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10月30日 What I Did and What I'm Going To DoWhat a weekend. I'm still a little tired and I've got a million things to catch up on, so I'll make this entry a quick recap:
Friday night I think I ate some bad lettuce. I don't know. I blame it on the green stuff because I can't bear to think that any of my favorite foods may have cause what I'm about to describe. I went to bed with a terrible stomach ache and woke up with it the next morning. I spent the entire day bouncing from my bed to the bathroom, unable to keep absolutely anything down--not even the slightest sip of ginger ale. It was way too horrible to be plain morning sickness and by 6:00 p.m. I started to get worried. I get dehydrated easily and was freaked out that I might need a trip to the emergency room--the one weekend Caleb was out of town; not just out of town, but partying his butt off at the Florida/Georgia game halfway across the country. I called my father-in-law (who blessedly just happened to be only 3 hours away in Dallas) and he came up to basically hang out in case I had to go to the doctor.
I stopped throwing up long enough to consider staying home, at least for the night. I ended up just waiting it out--the going was slow the next day, but I managed some toast and soda...after that went over well, I was forced to drink water until I floated away. Thank goodness Grandpa--he took care of the dogs, the girls. He cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner and he kept me company. Caleb got home Sunday and was worn out but surprisingly not hung-over at all. I was proud, and glad to see him.
Today I'm going to get busy cleaning up. We've got to carve pumpkins and get the girls in bed early with a capital EARLY because the one show I make a point to watch comes on: Nip/Tuck. I don't give a rat's ass about Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, CSI or Dancing with the Stars or basically anything on TV--except Nip/Tuck. And The Shield. So from October to...April (?), on Tuesday nights from 9:00 to 10:00 p.m., I've watch probably the 2 most horrible and grotesque programs ever aired. And I love them.
I put up some recent pictures. On Thursday I'll add "Kids in costume" ones--and Mom, let me know if you want them. I'll use the picture exchange system we have firmly in place. 10月27日 You're Growing Up, Sweetie PieAh, my dad. Patient. Gentle. Wise. Kind. Corny.
Anyone who's ever met the man will liken him to the dad on all the "American Pie" movies. I love him for that. His speeches are legendary. His best lectures are permanently embedded in the minds of me, my sisters, my friends, and my sisters' friends. As much as it sounds like I'm ripping on him right now, it's those words of wisdom that have actually inspired me through some of my toughest times.
It's that loving corniness that I think about today. If only I could come up with a little speech of my own to get Cheyenne smiling again. She's officially back in her "slump", if she was ever really out of it to begin with. I won't go into detail, but I will say that life as a 6th grade girl can suck caboodle. I've got nothing. I went through it, my sister Jenny went through it, and my sister Katie caused it with a number of poor girls...maybe she could provide some insight.
Yesterday afternoon, for the 4th time this week, I picked Cheyenne up. As I made my way around the drive I saw her from a distance--head down, shoulders slumped, and a sadness in her face that almost made me cry. It wasn't the normal 11-year-old fakey "I-had-a-bad-day-let's-get-some-ice-cream" scowl. Everything about her looked miserable, dejected, though she brightened a little when she saw my car. I cringed. The one reason I am picking her up from school is so she can have more time for after-school stuff; I'm beginning to think I'm rescuing her, hiding her...and helping her to NOT face her problems.
It's a lonely time for a kid. Cheyenne was, again, nearly in tears during a little heart-to-heart last night. All I could do for the first little while was listen and nod. She was a little taken aback when I said, "Yes, you're going to have it rough," and "Sometimes you don't keep friends forever--a person is extremely lucky to have even one good friend in life."
"That's not exactly encouraging, Mom," she moaned.
"Well...it can be true. You might stay best friends with the same person all through middle school and high school, but more than likely, you'll go through several different friends and you will all change tremendously by the time you graduate."
"Ug. I don't even know why I bother talking to you."
I'll admit, I haven't neccessarily been the peppiest of parents. But I try. I've got some beginner speeches that have knocked her socks off--though maybe not in the way I had planned. Take for example my what-I'm-sure-will-one-day-be-legendary "Freedom is Like Candy" Address: Once you are allowed to have some, you can't go berserk. That little doozie meant to convey the importance of responsibility along with priviledge. With as *well* as it went over, I was cautious to launch into my latest motivational speech.
"Chin up, Cheyenne," I said.
"What? Huh?"
