Wednesday, July 2, 2014

This is me...

This is me...
Everything that I write is from my dungeon of feelings, trials and tribulations. 
With that being said, understand that I am doing everything in my power to make sure that our current situation doesn't affect my daughter when she's old enough to understand.
I never understood the purpose of using the "principle" as the base of an argument. Until recently, that is.
"It's just the principle of it all" was my only argument through my tear soaked eyes as I explained to my cousin the injustice my child will face and the embarrassing hurt I felt. 
As is quite well known, my daughter's maker and I have no contact whatsoever because he, for reasons unknown, chose not to be a part of her life. 
So here I am with my phone in my hand, screaming at my cousin about some stupid ass principle that the universe obviously didn't care about. Earlier that day, someone sent a screen shot of him being father of the year to his OTHER newborn daughter (yes, when I was 5 months pregnant, he got two other women pregnant), at the hospital with the rest of his trifling ass family. 
At this time, my daughter was 4 months old and he had not made an effort to see her nor had he called. 
Bitch. 
In that same month, his little sister came to visit and suggested I reach out to their mom because "she would love to see her granddaughter" so that I did. I thought, even if she doesn't know her father, maybe knowing the other half of her family was the least I could do. 
Boy was I wrong. 
Needless to say, his little sister was the only person that ever made any type of effort to see this beautiful being that I might as well had made on my own. His mother flaked on us to take his grandma and auntie to the hospital to see his precious new baby and forgot my beautiful baby existed.
They had basically followed his lead and abandoned Shy and as a reward for being as dirty as him, they were given a shiny new toy to play with, his other kid. 
Bitch.
Now, a lot of people would say that it is in bad taste to talk about my "baby daddy" and his family on a blog. That it isn't lady-like or classy, but It wasn't very lady-like of him to abandon his child nor is he and his family being classy about it! 
Our relationship was never the best and he's never been a model member of society but you never expect someone to look at your precious gift to this earth and flat out decide to walk away without remorse. So yes, I screamed and cried and made empty threats, but what was truly the point? 
The worse part was that I wasn't as angry at his actions as I was myself. 
These tears came from the absolute guilt I felt for cursing my child with half of this awful man. Guilt that at one point, I actually thought him material enough to create life with.
Mostly, I felt guilty that for the rest of my little one's life, she'll question why this mythical man isn't around, why is he around his other children, why doesn't he love her? 
How do you explain? 
"Mommy was stupid and laid with a dog and got you along with some fleas." 
That's some fucked up shit to explain to a little girl. I fear that she sees me less than I am, less than the woman I worked so hard to be. I had worked so hard to find myself and it could crumble with just the opinion of my child. 
So I cried and cried and cried not only of guilt, embarrassment, or even the hurt I felt for my daughter's sake, I was angry! The audacity of this piece of shit. I could've ripped his face off. The amount of arrogance this boy possessed has to be an in-formidable force. 
...And fear. More fear. It always came down to fear. 
What will become of her, carrying around this stigma of a fatherless child?
"Think about it Shay, do you truly want him in her life?" This was the only thing my cousin said to me and boy, did it hit me like a ton of bricks. 
No 
Fuck no, I didn't want him in her life! I didn't want her to know the man that will never amount to the father she deserves, ever. He was no longer the man I knew, he was the monster that avoided my constant offers of knowing this beautiful little girl we made. I stifled his chances of corrupting her life but it was the fucking principle! 
I never asked him for a dime, just give her the time she deserves and I'll do the rest. Now, I'm doing everything in my power to make sure that this ignorance never affects her as an adult. 
I work, I go to school, I make sure that I spend every waking second with her so she feels that love and understands that even if she's at daycare while I work my 12 hour shifts and go to class 3 days a week, mommy will always come home. 
I feel bad for him, really. She's amazing. At 6 months she's crawling and sitting up and trying to stand. 
At 6 months, she's everything and more.
At 6 months, she's his greatest creation and he would never know it. 
If by divine intervention alone, he reaches out, apologizes for his awful actions, and asks to know her, I would have no problems with that because she is of both our flesh. But I refuse to have his inconsistency and invisibility corrupt her way of seeing the world and fatherhood. 
So for now, I'll continue to be a boss at This Baby Shit and Mothering Thing....


Thursday, May 8, 2014

I think I'm going to die!

These are my truths.
They are funny. They are sad. They are obnoxious and might be offensive at times. 
But, truth they are and to me they belong. 
I tried to be Yoda, how'd I do?

This lady that I'd worked with during my pregnancy told me that if I didn't slow down at work, my baby was gonna be a dwarf with pointy ears. Obviously, the very notion that my working 12-hr shifts as a CNA on a cancer unit throughout my pregnancy will result in me giving birth to one of Santa's elves was absolutely absurd, but I still had nightmares about it. To add to this woman's crazy folklore, my belly wasn't big at all. Every visit I would ask my doctor if she's measuring good and "I'm not gonna have an elf, right?" I asked it so much that she finally said "stop asking me that shit, she's not an elf!" In shock, I replied with the famous Full House line, "how rude." 
I worked until I went into labor. 
No really, that's how it happened. I went to work, told my clinical leader something didn't feel right and my water broke that very night. 
After 12 hours of labor and a whole bunch of curse words I care not to mention, she finally came. 
Everyone knows those heartbreaking scenes from famous movies I have no names for where the nice, sweaty lady finally pushes the baby out, the doctor shows it to her, she smiles and then her eyes cross and she flat lines. 
My kid came and was plopped on my chest in all her naked, bloody, gooey, beautiful glory and all I could think is if I died right now, I'd be so pissed. I held onto her so tight and told the nurse "I think I'm dying." 
She then giggled and assured me I wasn't, which aggravated me because I was positive I was seeing the light. 
I turned to my mom and told her "I can't breathe." Now, I was sure that at the very least, my old lady would give me the reaction that suited the occasion. She just told me I was exhausted and my adrenaline blah, blah, blah. 
In the few seconds that this was happening, All I could see was myself going cross-eyed and dying right there. 
Terrified, I was. 
Turns out, I was just tired. 
Guess the old lady was right after all.
Now, I have that same feeling all the time. Baboork, baby work school, isn't something you can breeze through and not be absolutely sleep deprived. I literally moan when I have coffee in the morning. 
THE NECTAR OF THE GODS!!!
I know, I'm not the first woman to feel this way but they're not whining on the Internet to thousands of strangers. 
-wishful thinking, not many people read my blog!

