Tag Archives: giving birth

A time you feared for the safety of a loved one.

Posted on October 21, 2010 | 10 Comments

There was a prompt from Mama Kat this week that caught my attention.
Mama's Losin' It

5.) A time you feared for the safety of a loved one.

I’ve told this story before.  It’s from the scariest time in my life. New mother, beautiful newborn and a meth addict.  Somethings gotta go…..

There is nothing scarier than fearing that the drug addict you married is going to kill you and/or your child.  To me, there is nothing scarier or more dangerous than a meth addict in need of a fix.

converseChapter 7 in what I like to call “The book of meth”……..we’re nearing the end now, thank you all for coming with me as I tell my story….

Catch up from the begining here-

Or the entire Book of Meth here~

My first Christmas as momma was amazing. The PIT was healthy, happy and full of spunk. She had no idea I was miserable inside….

Mr meth was still in jail thru new years. I still hadn’t gone to see him, still refused to speak to him…all communication went thru his family. Finally in January I went to see him..I simply went to make myself clear…I was done. I told him that I hated him, that my daughters first Christmas was amazing no thanks to his worthless ass…told him that when he got out he was not coming to my home…told him it was over, I wanted out. I told him I wanted a divorce. I sat there and felt nothing as he bawled his eyes out and begged me to give him “just one more try”…I felt nothing. I wanted him to hurt. He crushed me…I wanted him to feel the pain that I felt when I realized “we” were over because of his choices.

I said “make a choice fucker! Marriage or meth?!?”

He made his choice and that is why we are here, discussing divorce, behind glass in a fuckin jail…on our fuckin sham of a wedding anniversary. Every little girls dream I know.

I left the jail still emotionless, quiet…I felt numb. Seriously?! Is this really my life right now?! What the shit?! What the fuck is wrong with me? I thought to myself. What kind of loser has a husband behind bars? What kind of loser has a husband who brings meth to a family reunion and drops it? Apparently me! Fuck!!!


111I went to pick up the PIT, took her home and cuddled and rocked her to sleep. I held her all night that night. Didn’t sleep for even a moment..I sat in that stupid gray rocking chair rocking all night…crying…bawling. I looked at my precious baby and I felt like such a failure….I wanted to give her the best and I knew that there’s no way I could. Failure….that haunts me everyday. I still feel like a failure because she doesn’t have a dad like I meant for her to have. I wonder if I always will…and as tears fill my eyes right now…I’m pretty sure I will.

Mr meth was released from jail sometime in January or February…he didn’t bother us at first. He went to his aunts and stayed with them for a while and seemed to make an effort. Soon however..the meth the friends the same old same old sucked him right back in. He started breaking into the house again and told me he would rather kill me than lose me. Ummmm, wouldn’t he have lost me either way? Hello…dead?! Nut job!!

Since the holidays my family had known that my marriage was over. Not feeling the need to hide my situation anymore I went to my dad for help. He spent a day with me helping get a restraining order and change the locks on the doors yet again. I met with a realtor to put my house, that I loved but could not afford on just my income, on the market. One more thing I was going to lose because of mr meths choices. I loved that house…my grandfather gave me my inheratance to use as a down payment on this house…I moved into this house literally one week before my grandfather died. He was to weak to even come into my house the day I moved in…but he drove to town with gramma and waited in the car in my driveway and told me that he was proud of me and that my house was beautiful. I squeezed my poppa thru the car window that day…poppa and I were both beaming. Now here I was bawling as I signed the papers to put the house up for sale. I still feel like I let poppa down…I lost the house he helped me get….

Mr meth was getting more and more nuts by the day and the restraining order didn’t stop him most days. One sunny afternoon I went out to my garage…a place I rarely went…I’m a girl…I have no business in a garage unless it’s a garage sale:) that afternoon I went out there looking for who knows what..I’m not even sure why I went out there. I went to open the door and almost broke my face…apparently the door was locked. Odd…I didn’t even know this locked! I knew I didn’t have a key because I knew this lock had not been on my door before, so being the naturally psycho bitch that I am, I kicked the door open…I must have been really pissed because I’m still kinda suprised I kicked it open in one swift kick!  There, in my garage was a Lexus, a Lexus that I knew was not mine since I had just begged the car dealer to buy my own Civic back from me because I couldnt afford it.  I actually knew who the Lexus belonged to…I was a fellow drug lord friend of Mr Meths car.  The question was. why the fuck is the drug lords car in my garage? How long has it been here? What the hell?! I really need to pay attention!

The PIT was napping when I made this discovery so I took that as an opportunity to pick a fight with the drug lord.

First, I went down to the basement, also a place I rarely went, mostly out of fear of finding drugs…..but that day I went. I went into the room that I later found out my husband was smoking meth in, a room I hadnt been in for a very long time. There on the shelf was the bottle of ZipStrip paint thinner I was after……..I poured the bottle of ZipStrip paint thinner into a super soaker that was in my basement for some unknown reason….I figured it was a sign from God to use it in my mission.

I called the drug lord who had his Lexus in my garage and asked him what the hell was going on. He told me that Mr Meth and him had gotten in a bit to deep with the latino drug lords and were now on their shit list, so naturally, they decided to hide the Lexus in my garage.  Terrific. Using my garage to hide your car from latino drug lords that you have pissed off. How thoughtful. Especially since I had made myself more than clear that I wanted NO part of any of this nonsense….none.  At least I had thought I made myself clear…..apparently not….so I told the owner of the Lexus that I was on my way out to the garage with my super soaker full of ZipStrip paint thinner and I was going to write “CRACKHEAD” on the hood of his beloved Lexus.