"Chin up. Keep your head held up high. You don't have to look at the ground. Stand up straight and tall. Who cares what people say or think? When you let it get to you, you give those people power. You're a sweet girl, a smart girl. It doesn't matter if anyone else knows it--you know it, and I know it. You're Cheyenne-Freaking-Taylor and don't you forget it. You're brilliant. You're pretty. You're funny, and you're kind."
"Yeah! I'm a kind, decent, gentle and compassionate human being! With a heart as big as a lion!" she laughed. There's my girl--throwing back to classic Will Ferrel when the going gets tough.
"I'm serious, Cheyenne! You have a lot to pride yourself on. Sometimes you're going to have to ignore people. Sometimes you're going to have to face things on your own. But have faith in yourself and always remember that Caleb and Mia and I love you, and we're here for you no matter what. Even this baby loves you! It just told me to tell you that! Listen: It's speaking in a crazy Spanish accent. Can you heeeer eeet?"
"No," she giggled.
"Hola chica! Mucho bueno! Quesadilla! You mama wants you to go get her some frijoles!"
"Now I know why Mia wants to name it Dora or Diego!"
Cheyenne was a little cheered, although I don't know if she felt any better about her situation at school. I tossed and turned all night knowing there's nothing I can do except be goofy and offer lame advice from time to time.
If I think back, Dad's lectures never brought any encouragement or laughs at the moment they were given. Only much later did I take them out and use them and appreciate them--and I could do that because I committed them to memory over the course of my teenage years. So maybe there's hope for me--while Cheyenne might not understand our talks now, she'll be comforted at some point in time or another. And who knows? She might even use my "Freedom is Like Candy" Lecture with her own children. 10月25日 The Enigma That is Our BabyThe ultrasound was today. We went, we saw, we heard. Our minds are at ease now and we'll be thoroughly enjoying our weekend--I, shivering in Oklahoma, Caleb, kickin it at the Florida/Georgia game down in Jacksonville with his brother and a bunch of rowdy guys. I know I came off as bitter just now but honestly I'm glad he's going and I hope he has a good time...and that he doesn't hurt anything by trying to keep up with the younger crowd.
Back to the baby, the glorious baby, it is so cute. Okay, really, it's still pretty much a blob, but a lot less of a blob than I expected to see. It was waving its arms and stretching its legs and I could just tell it was smiling for the camera. We cheeses can sense these things. Ultrasounds never cease to amaze me; I could watch that static forever and never get bored. I even got a little emotional today--I say that like it's a big surprise to anybody else, because I like to think of myself as a hardcore gangsta bitch, but the truth is I'm a total softy especially when it comes to stuff like this. I did manage to hold back my tears of joy and wonderment until I was safe in the car, away from Caleb and safely situated where Mia couldn't see my eyes.
And that's your update for those of you who asked. I'm going now to go and stare at belly's profile in the mirror. Love you all. 10月24日 The First Real Official AppointmentWeek 10, Day 2...or is it 3? Man I've already lost count and I have until May.
Had a lovely appointment yesterday. I got to wear sheets, pretty floral ones, and get felt up and down and all around, and to my surprise and delight, the doctor broke out the heartbeat headphones. Unfortunately, she could not locate a heartbeat. She found mine, just not my kid's.
What the hell?
No biggie. They say at 10 weeks a lot babies don't have detectable heartbeats. I was scheduled for a peace-of-mind ultrasound that will commence in T-minus 19 hours. Score! The consolation prize is better than the original!
Everything else is looking good if I do say so myself, which I don't have to because the doctor said it for me. Apparently I "felt" 10 weeks--a huge relief because I was pretty damn worked up about the possibility of my due date being moved back. And get this: my doctor has gone and gotten herself pregnant, again, for the second time since I've been whining to her, er, I mean, going to her for medical care. She is on her third child, just as I am, and is a little less than 2 weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy. So, chances are, she will not be the one to deliver this baby, which is only slightly disappointing to me considering that my actual deliveries are fairly easy and require little time and expertise on the part of the doctor on the recieving end. Labor--not so fun. Never really bad, though. Deliveries--1.3 seconds of pushing and my kids are flying across the room. The doctor just has to be good at catching. I think anyone who has gone through 10 years of college is perfectly qualified for that job.
She commented on the size of my previous children. Cheyenne 8lbs, 1oz (out of my 15-year-old body, thank you very much) and Mia, a whopping 9lbs, 6oz. (one push, no stitches--draw your own conclusions here,people) "Wow, you have large babies. Did you have gestational diabetes with your last one?" "No...just know how to grow 'em I guess."