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

It's A Girl!

Oh, No...

From the time I found out I was pregnant, I was convinced I was having a boy. Not because of personal preference but I felt that parenting might've been a little easier. So when the Ultrasound Tech said congratulations, I exploded in tears.

Because I knew that my then on-again off-again now hated ex-boyfriend wasn't going to be a part of our lives, I didn't think I would be able to handle the pain that a little girl would experience from not having her father around. I know boys need their dads as well but, being a fatherless daughter myself, how could I save her from damage when I'm damaged my damn self?
No, I'm neither damaged goods nor am I a complete wreck because of an absentee father but I do know that had he been around, I might not have kissed so many freaking frogs.
As a woman, I might not have been able to teach him how to be a man but I damn sure could've taught him what kind of man NOT to be.

I bawled. Like the ugly, snot running down my nose, beat red face kind of cry. I cried on the ultrasound table, excused myself to the bathroom to scream, and had nightmares for weeks. I dreamt of being one of the worse fuck-ups known to man-kind. You know, the parent of a psychopathic axe murdering Jason copycat. Or the mother of the little girl with severe father issues that ran away to prostitute her temple.
Needless to say, with those dreams paired with her kicking me in my ribs, I got no sleep.

I thought my fear of the dark or failing at life was bad, but failing as mother, now that's some terrifying shit. She hadn't asked to be brought into this world by irresponsible highschool sweethearts turned bad. Sweet innocence tarnished by my stupidity before she takes her first breathe, what the fuck was I thinking?

Apparently, the universe saw me sane and capable enough to raise a little girl, so I had no choice. I got over that fear because she was coming, ready or not.
But I noticed something. I noticed that the more she moved, the more I changed, the more the thought of her existence wasn't so damn scary. The kid saved me. She saved my relationship with my mother. That little alien occupying my womb, making me puke at the slightest smell saved me.
The fear of messing up pushed me to finish school. 9 months pregnant having Braxton Hicks, waddling through the halls of my university, I was determined. Aced my finals, had her two weeks later and went right back four days after.
When she was born, I saw my entire future in her eyes and after all, I was raised by a single mother and I'm pretty amazing.

Thanks, Mom.

I guess it's true, God doesn't give you anything that you can't handle so I pray that I can handle This Baby Shit and Mothering Thing.

I did it again!

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Do The Hustle!

...The Mommy Hustle, that is.

I find that my decision to start a blog was probably a bit ambitious but, whatevs.

Becoming a mom, single, and a full-time nursing student with a full-time job all in the same month was hard. I bet this is how the Dinosaurs felt when that comet wiped 'em out. I mean, I'm sure that I wasn't the first woman to embark on this journey and nor will I be the last but please, don't take away my feeling like Super Woman because I am fucking amazing!

After I'd turned into a beast in the delivery room and sneezed out my beautiful baby girl, I went back to school three days later. YIKES! There I was, holding my spawn while she ravaged my nipples and writing my paper with the other hand trying my hardest to finish that quarter with a decent grade, when it dawned on me, I hadn't showered in days!

Thus begins the hustle.

Good Lord! Waking up at 5am to nurse my then 2 1/2 month old was a struggle of it's own but adding that to a 12-hr shift after sleeping in 3 hour intervals is clearly one step into a grave somewhere.

Morbid much?

Truthfully, the hustle begins the night before work when our clothes are laid out, our lunches are packed and alarm set, determined to wake up on time - which NEVER happens. That first morning began with a random 4am feed and me getting pooped on within the next hour, thankfully it wasn't on my scrubs. By 5:30, all poop was cleaned and both boobs emptied. And with the little luck I had left, I got the baby to daycare and my butt to work on time, breast-pump, purse, baby's "lunch bag", mommy's lunch, and baby still buckled in her seat, running through the parking lot. What a sight for sore eyes, I'm surprised I remembered my pants.

My first day of work proved to be impossible to survive without dozing off in some back room of the hospital and me not crying every five minutes about separation anxiety. Hey random person, care to see a picture of the only baby girl that has ever existed? When'd I become one of those self righteous Moms that think their kid is the best in the world? She is the prettiest baby I've ever seen but that's beside the point. The point is, the hustle.

Ever went on break to pump and found yourself dozing off to the "swish" of that expensive ass Medela. Totally woke up with two full bottles like "what the *beep* just happened?" Really , I never thought I'd ever be able to handle this until I had no choice. Baby, work, school, baby, school, baby, work, BABOORK, the shit runs together after a while.

This Mommy hustle ain't no joke and neither is This Baby Shit...
See what I did there?