Within moments he was at my garage ready to relocate his car….but not before I could scream every possible obsinity at him and called him every bad name a person could call an asian….all of my neighbors were outside at his point…..curious as to what the crazy lil white girl was screaming about.  They soon found out…..I made it clear that this person as well as my soon to be ex husband were worthless drug addicts and I had no part nor did I want any part of the horse shit they were into. In fact, I yelled to all my neighbors…..”if you see either of these fuckers anywhere near my house PLEASE call the cops….  they are most likely wanted for some crime somewhere”.  After this chaos I created in my own front yard had gotten way out of hand the police did arrive but my worthless turd of a husband and his drug lord associate had already fled.  However, at least now, EVERYONE knew that I personally wanted no part of his illegal activity and the neighbors soon took the action to call the police whenever Mr Meth slithered back my direction.  I also knew, that I had brought this chaos into their quiet little neighborhood.  I knew I had to move…..I was always gonna be the crazy white chick screaming at the asian drug lords with the cops at her house weekly.  Yuck…..nightmare neighbor!  Nightmare reality is what I was living….

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9-11…a day of more than mixed emotions

Posted on September 11, 2010 | 9 Comments

It was a glorious fall morning in Minnesota.  The bluest most untouched sky…sun shining bright…leaves starting to change that wicked red and orange of autumn.

Autumn

I remember getting into my car that morning and thinking “it’s to fuckin early for this. Damnit that sun is bright! I feel a vomit coming on. Shit” and then running back onto my house to blow chunks yet again.  You see, that glorious morning I was heading to the doctor (far too early. Anything before noon in my pre-momma days was murder.) to confirm what that little pee stick said…that I was indeed knockered…which explained the constant puking. (I puked cheerios. Who the hell can’t handle cheerios?!)

*side note: try being a nurses aide at a hospital, wiping old folks asses and having to say “oop one sec Margaret…I’m gonna barf…just stay right there k?” not cool. I barfed all the damn time!

Once the barf session was over I headed out to the car…cranked up a CD and headed off to the doctor. I remember sitting in the waiting room listening to elevator music thinking “I’m gonna barf. I’m never going to stop barfing. Omg 9 months of barfing?! What have I done?!” just then a nurse called me back. I sat in the exam room nervous, terrifed, naked, freezing and still barfing waiting for my OB to come in. My OB was a wonderful woman who calmed my fears, and told me that I wasn’t going to barf forever and I could have an epidural for delivery. (What? It’s scarey to think about the pain of pushing a person outta your vagina! Forget it…call anestesia) and answered all of my ridiculous “I’m to scared to be a mom” questions and “what ifs”.  Then it was onto the physical exam. Which, for the record is terrible. Get the hell away from my cervix! But then my whining turned to panic.  My panic grew with every move the doctor made with the stethascope across my belly. “I’m not hearing a heartbeat.” she said.  I laid there silently but the look on my face must have said “OH FUCK” loud and clear because she reached out her hand, helped me sit up and said “let’s not panic. Let’s get you in for an ultra sound” Ok..an ultrasound didn’t sound so bad. I could handle that.  She was able to get me in for an ultra sound at 1:15 that day and asked me to return right afterwards and we’d discuss the findings.

(discuss the findings? You mean we’ll discuss if I have a viable fetus or not? If I’m going to have a baby or if I’m going to have a D & C? Super. Great. I’ll be here)

I left her office, got in my car and bawled until I barfed..yet again. I was absolutely terrified and it was only 11:30. What the hell was I going to do until one?!? Fuckin worry?!? Yup, and fill my bladder per doctors orders. I went to hardees for the hot ham & cheese sandwich, curly fries and large coke I was craving and headed home to catch my beloved soaps.

I remember sitting there, on my sofa, chewing on some fries, the dog sitting next to me hoping I’d drop a fry and I remember the feeling in my gut that day as I realized that All my Children wouldn’t be coming on.

I watched in shock, and horrid disbelief as I watched the reports of the first plane hitting the tower…I shook with fear as I watched the second plane hit.

towers

My fear was accomanied by anger as I watched the third plane hit the pentagon.

Pentagon

I bawled as I watched the fourth plane in that Pennsylvania field.

remember

So many things raced through my mind…so many emotions poured out of me as I watched those people in those buildings leap to their death…..

9-11_Falling_Man

as the fire fighters kept going back into those burning buildings…

firefighters-at-9-11

as the black smoke rolled out of the pentagon. ..The streets of new York were filled with panic and covered in ash….

_Ground_Zero_02

the pentagon had a plane IN it…passangers took down that last plane..those passangers that called their loved ones from the plane and said their goodbyes and I love you’s knowing THAT would be the last time they would ever be able to.

Tom Burnett (From Minnesota) called his wife, Deena, and reportedly told her, “We’re all going to die, but three of us are going to do something” and added: “I love you, honey” before the call ended.

They did that and then they kicked some terrorist ass.  I get chills now as I think about it…the courage that had to have conquered the fear long enough to say goodbye to your wife, hang up and say “let’s roll” united with strangers with the same courage to fight back.

Let's_Roll
I headed back to the clinic for my ultra sound shaken by what I had seen (a bit suprised it took me till noon to figure out the country was being attacked) and now back to full force worry mode: heartbeat or no heartbeat.  The waiting room at the ultra sound clinic had CNN on..playing the footage of the planes flying into the twin towers and the footage of the still burning still somewhat standing buildings.  I cried as I watched the terror in the peoples eyes as they ran for their lives down that new York street with a massive cloud of ash pumeling after them.