And maybe it had a little to do with working at a cafe that served bread pudding, chicken salad-on-poppyseed bread sandwiches, and seafood gumbo for the entire 9 months. That, and I drink a pint of Miracle-Gro every morning before I take my steriods.
So, so far so good. That's all there really is to report. Tomorrow I will have pictures of what looks like a pulsating amoeba. In four weeks I will probably get to hear an actual heartbeat. And in a mere 7..or 8...or however many...months, I will have an actual infant human attached to my boobs all day every day, sucking the life out of me. And I can't wait. 10月23日 Screw Halloween.So. Good points on my last blog, people. To Claire, I only assume that in these programs there are doctors that advise and monitor the students who do go on the pill; but that's just an assumption. It would be tremendously irresponsible to give such young girls these drugs knowing everything that could go wrong, especially considering that 12 year olds might not be mature enough to use them properly (ie skipping days, taking several at once to make up for it, not taking it at the same time every day, smoking, and/or possibly assuming condoms are not needed in addition to the pill). Hell, I know 30-year-olds that don't know how to take those pills the right way. So, like I said, good points made by all.
Moving on.
Feeling a whole hell of a lot better these days, minus the swift but occasional wave of nausea I get after drinking a huge glass of warm water really fast. (Seriously what am I thinking?) Got a doctor's appointment today. I'm insanely hungry and could go ape on the left-over chili that's sitting in the fridge, but I have this thing about not going to a pelvic exam all weighed down and gassed up.
The baby is supposedly the size of a kumquot, whatever that is. This morning I could actually feel the "baby ball"...my uterus, if you must have the correct medical term. I sleep on my tummy and it's getting more and more uncomfortable to do so. I'm not really concerned with whether I'm squishing the baby or not, which I'm quite sure I'm not...but it does actually hurt me a little so I'll have to become a side sleeper, and soon. Damnit.
This week I want to get out and do some Christmas shopping. I've been holding back and late October, for me, is a late start. I'll restrain myself from ornaments and lights and wrapping paper until I buy everyone's presents--it's so hard to keep priorities in order with the aisles and aisles of sparkly Christmas decorations in every store this time of year. Department stores start putting their stuff out in September, and Hobby Lobby is my Christmas central from August to January. A lot of people hate that but if I had my way, there would be a Holiday section in every store year round. And I would have a perma-tree in my living room with hot chocolate on tap. I could skip right over Halloween and Thanksgiving and go straight for December since the entire month is just so damn fun.
I can't write anymore--I have to shower and get dressed so I can maybe hit Hobby Lobby before my appointment. 10月18日 KIDS ON BIRTH CONTROLI've been inspired to write about a controversial issue that is very near and dear to my heart. I actually read and commented about it on another person's blog, but wasn't satisfied with the measly 2 cents I put in. So here goes nothin':
Have we all forgotten what it's like to be young? Or maybe everyone else's youth was a fascinating whirlwind of self-control and dignity; maybe it was just me. HOT BLOODED! (It's my theme song.)
The question here is whether or not a school district should be able to give out birth control pills to middle school children. From my understanding, it's through a medical program that the parents sign off on, but they would not be told if their child asked about or was given the pills. I think the general feeling was that, while it would be fine for the kids whose parents didn't give a rat's ass one way or another, the "good" parents of the world were expected to "talk" to their kids about sex and be involved in their lives enough to know when they need to intervene--I guess by way of doctor's visit or chastity belt, one or the other. I'd probably go with the chastity belt...although teenagers can be pretty resourceful when they want to get into trouble.
Seriously? The poor kids who don't come from the best homes could really use the attention and expertise from the school nurse or doctor or whoever, since they obviously aren't getting shit for information at home. Or maybe they're getting WAY too much information. A program like this most definitely couldn't hurt them. I'm 100% down with that.
But seriously, again? Talking? That's all fine and good, but...who are we kidding? "Hey, Mom? Dad? I'm thinking about having sex--but just thinking. As you know, sex among teens is almost always a premeditated act of thoughtfulness. Anyway. I was hoping we could discuss my options as to what kind of birth control I could go on. You would have to take me to the doctor, where we will proudly explain the situation and you will fork over the cash for the visit and the meds. I'm okay with that. While we're on the subject, can you please go over the risks involved with becoming sexually active at 12? I want to make sure I'm informed before I make my decision."
I think that's great, GREAT, if your little princess feels comfortable enough to have that conversation. You go, Mom and Dad!
