okay, I suck...

I created this blog with the intention of updating it every day, or at the least every couple of days or so. And now more than a month has passed. I've been meaning to do it but simply never got around to it. So much has been going on. So much is going on, I've so little time, yet this is actually one of the things I ought to push to the forefront because it would help alleviate some of the stress and pressure I'm experiencing. Allow me to share with you a summary of the last couple of months...Let's start with the pregnancy: At about 34-35 weeks pregnant with baby #2 I began having complications; I had a sinus infection, a sore throat and a UTI. What fun, eh? Then I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, a bit of anemia, and found out that my baby had a 5 cm cyst in her abdomen that most likely would be operated on very soon after birth. In the weeks up till her birth I saw a perinatal specialist, my regular OB, a new OB, a pediatric surgeon and an endocrinologist AND they all wanted me to see a dietician as well. It's been a whirlwind of doctors appointments, depression mixed with crying jags, anxiety and some more shit. At this moment in time, I hate all doctors and the systems they have in place. The "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" system. I'll explain more about that frustration as I get deeper into how all these discoveries came to light.

At any rate I promise to be more diligent in the upkeep of this blog. I think of it constantly, yet never actually make the time to update it. And I really ought to. Writing has always been therapudic for me and God only knows I need to release some stress. What better way to accomplish this as well as hone my writing skills? Maybe someday I can even achieve the goal of freelancing part time. Plus I've taken a real interest in web design so this blog will enable me to play around in that aspect as well. And perhaps I'll be able to better navigate on this damned site that keeps PISSING ME THE FUCK OFF BECAUSE I CAN'T CREATE A NEW DAMNED PARAGRAPH! AARRGGHHH!!!!! Anyway, I did do a wee bit of writing while I was in the hospital awaiting Trinity's surgery so I'll upload that in a bit.

Wow, I'm officially a Blogger

I can't believe I've finally given in and become part of the 30-and-under crowd and started my first official blog. The one thing I said I'd never do. Up till about 8 months ago I kept a loose journal of sorts on Blackplanet.com and was satisfied with that. It gave me the opportunity to air my thoughts and those that I invited to read or those that stumbled upon my page often left me feedback on what I wrote via personal notes or emails. But, I tired of that and so have moved on, albeit kicking and screaming, to the real deal... blogging.

So when I started reading other people's blogs and found myself enjoying them and looking forward to their updates, I began to notice a few things... One, the blogs I'd come across that have been written by single moms were few and far between. And while, yes, they were written by single moms, they were written by women I can't relate to, i.e. women that have become single moms through divorce. Meaning they did things the "right" way and their children were born in wedlock, supportive hubby, etc. My and most of my friends circumstances were completely different. Yet it seems the only true single mom that magazines, blogs and other forms of publication recognize is the divorced mom or the single mom through tragic circumstances, such as a widow. I am not that mom. Few women I know are the new age "standard" single mom. So blog is my way of venting, not just about my personal life, not just about my kid(s), but also to show that all single moms aren't alike. Sure we share some of the same plights, woes and worries but all of our stories are different. Hopefully mine will make some laugh, cry or just be an encouragement of acknowledgement that hey, you're not alone in what you're going through.