9-11_panic

The tech called my name…”oh shit..please please please let there be a heatbreat” the tech was very nice and could sense I was scared shitless. She put that cold gooy stuff on my belly and got the wand ready and….I barfed.  Then we proceeded…there it was…a tiny little blob with a very much so beating heart.I’ll never forget the joy i felt at that moment, staring at this little blinking heart….it was beautiful…it was at that moment that I felt it…I felt…mom. I felt so much love yet so much fear as I thought about the events unfolding before my eyes..before the eyes of every person in this country.  What kind of world am I bringing a life into? What’s going to happen now? Will we even be around by the time this child is born?  I left the ultra sound clinic and went back to my OB where we discussed my due date (yes!!!!)  I left her office with my very first picture of my baby…dated 9.11.01.

1233332 182

A day I’ll never forget for joyful and painful emotions. That afternoon I reported for duty at the hospital where I worked. I remember the somber feeling…the quietness of the halls…the red puffy eyes of the nurses who had watched the days attacks just as I had.  Not much was spoken, with words, the looks in the eyes of my fellow Americans said it all.  We were all scared, worried, sad, sick with the idea of the number of lives lost, we were all shaken…but never broken. The census on first floor was low so I was able to join some of the nurses who were walking up to a memorial type service at city hall.  We walked together quietly…we stood together and cried with many others who had gathered at the service.  We stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers and held hands as fellow Americans as we prayed together….

Firemans_Flag_lg

Tell me….where were you?

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What color was my what?!

Posted on July 1, 2010 | 4 Comments

It was once said that I was lucky that I hadn’t been burnt so bad by love that Id completely given up.

Clearly a memo was missed.

I happen to think that having your “husband” cheat on you with not one but two crackwhores, in your own home, while you’re giving birth is the kinda burn that can leave an incredibly massive blister on your heart.   And that’s only part of the fire Ive endured with misplaced love.

Shit, I have an entire post dedicated to reasons that I WONT date, plus I revoked my own rights to date until I was 30.

Fuck that noise….Im done. Keeping my heart in my pocket bitches.

Mhhmmmm….thats what Ive said for the last 7 years.

I convinced myself ages ago that there would be no happily ever after for me, it was going to be me and the PIT until she turned 18 and leaves me to chase her dreams (not boys) thus leaving me….destined to be the old cat lady. I wasn’t super stoked about it or anything but I had accepted it.  Ill get a fat lazy cat and yell “GET OFF MY LAWN” like Clint Eastwood did in Gran Torino.

(Badass flick btw..)

My outlook on my future as a single momma changed with one question outta the PIT’s mouth.

“What color was your wedding dress momma?”

gown

Motherfuck. It hits me. This is gonna be interesting…..

My daughter LOVES weddings….she loves everything about weddings, the music, the food, the chicken dance, (most recently she learned the Macarana) but most of all….she LOVES the brides that look like princesses.

So….how the fuck am I going to explain my “wedding”?!?!?

“I didn’t have a wedding dress” I replied.

“Why? What did you wear to the church” the PIT inquired.

*Motherfuck*

“Ahhhhhhh….well, I didn’t get married in a church.” I said

“Well then how did you get married?!” she squealed as if implying that I had been lying this whole time & never actually had been married.
*Pssshhh I wish*

“There are lots of way to get married darling…lotsa places…its not always in a church. Some people get married on a beach or in the woods or something…” I said (yeah…like that’s helping dumbass)

“Did you get married on a beach?!” the PIT asked almost hopeful
*Way to bring up the beach stupid*sweetbeach

“No.” I said as I tried to come up with some way to make this sound not so obscured in her simple lil mind. Turns out…it cant be done. “I got married at the courthouse by the Justice of the Peace” I said with a hint of shame in my voice.

*What a LAMEASS story! How disappointing! She LOVES weddings and wedding stories and I don’t have SHIT to tell her.

“Why?” she asked

“Because” —–Yes that’s all I said. So I left out the “because I was knockered” part…itll come.

“Who was there?” asked the PIT with a very puzzled look on her face….the one that says “Im not buying this because shit momma”

“Auntie” I said

“That’s IT?! She screetched “Was nana there? Or Uncle?”

shockedpeople

*Hmmm well that would have been tough considering I got married on a Saturday and called my family on Sunday night all “Oh hey btw…..I got married yesterday soooooooooo get off my back”

“Just Auntie” I said “That’s all we wanted…just a small, personal ceremony, it was very nice” I said

*Amazing I know. I managed to say that without projectile vomiting. I took a lot of Xanax but I did it.

Ill continue to do it because the PIT loves to hear stories…even though this particular story sucked and its hard for me to talk about him without wanting to puke….she loves to hear stories.

I think Id be ripping her off pretty badly if I didnt at least attempt to tell her any stories….

I think Id be ripping us both off if I didnt at least try to love again…

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Posted in I rarely ever to never have anything nice to say...like right now, Journey to find....me, My ex's MAY have made me kinda bitter, So I fucked up...big fat friggin deal

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Im gonna rock the shit outta this motherhood bit…

Posted on April 13, 2010 | 1 Comment

Pushing a person outta the devil chute can really change your perspective on things.

 Parents and parenting techniques vary as much as a child and a childs behavior.