But I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that this sort of banter doesn't normally occur in households where even the most open and honest middle-school aged children live with their super-loving and attentive parents. Maybe I'm the only one that's been putting crushed up birth-control pills in my kid's cheerios since she was 3. When Cheyenne asks the inevitable question "Don't you trust me?" in her sweet little preteen voice, maybe I'm the only mom out there that would respond with a big fat resounding "HEEEELLLLLL NO."
Talking.
I was 15. I made straight A's. I ran track and cross country. I was in chorus and yearbook and had never, ever tried cigarettes, alcohol, or any type of drugs. I was, I guess you could say, a bit of a nerd...but just a bit. I knew people that were having sex and loving it; I did not understand these people and I secretly looked down upon them. For the love of Pete, I had just stopped playing with Barbie dolls only one year earlier! My parents touched on sex, but spent most of their time bashing the whole "Don't do drugs" into my tender teenage head. We were open. We could talk. I just never felt like I needed to. And the thought of really asking questions or admitting to them that I even thought about sex (which at the time, wasn't much) just felt..too...weird.
Enter boyfriend #1: a junior. With a car--not an extremely nice one but hell it was a car and that meant he could take me wherever the hell I wanted to go. A country boy with a wanna-be badass attitude. I can't say I fell instantly in love, but he grew on me. He was the first boy I was allowed to "car date" with. We'd drive around, go out to the beach sometimes...he seemed to really like to make out. And you know what? I liked it too. Did I think about sex? Yeah. Did I think I'd be having sex with him? No--honestly. But, of course, one night, unexpectedly...
Enter Cheyenne. My angel. My heart. Finding out I was pregnant at 15 was every bit as horrible as a person would imagine it to be, and I was dealing with the guilt of just doing the deed. But pregnant? I went through a small stage of self-denial, but this was eventually eaten up by a gut-wrenching fear--one day, I would have to come clean. No one was completely happy with my news to say the least, including me for a long time...to tell the truth, long after Cheyenne was born. But my situation, for what it was, was the very best it could've been, because of my parents, and his parents. I had so much help. My ex went off to the Army, and I stayed home and graduated high school, with straight A's, still participating in sports and everything else. How lucky am I? I swear I have a golden bubble around me sometimes.
I was even involved in a club called "The Awareness Team": an abstinence is the only safe-sex program. This team was made up of guys and girls who proclaimed themselves virgins for one personal reason or another, and teen parents, who went around to area middle schools and high schools warning kids about the horrifying dangers of premarital sex. At the time I thought it was great; I could share my story with kids and maybe, just maybe, inspire someone to "make the decision to abstain from sex." We taught the kids about STDs, about what it means to be a teen parent, blah blah blah blah blah. Today I don't know it did much good. I would get so disgusted with the high-and-mighty attitude of the virgins--many from priviledged, upper-class white families, and many of whom I know, today, weren't virgins at all...but I thought maybe my "It could be you" story would hit home with someone, even though everytime I told it I would immediately launch into why condoms and birth control pills "weren't THAT effective."
I feel like an asshole for being on that stupid team.
This is jut not a black or white issue. It's not even a good parent/bad parent issue, at least not totally. Kids either will have sex or they won't. Hopefully they'll take into account everything you, as a loving, caring parent, have told them, and decide not to do it. Maybe they'll secretly look down on the people they know that have sex, and maybe they'll hold themselves to a higher standard. Maybe they'll have self-control and dignity. Maybe they'll come to you with questions of for birth control or for help. But maybe they'll deny they're even seeing somebody. They'll go to parties where the parents aren't home. They'll sneak out. They'll tell you they went skating, or to the movies, when they've really been parking back in the woods. There are just no guarantees.
Today I'm more apt to talk a kid's head off about sex. I'll tell Cheyenne how terrible of a decision it is to do it at such an age...and then I'll load her down with condoms and pills and whatever other goodies I can find for her. And then I'll tell her how wonderful it is to have her in my young life, and how I wouldn't change a thing even if I could.
10月17日 CheatedWeek 9, Day 2. As I've said, don't expect me to have much to write about other than kids and pregnancy.
Speaking of them, they're good. Mia is, still, of course, a wild woman, on her trike or jumping from the highest surface she can reach at any given point in time during the day. She'll need a new bed soon--she keeps falling out of the little one Caleb made her last year--it's about floor level so she's never gotten hurt, thank goodness, but all the same. Time to upgrade. Cheyenne's fine. She's joined the BOOK CLUB at school. I was a little disappointed (though I didn't let on) she didn't choose something outside her comfort zone--just more quiet, indoor book-reading, but the fact she's in an actual club makes me think well, at least she's not completely anti-social. She's just a thoughtful, quiet kid. She hasn't had many more problems as far as the lunchtime loneliness goes, or she hasn't said anything to me, but usually I can tell when she's bummed (vs. her normal self--it would be hard for an outsider to see the difference). It's going on 2 weeks since she called her dad and reminded him to send the i-pod attatchment. She still hasn't gotten it nor has she heard from him. Surprise surprise.
I had my first official appointment last week, Caleb and Mia in tow. Unfortunately I did not get to see an actual doctor. Instead, Nurse Tammy asked me questions for an hour and had me pee in a cup not once, but TWICE. I was then sent to another part of the hospital where a space cadet lab technician painfully took 50 vials of my blood. I think I finally got them all to believe that I was indeed pregnant by the time I left.
I'm am just sure I will see an actual doctor at my next appointment. It will all go great as long as they don't jack with my due date. I don't care that my doctor will make me strip naked and then stick her arm up my hoo-hah. I don't care that they might bust out the dildo-cam, or that I'll probably have to pee in several more cups, or that the staff will put me on a scale and judge me by how much I weigh as if they were entering me in the state fair. None of that bothers me so much as the possibility of a due date setback. May 20. Leave it alone.
Unlike my other 2, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment of conception with this one. I guess when you're trying your darndest NOT to get pregnant, you tend to commit any "slip-ups" to memory--and even in those instances the doctors did not agree with my calculations. This one...I can't really be sure if it was one weekend or the maybe the other. Could it have been the middle of the week? Was it on the closet floor or upside-down in the shower? Might this child have been concieved in an actual bed? Was it the night we were drinking pina coladas like they were going out of style or could we have been completely sober (doubtful)? I DON'T KNOW. They can't move me back. Not even by a week. I will refuse. Is that an option?
That's really the only major worry I have. I don't sleep very well--maybe it's the vitamins that I must take later in the day since taking them in the morning makes me feel gross. Last night I tossed and turned and tossed and listened to Caleb snore...and a feeling struck me--I KNOW WHAT THE BABY IS. I know what it is. I know it so much that I feel like I've been cheated out of my surprise. I feel so confident in this feeling that if I shared it with anyone, I would be giving away the secret. I feel it in my heart--the baby must have reached its telepathic stage and I am so sure of what we're having that I'd go out right now and buy a ton of clearance (read: non-returnable) baby stuff...I just know what I'm having. I knew it with Mia and Cheyenne long before I officially found out, and I can tell with this one, too. I poked Caleb after I had my epiphany.
ME: "Pssst...Caleb. Are you awake?"
HIM: "Hmmm? Huh?"
ME: "Pssst...Caleb. I know what we're having. Do you want to know? Because I know."
HIM: "Hmmm."
ME: "I just know we're having a _____."
HIM: "Oh. Hmmm."
ME: "Caleb. Caleb? Are you happy?"
HIM: "Hmmm. Intuition."
ME: "Caleb?"
I though he hadn't heard me, but this morning he said, "So. Explain this whole intuition thing--how are you so sure?"
I need to start taking bets. 10月16日 All Jacked-Up and Nowhere to GoAn Update of Sorts...
I forced myself to get out of the house yesterday. I bought a new bra from Victoria Secrets--a great one, although in a somewhat boring color. When I got home there was a $10 off coupon in the mail from VS. Of course. Oh, well. Maybe I'll use it to get the electric-purple bra the sensible me wouldn't let me buy.
Yeah...so, I'm ill again today but what else is new? Caleb's at the tail end of a backache from hell--Thursday he went to an Urgent Care clinic and saw some shit doctor that gave him shit medicine. He suffered through the weekend and finally saw our family doctor yesterday, who immediately gave him a prescription for some real drugs. So besides being a little groggy and a tad bit tight, Caleb's back at work. And by that I mean, yes, of course his job, but more importantly, he's making me my damn toast and getting Mia situated in the morning again. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to have my husband out of commission when I need him to wait on me hand and foot. Geez.
Obviously I'm joking...or am I? Caleb's been so good to me over the past several weeks--I've undoubtedly been spoiled, and I love and appreciate every minute of it. Sometimes it's that toast in bed that gets me through the day, or at least the morning. He's been going on walks with me, daily, and cooking dinner when he's home, and wearing out the kids when I'm energy-challenged (which is, okay, 90% of the time). I couldn't ask for a better husband.