Before I birthed a child from these loins I knew everything there was about kids…the were noisy and rather “in your face all the time” which I found rather annoying.  I have a very low tolerance for pretty much anything really so I just figured I pass on the parenting bit….until of course I met the PIT. I remember before I was “momma”…I would see that kid in the grocery store throwing that awful hissy fit or the obnoxious kid at a resturant and thinking…”hmpfh if that were my kid by golly…” funny how we know everything about parenting until we actually are parents. 

conv

Now as a parent I find myself feeling clueless…stumbling thru this crazy tangled mess of a life as a mom and a single/stubborn one at that!  I find myself almost daily using a quote or two that Ive picked up and carried with me thru life and passing that onto the PIT as I try my best to teach her….do I know what Im doing, is my way the right way for all, do I think I have all the answers?

Nope. Nope and nope…..hell I dont even know the fucking questions yet let alone the answers! 

Am I gonna rock the shit outta this motherhood bit

legs-1

and raise on hell of a respectful, independant, open minded, smart, caring, compassionate and quite frankly….a mighty force to be reckoned with?

 

I’m changing the world one lil baby rockstar at a time…..my own way~

  

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She misses her what?

Posted on April 6, 2010 | 6 Comments

As I said before…terminating Mr Meths parental rights is one choice I’ve always been certain was right.  However, being right doesn’t mean there isn’t a little heartbreak here & there…….

“Momma?” she said in a quiet tone.

I turned to look at her and she had tears in her eyes…she started to bawl

“I really miss my daddy” she sobbed.  “I haven’t seen him since I was a baby and I think about him a lot” she says “I just really miss my daddy”

My heart breaks every time we do this.

6heart

I scooped her up in my arms and squeezed her tightly as she continued to cry.  As always, I started to tear up, it kills me to see her so sad and upset.  It pisses me off so fucking much to watch this little girl cry her eyes out over that worthless fuck.

I can feel it creeping back in…the anger, the hate, the pure disgust I have for that man.  How dare you break her fucking heart like this! For what fucko?! Meth!?! “ I hope you choke on the next hit you take bitch” I think to myself “I fucking hate you”.  My gut aches as I fill with anger….my heart breaks as my child cries in my arms, as her tears run down my chest one tiny shattered piece of my heart runs down with it.

tears fall

She looks up at me with teary eyes and asks “Don’t you miss daddy?”

UUMMMMMM…….FUCK!

Do I miss the man that I divorced?  The man who cheated on me in MY house while I was giving birth, the motherfucker who threatened me and tormented me with his insane ways once he discovered meth, the man who warned me to sleep with one eye open, the man that I was so terrified of that I literally slept with you next to me every night so I was sure he wasn’t going to take you from me? The man that looked at me, cold and empty, and asked “how do I know you’re not fucking wired?!”  No…..I don’t miss him one fucking bit. In fact the thought of him makes me want to vomit….the thought of him fills me with so much rage I honestly think I could rip his face off if given the opportunity.  How the hell could I miss THAT?!  I also don’t miss the person that I was when I was “married” to him.  Scared, hurt, bitter (more bitter than I currently am), depressed, hating myself…..I don’t miss any of that.  I wish I could erase all of those memories that haunt me….just wipe em out.  If I didn’t remember it so well, if I didn’t still feel a bit scared, if I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder…..maybe this “missing daddy” thing wouldn’t be as hard.

Yeah right….I don’t think anything could make this kinda thing any easier.

Although, thanks to a very wise and caring man, I was reminded of one simple fact that did indeed help.  I may know who he was, who he became, the things (and whores) he did…..the PIT doesn’t.  She doesn’t actually miss Mr Meth because she never knew him…..she just knows that theres a void in her life where her daddy should be….

I can be the most awesomest momma ever in the world

rockstar000

and its not going to fill that “daddy” void.

I have to accept that theres nothing I can do about that.

Missing is a natural emotion and having a dad is a natural thing so of course shes going to miss having a dad.  I cant fix that….mostly because its not broken.  Its natural….part of life….a test of my strength.

154

I may hate Mr Meth but the PIT has no idea that I do.  I intend to keep it that way.

I wont spew my hatred for that assclown on my child….thats what you’re here for.

Thank you~

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It’s TMI Tuesday

Posted on March 16, 2010 | 4 Comments

 It’s TMI Tuesday and Danielle from GirlyGazette is currently in “early labor” which pretty much sucks because by this time you are SO done sharing your uterus that you really cannot wait to get this kid the fuck out. 

 Or maybe thats just me…idk….it doesn’t matter…the point is–since Danielle is in labor & it’s TMI Tuesday I’ve decided to share with you my own labor story. 

 Luckys ;)

 

Picture it….my world…a fairly nice April night 8 years ago….

It had been a long day and I was rather pissy after confronting the cuntnugget whore “just friend” slut that my then husband was boning. 

 *see the book of meth for details*

I had made it to 39 1/2 weeks which was rather impressive considering by 26 weeks I was in preterm labor. 

Apparently, being 90% effaced at that stage in the game is not cool.

  I’m not going to lie, at the time I was like “What the fuck is effaced even mean?!”

I guess I only knew how to get the baby in there up until this point.  Brilliant I know. 

They kept telling me that when I go into labor “its gonna be fast”…..

Ummmmm how fast we talkin doc? Like is it gonna slip out when I sneeze?! How FAST?! And what the hell is effaced?! What the fuck is going on here?!