I talked to an OLD, old, old friend of mine on Sunday--and long story short--she's doing better than she's probably done since we were 13, although she might not realize it at this point in time. We talked about a lot of things...and I was glad to hear from her and couldn't help but feel happy about where she was and what she was doing with her life now. She has 2 children and one mangy dog of an ex, and mentioned trying to "find someone like Caleb". And it got me thinking, while it's great to have that kind of goal, it's going to be tough. And why the hurry anyway? Who says she has to find anyone?
Caleb is truly one of a kind. I can't get over how I "lucked out", "catching" him--long after his own mangy-dog phase, and right before his angel-phase (we had to have a little fun, come on!)--and if you ask anyone that truly knows me they'd tell you he's my perfect match. My husband is just fucking awesome and that's really all there is to it.
Been a little emotional lately--mostly in the privacy of my own car. Nothing psychotic or manic depressive...just more...contemplative and probably, admittedly, hormonal. Songs are huge triggers for me--yesterday it was Rascal Flatt's "I'm Movin' On." For some reason, and it must've been a very strange and off-the-wall reason, I started thinking about my biological mother, and what must've been going through her head for oh, her ENTIRE life...What makes people do the things they do? Can people really "move on"? Did she? There's a line in the song that goes "Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road..." and it struck me that she never got it from me, although I don't know if she needed it or wanted it, or if I even felt that I personally had anything to forgive her for...but I was a hard-ass to the very end with her and I regret that--to a point. See?! Still doing it! Maybe she never even forgave herself. Who knows. The world is full of crazy people who make mistake after mistake until THEY DIE. I should not and do not exclude myself from that group, at least on some level.
Today, thankfully, I've got Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al" blazing through my mind. A little more light-hearted, I think, and will hopefully keep me from forming such deep thoughts. We all know what happens when Toni starts thinking. 10月9日 ReadyWeek 8, day 1. I'm worn out and burpy, but I'll take burpy over barfy any day.
I'm really tired. For some reason Caleb and I both are on this "get ready for baby NOW" kick and it just won't quit. Before I go into detail I need to explain a few things as far as some of the decisions we've been making around here.
And that's how it's done. The only other planning involves rolling with the changes that are bound to come up here and there. But isn't that where the fun part comes in? 10月3日 Life as We Know ItWeek 7, Day 2. Morning Sickness Blows.
On a more positive note, every other aspect of family life is good. It's better than good. It's great. After my little online outburst the other day I feel much better and Cheyenne has shown no signs of feeling down to begin with. I didn't get myself worked up over nothing, though. I meant what I said and I still mean it today and probably will for a long time. I try not to write things that are untrue or that I'll want to take back at a later point in time. That blog didn't fall into that catagory.
Cheyenne is fine. She still has days where she gets to the lunchroom late and has to eat by herself...no word on as to why she's always last to arrive; my feeling is that she takes her sweet time going to the bathroom, going to her locker, off in her own little world. But I've been picking her up after school and this allows her to get her homework and chores done at an earlier time so that she has the option to play with her friends in the neighborhood. It seems to be working, and the school is just down the road so it's not an inconvenience at all.
Mia is a riot lately. 3 years old is such a fun, fun age. She is a true wild child and her imagination is insane--it's like nothing I've ever seen in a kid her age. She can make up stories, complete with 3 dimensional characters and interesting plot twists...she acts the stories out with her collection of Schleik (?) plastic animals, her mice, and MacDonald's Wizard of Oz dolls. Her room is in a constant state of "play village" with her barn, a cottage, the mousehouse, a trainset and a jungle tree, all ready set go for her--we've just left it all up even at night.
She's gotten a little independant--the other day she casually asked me, "So. Mom. I was thinking--can I go play in my room? By myself?" And I said, "Sure, of course. Whenever you want." to which she grew excited and wide-eyed and said, "I can??? Whenever I want??? Oh, thank you mommy! You're the best!"
Everything is a game to her. Her name is never her name. She is always Peter Pan, or Captain Hook, or she's a dog, or a bunny, or a stinky boy (her words) or a baby or a doctor or a tiger. Darcy is Lightning the Horse, and Smokey is her pony named Rock. I usually have the priviledge of being Wendy or Tinkerbell even when we're playing school and she's the bully in the back of the classroom.
No object is what it seems. A hammer is a dumbell. "I'm working out," she grunts at me as she lifts the thing up and down. Brooms are swords, Febreeze is Monster spray...the girl is non-stop. I love it.
And, she's sleeping in her own room, in her own bed, waking up only once or twice at night whining in her half-sleep. She does not protest when I walk her back to bed and lay her down again and she instantly drifts off...I was worried last night because we had a storm, and she's not particularly comforted by the sound of thunder...but it was not a problem. She's completely daytime and nighttime potty trained. Everything is in order; things are as they should be. So in 7 months or so, we'll be ready to screw up the good thing we have going with a newborn that will wake up all night long and go through a trillion diapers a day.
The appreciation I feel for my parents grows tremendously with each passing day that I am a mom. 10月1日 Cover Your Own Ass (from now on)Let me cut right to the chase with this blog, although as I write I'm not sure I will actually publish.
Cheyenne spent 2 weeks out in California with her father this past July. She had a blast. No problem. Since her return home, he has bothered to call maybe twice--TWICE--and none of those 2 calls were made in the past month and a half.
I don't really care what's going on in his life--he's a busy boy. We're all busy. I don't care that he doesn't call her--it's no skin off my own back--and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure that she really cares anymore either, normally. But lately she's been worried--worried about the attachment to her i-pod she left on the West Coast, an attachment he promised to mail to her pronto. What can I say? The girl's got her priorities straight.
On this particular night Cheyenne got it in her head to call him and see if he had sent said i-pod attachment. Her opening words were "Hi, it's me. Me. Cheyenne! I was just calling because I hadn't talked to you in a while and I thought I should say hi...oh, and by the way, do you remember my i-pod thingy?..."
She then took the phone back to her room. Mia and I went about our business and got ready for bed. Not 15 minutes later, Cheyenne was back out in the kitchen, conversation over.
"How's your dad doing these days?" I asked.
"Oh he's good. He's getting married!" she said, smiling.
I smiled back. "I thought I heard that. Isn't that wonderful news?"
"Yeah...he asked why you hadn't already told me," and this was not a statement, it was a question, and she truly wanted to know the answer.
"Well...it was his big news to share. I thought he'd want to call and tell you," I said, really, really trying not go into "tell your dad to go fuck himself" mode. (I've never actually said that to her, by the way.)
"Oh. I don't think he cares. Anyway, I told him that you were having a baby. He wanted to know why you hadn't called to tell him," Again, a question. I clenched my teeth.
"Well, I don't think I need to call him right away about every little thing that goes on with me," I say, quite nicely I might add, but somehow it just didn't seem like a good enough answer. "Cheyenne, these are things you could be telling him through more frequent phone calls and letters on his part. I think maybe he should call you a little more than he does." There. I said it. Sweetly, but with a hint of aggrivation. I wasn't trying to be harsh.
"Well, he is busy. With work and stuff, he says," Cheyenne points out matter of factly.
"Well, honey, we are all busy. Look at Caleb. He's always working. Yet even when he's out of town for just 3 days, he makes sure he calls, even if it's while he's scarfing down dinner before a meeting, to talk to both you girls. So it can be done." With this response I worry if I went slightly too far. But the point is made, the subject is dropped, and she happily skips off to bed most likely dreaming of recieving the i-pod attachment in the mail sometime this week. Emphasis on the word dreaming.
THIS IS THE KIND OF SUBLIMINAL BULLSHIT THAT DRIVES ME FUCKING NUTS ABOUT MY EX. Things between us--not the problem. I just can't stand a man that treats his priviledge of being a parent to such an amazing girl so NON-CHALANTLY. I'm SICK of covering for him, telling Cheyenne that he's "probably very busy." That's a load of crap. A dad should never be too busy to make a short phone call at least once a week, or to sit down for 5 minutes and write a letter--a postcard, even! What the hell?
It was discussed a while back with him that maybe I could take on the duty of keeping him updated on Cheyenne's life via e-mail or quick phone calls. FUCK THAT. It is not my responsibility to remind him to be a father--a title he's had for 11 years now, though for less than 25% of that time did he ever even come close to actually earning the right to be called as such. And 25% is a high estimate, cause I'm nice like that. Too fucking nice.
Cheyenne's grandparents--I'm pretty sure they think of me as the evil bitch who never lets them have contact with their beloved granddaughter. It's a shame--they were very good to her--and to me--way back then, and Cheyenne was very close to my ex's mother. But again, why am I the one who has to keep their ties to her intact? We are usually here at the house, and we answer our phone. We don't have caller ID. I encourage Cheyenne to write letters, to call...and that's about as much as I feel I should have to do as far as all that goes.