Panic sets in…”Im in over my head doc” the look on his face was clear “Yeah well…too fuckin bad. You’re birthing a child from your loins so deal..”

Fine.

 I did deal…I did my research and when I was put on bedrest, I constantly harrassed the nurses I had worked with because suddenly…I KNEW NOTHING. 

The goal was to make until 36 weeks and if the kid hadn’t flipped into position yet, the doctors were going to turn her….like from the fucking OUTSIDE! WTF?! Owww!

I am not kidding you–I was scheduled for this baby flipping procedure at 8am and the PIT flipped at midnight the night before….just as All My Children started. 

 It was the most freaky disgusting feeling ever PLUS I could see the thing move….FREAKED ME OUT. 

 But at least I wasnt going to need the procedure! 

At 37 weeks they said that if I went into labor they wouldnt stop it this time…I was ok to go. 

Week 38 passed without so much as a gawddamn comtraction.

  Week 39 STILL no baby….

Tuesday night of week 39 is when I “ran into” the blonde bitch…still NO baby.

WTF?! You’ve been trying to slip out WEEKS and now that you CAN you WONT?!

 Holy fuck….this is SO my kid.

My “plan” was to give it a little push to get rolling. 

Ok fine. It wasnt a plan. 

 It was a bad idea that tasted really nasty but totally worked. 

 I drank castor oil mixed with fruit punch….which tasted like licking lipstick…YUCK….I waited for a bit….nothing. 

 Fuck.

 By now it was almost midnight and I was tired so I said “fuck it” and went to bed. 

 I never even into the bedroom. 

Suddenly I hauled my pregnant ass to the bathroom and puked my everloving guts out. 

 Do you have any idea what fruit punch castor oil tastes like coming up?!

IT BURNS…..BOTH ends. 

Well that heave was enough to start contractions. 

Now all I had to do was locate this fuckwad I was married to…who also had the car.  Just like any other mom in labor has to do Im sure….

I located him & my car thus arriving at the hospital around 1am. 

 Keep in mind that I had worked at this very hospital for years prior to this bedrest incident…

I walk in holding my gut, bend over, CLEARLY in pain and CLEARLY pregnant when I was greeted by the receptionist at the ER who said “How can I help you?”

I believe my EXACT words were “Are you fucking kidding me?!

and then I called her a not so nice name and told her to call 3rd floor because “IM IN LABOR and NOONE is touching me until I get that epidural” so they better call Craig like NOW….

and waddled my ass up to 3rd floor totally blowing off the receptionist who was all like

“Maam I need to see you insurance card” and Im like “Bitch youre going to see a child fall out of my vagina..I DONT HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT!!!” 

I honestly have no idea who this girl was and I dont think she was working there anymore by the time I came back from maturnity leave come to think of it….

I got up to 3rd floor where the nurses were waiting and then they were like “Where is your wheelchair?! Why are you walking around?!” like I really have time to be scolded right now!

“Is Craig here yet?” I snapped

“Craig?! Anesthesia Craig?” the nurse asked

“No. Craig Ferguson. OF COURSE anesthesia Craig! Noone is touching me until Im numb!”

“Oh settle down” she replied

Damnit…fine. Not like I could do must else!

Craig came to save the day shortly after that….and I really didnt let anyone anywhere near my cervix until he was there. 

 Im not kidding…I was THAT patient.   I wonder why those nurses even talk to me anymore?!

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed…leaning my head on the nurses shoulder as they put the epidural in place….I was still sitting there when the fucking thing DIDNT WORK!

I’m freaking out thinking…no…KNOWING that the pain of birth was going to kill me. 

They asked me if I wanted a second attempt. 

 If you’re asking me if I WANT you to poke me in the spine with that 30 foot needle again then the answer is hell yes. 

 Bring it. 

They brought it…Im still sitting there propped up on a nurse bawling because I just knew it wasnt going to work and I was going to fucking die. 

I didnt die BUT the chick that was with my in the delivery room…the friend who had already had 3 kids so shes a pro at this…passed the fuck out when she watched em poke me again. 

Still propped up and bawling I scream “OMG pick her up! Shes pregnant too!” 

Mhmm…an epidural that may or may not work on what has got to be the craziest patient EVER and a pregnant friend on the floor passed out cold. 

I couldnt even make this shit up if I wanted to! 

More nurses come in to help…they picked my friend up and tended to her just to make sure she & her baby were ok while the nurse I was propped on helped me back into bed to lay down….on my side. 

 Why?

 Well because the 2nd epidural worked….ON ONE SIDE. 

 Seriously….what.the.fuck. 

I was traumatized by the whole ordeal. 

Alright…not traumatized just seriously annoyed.

Laying on my side did help and after a while I was good and numb on both sides. 

 I was good and numb so I had no idea when I had to shit thanks to all that castor oil I drink like a fucking moron. 

 I apologize to all of my nurses….it *seemed* like a good plan at the time.

I was so flipping tired that I actually slept through most of my labor. 

 The nurse woke me up when it was time to push and I pushed twice….Im a bitch I know…sorry to all you women out there that have pushed for 2 or 3 HOURS only to have a c section anyway…

The actual “birth” was a breeze considering I felt NOTHING!

However, after the epidural was out I was certain there was still a babys head in my ass…..it wasnt…hemorrhoids really are a bitch! 

Sit, stand, sneeze…doesnt matter…you’re gonna feel it in your ass. 

 Just sayin….

For more possible giggles and shit you don’t need to know check out last weeks TMI Tuesday and You Shoulda Told Me…

 

 

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Who’s to blame for my blogging?

Posted on February 13, 2010 | 9 Comments

Ever wonder, “What the hell made her start blogging?!”

The people to blame are the people I admire. 

People I would call my blogging “heros”

The primary person to blame for this blog is Matt logelin.

And his robot.

I stumbled across matts story in my beloved People magazine.

At first I rolled my eyes at the story. A single dad raising a kid? Woopie doo.

Then I read it….then I read his blog…and then I bawled.

There was far more to Matts story than being a single father.

Matt raises his gorgeous little girl alone but sees the love of his life in that girls eyes….he gets the double whammy-he sees the joy of being a father in his daughters eyes but that girl is a spitting image of her mother Liz.

 Liz died 2 days postpartum…she died, literally, moments before she was able to hold their newborn baby girl, Madeline.

 I cannot fathom matts pain.

One day he and his wife are welcoming Madeline to the world and the next….his wife, the wife that he so clearly loved was dead.

Matt brought his daughter home to plan her mothers funeral.

Being a first time father and a widow pretty much all at once is enough to make most people break.

Matt didn’t break…instead he carried on without Liz physically present but if you read any of his blog you’ll know Liz is and forever will be in his heart.

And he started a foundation for widows in Liz’s name. 

They shared *that* kinda love….the kind we all hope to find…Matt & Liz had that.

Matt raises Madeline to know that.

I think that’s admirable.

The best thing a father can do for their children is love their mother…..Matt loves Liz and Madeline will know that.

She will-it’s gonna be in a book!

I will being purchasing a copy of matts book when it’s ready.

I love the way he talks about Liz, the way that little things like a sweet & low packet floods him with memories and the way he tells his story…I get lost in the details, caught up in the emotions and usually end up bawling but it’s worth the runny mascara to share in the memories of their love and to watch Madeline grow up…rather quickly!

Matt has been an inspiration to me.

On some levels I can relate to Matt.

We both look into the eyes of our daughters and see the person we once loved who is never coming back again.

Other levels I can’t imagine how Matt feels or survives…he’s clearly a stronger parent/person than I.

Matt loved his wife very much.

Neither one of them had a choice to say or go…liz was ripped from matts life without any warning.

 He still misses liz…he still loves Liz.

 He adores his daughter and to ensure that Madeline will know her mother was an amazing person, Matt takes Madeline by the hand and together they walk in lizs footsteps.

 They recently visited India, a place Matt & Liz had once been together.

To share in the feelings and emotions of facing memories of a love lost too soon…was truely an intense ride.

Reading his story I think “how. How is he not pissed off? Who would he even be pissed off at? God?”

I mean, when I see him in her eyes…I see the person I fell in love with…not the meth addict I divorced.

It’s easier to hate the meth addict that I divorced than it is to miss the man I loved.

 Brings back memories, memories that I don’t want to face because it pisses me off.

 Pisses me off that I was wrong.

Pisses me off that he chose meth over me.

I’d rather forget I ever felt anything at all then feel the pain & regret.

Yet every April I feel it all over again.

It hurts all over again. 

I’m too much of a coward to relive any of the good memories…too much of a coward to talk about him pre meth.

If I had an ounce of Matts courage I might have half a chance at a happily ever after.

Madeline may never meet her mother but her father will make sure she knows her and about the love they shared.

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Posted in and then theres this kinda shit, Journey to find....me, Mission: Change the Mindset, My ex's MAY have made me kinda bitter, so I have a heart and feelings...tell anyone and Ill kill you

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I hope she calls me momma till the day I die

Posted on February 10, 2010 | 5 Comments

Its true.

I really do hope the PIT calls me ‘momma’ till the day I die. Im sure that in her teen years ‘momma’ wont be her choice word for me but whatever.

Does that make me “juvenile”?

No it does not.

Tagging a railroad car with my make believe gang signs would be juvenile.

 As usual, a troll has stumbled upon a fellow mommy bloggers post and left a ridiculous comment that actually inspired several kickass “why Im proud to be called mommy” posts (like this one from Maria) throughout the blogosphere.

This is the comment that was left for @BoredMommy:

“Why is it that you call yourselves “mommies”? It’s infantile, like being called a girl instead of a woman. If giving birth (or adopting) and raising a child is so important, why don’t you insist on the dignity of the word “parent”? Or “mother” — if you insist on focusing on gender as well? I am a parent and I was “mommie” only to my children and then only when they were young. No wonder men and childfree women don’t take you seriously: You are endlessly self-absorbed, boring, juvenile, and have nothing to say for yourselves beyond your reproductive status and childrearing.

Personally I dont find being called momma undignifed.  I think that being called oh i dont know ‘cunt’ would be far more undignified. 

In regards to the “no wonder men & childfree women dont take you serious” part….ummmmm, what the hell kinda crazy is that?! Lots of people dont take me seriously not just men & childless women.  Both men & women are equally suprised when I bitchslap em for not taking me serious come to think of it….

But then theres this:  You are endlessly self-absorbed, boring, juvenile, and have nothing to say for yourselves beyond your reproductive status and childrearing. 

 This one really chaps my ass because I am far from fucking boring!

I am a hot little crazy train of chaos gawddamnit! 

Plus, I have plenty to say for myself beyond my reproductive status (status=not happenin again) and childrearing (status=I have no idea what Im doing here). 

In case you havent noticed…….Im one fascinating bitch and far more than your average single momma (hence the name…..clever i know). 