I have tried to be positive about the whole situation, never saying one mean word about him when Cheyenne's around. Tonight was the first time in that child's life she's heard me be semi-critical of the man.
Man. That's a laugh. I've tried, I've tried to like him for who he is. I've gotten over every single thing that went down between he and I years and years ago--our married and divorced life is actually laughable to me now. But I'm tired of trying, of pretending, of forcing myself, and my daughter, to see the good in someone who is, deep down, an asshole. What kind of person...I want to say so many things at this point. What kind of person forgets he has a daughter? What kind of person practically ignores his own child? What kind of person is too busy to let his daughter know he's engaged? What kind of person doesn't even take 2 seconds to just call his daughter, in the time of her life when she craves his attention and approval, to say "Hi! I've been busy but I've been thinking about you!"
Unfortunately, it's the same person that for 2 weeks out of every year tries to step in and call the shots, claiming that it's his right as a father to have a say so in anything that goes on with Cheyenne. The same person that professes to know her SO WELL. The same man that for those 2 glorious fun filled weeks can play the part of super-dad with gusto, winning Cheyenne over for yet another year and feeding her bullshit stories about why he didn't call more than 4 times over the past 6 months.
I am not his keeper. I am Cheyenne's mother--and a mother's job is to make sure her child is happy and secure. I've done that. She HAS a loving and supportive family, complete with a father figure and a whole other set of warm and caring grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Cheyenne is completely taken care of in every way a young lady can be, and for that, my ex should be thanking his lucky stars, because he is very obviously uninterested in her welfare.
I'm so over his excuses...but I'm more so disgusted with the own excuses I've been making for him, and for the glorified version of a dad I've presented to Cheyenne over time. I'm done with it. I won't be badmouthing him from now on--I WILL NOT--and that's a solemn promise. But I am pretty sure that over the course of the next several years, I won't have to. Unless this boy changes, she'll figure it all out on her own. The Good, the Bad, and the NastyLet me begin by saying I've had an eventful weekend.
Being pregnant has been freakin' fantastic. I have been dealing with some pretty brutal nausea...far more than I ever had with Mia. It got so bad last week that I admitted to Caleb that I'd rather go ahead, throw up, and get it over with.
I got my wish as I was grocery shopping at Sam's Club last Friday afternoon. Not in the privacy of a bathroom stall; NO, not with my head hanging safely over a toilet, or even a sink or a trash can. I vomitted without warning, suddenly, violently, and in front of everybody; all over the floor in a center aisle...just after sampling a tasty brisket sandwich.
The situation was actually much worse, but I will not elaborate.
It goes without saying I was beyond mortified. Mia, who thankfully had been running ahead of the buggy, out of the line of fire, came up behind me and lifted my skirt as I stood there trying to wipe my face with a piece of paper that had been my grocery list. I yelled at her because I didn't need people seeing what kind of panties I had on when they already knew everything I had eaten that day. We ran to the bathroom, cleaned up as best I could, and hightailed it out of that store, leaving the buggy and what items I had already collected sitting right there in the huge pile of puke.
I managed to hold it in all the way home, perhaps because I was concentrating so hard not to get sick in the car, but as soon as I walked in the door I lost it and began bawling my head off, in front of Mia, in front of Cheyenne...I cried like my puppy just died. I couldn't help it. The girls, I think, were scared, and tried their hardest to make me feel better; Cheyenne by patting my knee and giving her most sympathetic face, Mia by fetching her very best stuffed animals and giving me hugs and pretend bandaids.
Caleb had, by coincidence or divine inspiration, bought a lovely bouquet of roses and arranged them in a vase. This made me cry. My mother had sent me the movie "Knocked Up". I got emotional over that. When Caleb came out of his office and asked me what was wrong, I started bawling all over again.
Caleb, being the wonderful man that he is, became a one-man-comedy-club until I was smiling again. He volunteered to take care of the shopping from now on, an offer which I gratefully accepted, at least for the next month, which I think is enough time for the Sam's people to forget my face. He laughed and pointed out that they probably had it on camera and had already watched it over and over before sending it in to You-Tube. I had to giggle at the idea.
We rounded out the evening by taking a walk, having a small dinner of hamburger helper (since my trip to the store had been unproductive), and watching the movie my mom sent. Only today can I write about this and sort of laugh. But not really. |
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