 Aside from my “out of order” uterus and that darn kid that’s always callin me momma I also work fulltime and the skills that I’ve learned from working could save your life-if I feel like it.

I’m also a sister who loves her baby brother and would rip a bitches face off if she hurt him. Don’t worry-his wife is aware of my policy.

I’m a daughter who has given my parents gray hair (well my mom…my dad is bald…which he says is my fault but I think he’s full of shit) and memories–good, bad and the ugly.

(most of the teen years were the ugly. Sorry mom! It was just a phase! I haven’t been arrested since!! Have I? Shit.)

I’m a grandaughter, niece, auntie and best friend to a few lucky people.

I’m a writer, photographer and all around bitch.

You see…far more than a uterus.

I do however wear that mommy badge everyday and I wear it proudly.

 There is nothing sweeter (to me) then that little voice saying

“I love you momma”

 or

“MOMMA! Where are my socks?”

 or

“but nooooooo momma I don’t wanna”.

Don’t get me wrong, some days that little voice is like nails on a chalkboard and it wouldn’t matter if she called me momma or the queen of fucking England…when I’m pissy I’m pissy.

At the end of every day when I tuck her into bed she says “love you momma” and it feels SO good.

 Being called momma 157533 times a day reminds me that I am that girls hero….her momma. 

 That is a damn good feeling. 

The 9 hours of labor, surviving Mr Meth and fighting day after day to make a better life…..well it makes the fight worth it

somedays I need 157533 reminders  

 

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Posted in and then theres this kinda shit, I like to bitch.ALOT, I rarely ever to never have anything nice to say...like right now, Journey to find....me, Just because Im a mom does NOT mean I wont throat punch you, NEWSFLASH: Im a bitch

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Flood of memories

Posted on February 3, 2010 | 11 Comments

Tonight a commercial for the super bowl came on and for some reason that triggered a flood of memories that felt so fresh, so real…..I felt a chill down my spine as the chill of the feelings of that day…the way I felt that day.

Eight years ago to the day. 2-2-02.

Memories both good and bad of joy and sorrow all poured over me like a cold rain.

I felt it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2-2-02:

It was the day before the super bowl.

I remember that so well because it was the super bowl where the Patriots played someone and the Patriots were sure to lose so my meth addicted husband placed a bet against the Patriots.

This one…..

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

The American Football Conference (AFC) champion New England Patriots (14–5) win their first Super Bowl by defeating the National Football Conference (NFC) champion St. Louis Rams (16–3), 20–17, as kicker Adam Vinatieri made a game-winning 48-yard field goal as time expired. The Rams had been 14-point favorites to win the game, making the Patriots’ victory one of the biggest upsets in Super Bowl history.

Mhmmmm….and he had bet a shit-ton of money on that game. Which is probably the logic thing to do when you’re out of work and tweeked outta your fucking mind….

The day before that Super Bowl game I had my regularly scheduled weekly fetus check.  Still on bedrest….still not working…bored out of my mind and rather depressed I was SO hoping to find out if the fetus was a boy or a girl.  I had worked at the hospital during my pregnancy….I had access to nurses and ultra sound machines….and I totally abused that access:)  I started trying to find out what sex the fetus was going to be at 13 weeks gestation.  Early, yes, Im impatient damnit!  2-2-02 at 33 weeks along the little shit FINALLY cooperated with me and revealed her lil vajj!  So many emotions surged through my already hormonal and unstable mind….in all honesty…I had ‘planned’ on the fetus being a boy.  Seriously, what the hell do I know about being a girl besides most of the time it pretty much sucks ass?! I suck at being a girl.  To this day, I still do not own a dress. Why? What the hell am I going to wear it with? My sneakers? Oh yeah-one pair of shoes. I hate shoes.  I was freaking the fuck out.  I dont know what to do with a girl?! Holy fuck…now Im really in over my head!

  (right, because having recently found out your husbands a meth addict & your in preterm labor isnt quite in over my head)

I left the appointment still a little bit in shock.  I honestly didnt think I was going to have a girl.  I was totally rooting for a boy. 

(Looking back, I blame the hormones.)

 I went home and just sat on the couch…the house was quite well except for the pups playing…other than that I was alone. 

As I had been for most of the pregnancy. 

 In some ridiculous attempt to try and provoke my husband into “daddy” mode I called him to tell him that he was having a daughter and I dont know what I expected I guess…..not facing the reality of what your husband has become can seriously cloud ones thinking. 

No you know what. Fuck that. I do know what I was expecting.  I was expecting a “YAY!!!” or “Lets go buy something PINK” or some sort of joy…some sort of reassurance that this was going to be ok…some sort of connection–I expected him to feel something. 

Instead, when I told him the fetus was a girl he simply replied “Oh. Ok. Is there anything else? Im in the middle of a card game.” 

Really?!

 ”Alright well since you asked motherfucker yes there is something else. GO FUCK YOURSELF.” and I hung up the phone so pissed I was shaking…so pissed I threw the phone and scared the bejesus outta the pups who I honestly did not see there.  So pissed all I could do was cry. So I did.  I cried for hours as the reality set in….that son of a bitch is too far gone.  There’s no feeling left…i dont know that man…I dont want him anywhere near me or MY daughter.  I cried myself to sleep that night…..

The next day I went out and bought my first pink baby blanket.  I felt a little bit better as I put the pink blanket into my “time to birth this baby” bag. 

I was having a girl!!

I had no idea what to do with a girl but I also was clueless about raising boys.  Im glad the Lord gave me a girl….that girl….MY girl. 

The girl who is now snorring on the couch behind me in a pink Vikings jersey (she was the only one upset by their loss btw…) and the kitten Jake Maxwell snuggled up under her arm.

  I think he’s comfortable….I hope shes not choking him! It does sorta look like shes got him in a headlock….I better check on that…

Back to that day in 2002….I still hadnt heard from mr meth and with that he fueled the fire which eventually burned any ties between us.  He actually called on Super Bowl Sunday to tell me cry to me about the thousands of dollars he had lost on that game to a certain druglord thug that is the kind of thug you’re going to pay back.  No “how ya feelin?”, “hows the fetus?” nothing….just Im in trouble….that was just the start of a long line of “Im in trouble” moments and disappointment that I could have done a lifetime without……

PS–Jake Maxwell IS breathing.  It wasnt a chokehold afterall

 

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Posted in and then theres this kinda shit, I like to bitch.ALOT, I rarely ever to never have anything nice to say...like right now, Journey to find....me, Just because Im a mom does NOT mean I wont throat punch you, My ex's MAY have made me kinda bitter, NEWSFLASH: Im a bitch, remember that one time, The Book of Meth

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Being pregnant can be scary enough

Posted on January 23, 2010 | 1 Comment
  

Being pregnant can be scary enough.  

  Preterm labor and the risk of losing your baby is a whole new kind of scary.  

 

This….is my story….   

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

It was like any other night.    

I finished my shift at the hospital and was home around midnight.   

 Mr. Meth was still working at this time, we had been married for 21 days, I was 26 weeks pregnant and mr meth had recently started acting odd.   

I was home around midnight, tired and feeling like ass from a nasty cold but Mr. Meth was MIA. He should have been home from work before me.   

This was still rather new behavior; it was the first time I thought “holy hell. I’m on my own.”   

You see, that night in January when I had a nasty cold, a coughing fit sent me into preterm labor.   

   I knew that these pains I were no normal pains that a pregnant woman should have, at least not yet.    

 I called Mr. Meth over & over but he never answered…ass.    

I headed to the hospital alone.   

   

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

26 weeks into my pregnancy and I was hooked up to monitors, IVs and scared shitless.   

Barely past the half way point is not far enough!   

“What the hell was happening here and where the fuck is my husband?!?” I thought to myself.    

My doctor came in and explained to me that I was dilated to 2 and 90% effaced.    

Interesting, now what the fuck does that mean doc?!    

Well, apparently that means that your cervix is preparing for delivery even though the baby’s not done cookin and that is a problem.    

 A big problem.    

You’re not supposed to start effacing until much later in the pregnancy and the doctor told me that “when you go into labor, you’re going to go quick”    

Ok…so what are we talking here? She’s like gonna slip out?! What the hell do I do now?!   

A baby’s chances of survival at 26 weeks is not that great ok…I was freaking out, absolutely terrified and incredibly pissed off.    

Mr. Meth showed up at the hospital around 2am…by then I had already been seen by the doctors and the labor had been stopped…I was told to rest…no stress—obviously they had no idea my husband was a stress inducing asshole.    

 In order to attempt the no stress I simply ignored him when he came in my room.    

 “Are you ok?” he asked    

“Yup” I said and that was that.    

 I told him that I was being kept overnight for observation…which was a blatant lie.    

Shortly after he left my doctor came back in and went over my discharge instructions and told me that I was hereby on strict bed rest—I wouldn’t be working anymore.    

That sucked because I actually liked working at this time!    

I went home….alone…Mr. Meth was not there when I arrived…who knows where he was.   

 I didn’t care.    

I was worn out and all the fighting and stressing with him was clearly having a bad impact on me and the baby.    

I was exhausted from the fear of “oh shit-what was that pain?! Omg was that another one?!”    

 I was scared, worried, tired, depressed, disappointed and alone.    

 I spent the remainder of my pregnancy like that.    

Scared, worried, tired, depressed and alone.    

 I went in to my doctor every week for the rest of the pregnancy as well…that gets kinda fucking annoying ya know?    

 Being pregnant is scary enough, I mean I remember barely being pregnant and thinking “there is not a day that I’m not going to think about this baby inside me”  granted, I’m an all star worrier but add preterm labor into the mix and I’m beyond terrified.    

 Thankfully, I worked (well up until that night) at the hospital so the nurses knew me and my crazy ways and they were very tolerant of my every frazzled frantic phone call asking if “this” is normal (like it’s easy to assess a pregnant woman over the phone)   

They were patient and kind every time I coughed my way back into the preterm room.    

Without them I would have been utterly alone and I’m grateful that I wasn’t.   

  They helped get my through the rest of the pregnancy and they were there when I delivered at 39 ½ weeks.   

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………    

Today the PIT is pushing 8 years old and is healthy, active and never ever shuts up!    

 Each year we participate in the March Of Dimes WalkAmerica which is a charity close to my heart for obvious reasons.   

Last year we walked in honor of Kolton who was born far too early at just 27 weeks and spend months in the hospital.    

  

 The latest report from his dad?
  Kolton is doing great! Healthy and active giving his brother a run for his money! 

   

The PIT and I are excited to see Kolton and his family at this years walk!    

We’re praying for sunshine this year..seriously..we’ve walked this in the snow! We want sun!!   

    

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….   

    

*If you or someone close to you has a preterm labor story that you would like to share please email me at   

notyouraveragesinglemomma@gmail.com   

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