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He’ll be 17 months on the 14th and I’m a bit worried about my son’s speech development. Could he be a late bloomer and I’m over-reacting? He understands “No!”, “Can I have that?”, “Do you want some juice/milk?”, “Are you hungry?”, and “Come on, Adam.”, “Lay down, it’s time to go to sleep”. He says, “Ma-ma“, and “Bye-bye” but that’s it.
I talk to him like I’m talking to an adult; I mean, he is a little person. I don’t do the baby talk to him and I try to let family members know that they shouldn’t do it either. I read to him and sometimes if my confidence will allow, I sing to him.
Dis regard the foot.
He crawled late, walked late, but in other aspects he flourished. He gave up the binky on his own, he was drinking from straws at 7 months as well as drinking from cups (even the non-sippy ones). He wouldn’t use the walker his great-great-great Aunt got him at all – he’d just sit there and look around the room. He hated that thing. He catches on pretty quick and sometimes, all it takes is one time and he’ll get it, I’m just concerned that maybe he’s a bit delayed. It didn’t help that his doctor put in my head that “according to the milestones for a child his age, he shouldn’t be as delayed as he is”. I’m all about those milestones and when a child is supposed to reach them. I often forget that the child will reach those milestones on their own and begin to overreact; I’m really hoping this is one of those times.
Could my concern for his speech be unwarranted? Should I wait until after he’s 18 months to see if anything changes? I understand children talk at different rates but doing Google searches has put me on the edge and now I’m totally worried from all the stories I’ve been reading about mothers who had late talkers. I did read that bigger baby boys tend to develop a bit slower than children that’s not in the 93 percentile (like my son is); they tend to do a lot of things a bit slower than their counterparts. That almost put me at ease considering all the milestones he didn’t hit until he was way past the target but it’s not enough.
I should be happy, right? He’s not talking my ear off and asking a million questions – telling me “no!” every time he exhale, but I want him to at least say more than the two words he’s saying now. Maybe I should just sit and wait until after Christmas, and see if he decides to “use his words” (I tell him this every day – jokingly) then and maybe I’ll calm down and worry about more pressing matters, like potty-training.
This was September 7th (my birthday) after we came home from the zoo. He had a great time, and so did I.
Yep, he is. He had the worst kind of tantrum, today. It was the, out in public, on a crowded bus kind. If he wasn’t strapped in his stroller, he would have kicked everyone’s ass on that bus. I had just picked him up from daycare and he was fine until we got to the bus stop. I was thinking, “maybe he’s just a bit tired”. He was falling out and whining, kicking and waving his arms. When the bus came, I thought, maybe he was going to calm down because we were in motion and not standing still. Boy was I wrong, it only got worse. The bus was crowded and I should have waited on the next one but I was tired and all I wanted to do was to go home and rest. So, we’re on the bus and for the next 10 seconds, everything was ok – or so I thought. He cried, he kicked, he screamed, he tried to fall out but he was strapped in the upright position, so it had no effect.
If you couldn’t see where the noise was coming from, you would think he was either possessed or someone was torturing him. His screaming could have peeled the paint off a wall. This was the longest bus ride ever! The screaming and hollering continued for a while and then he decided to pull on people’s sleeves. He was screaming, and reaching for things to grab since he couldn’t grab the person he was mad at. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with my usually happy boy.
Then, it hit me: he wanted some milk. I got off at the next stop and found a convenience store and bought him some milk. Poured it in his sippy cup right in the front of the store. He grabbed that cup and he looked up at me with so much satisfaction and with a “it’s a bout damn time you figured it out!” look on his face…
All over some damn milk! Really?! He had a nervous breakdown over some …some milk?! I thought there was a toothache or crankiness, but milk?! He nearly ripped a poor woman’s arm off because he wanted some milk.
Oh, did I tell you the part where he was trying to take one of his shoes off to throw at me or whomever? No? Okay, well after he stopped grabbing people he decided to go a step further and take one of his shoes off and toss it at someone with so much fierce and anger, I’m sure who ever it would have it, would have been upset. I was so embarrassed, but at the same time, I did not care because there was nothing I could do. The only option was to spare the people on the bus any more glass breaking cries by getting off the bus and find him some milk and then walk the rest of the way home.
After he consumed all of his precious milk, he was happy, bubbly, a joy to be around. Everything was peachy-keen.
Lesson of the day: Never, ever leave daycare without a fresh cup of milk in a sippy cup or there will be pain.
So yea, my son is a milk addict and I think he needs intervention or something. I think I need to call up A&E and see if they do specials on toddlers.
I would have posted this yesterday, but my everything was put on hold the moment I felt the worst pain anyone can feel in their face. Just a warning, this is a long read.
Yesterday, I started my job at the Federal building, I was very excited to start and couldn’t wait to meet my co-workers. I woke up on the right side of the bed and everything was going fine until I got my son on the bus. We made it to our stop and passed our stop, so I had to get off the bus and walk back to where I should have gotten off and take him to daycare. I get to the daycare and everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. There was a gas leak and the kids needed to be transported to another facility until everything was fixed. I signed him in and they told me he would be at such and such place and they will bring him back to the daycare when I’m on my way to come and pick him up after work. I say my goodbyes and kissed my sweetheart and left to head to work. The bus was 10-15 minutes late so I ended up late for work by 30 minutes; oh, did I tell you that I sprang my ankle rushing to get to work? Oh, yea I did. Anyway, I arrived at work and I get the tour and meet everyone (everyone is so nice and I absolutely love it!), I got work supplies, a laptop and nice chair for my cubicle that I’ll be sitting in for now until whenever. Those items though weren’t available until the following day so I ended up sitting at my empty cubicle playing Tetris on my phone. Time flew by and it was time for me to pick up my lovely, handsome son from daycare. I called and told the nice lady who takes care of my son that I’m about to be off soon and she told me that I would have to go get him all the way on Kinsman.
After I finish my phone call with her, getting directions and things like that. I get my coat, say goodbye to all the nice and lovely people at my job and I leave. I stopped by a CVS to grab my sweetie something to eat and drink because he’s my sweetie and I love him. Um, I get to the counter and then at that moment, I just knew the universe was out to make my day a shitty one. There was no money on my card, embarrassed I apologize to the clerk and leave CVS and head home to change out of my work clothes. The bus came on time, it wasn’t crowded and I was able to find the church without incident. When I got there and I seen his fat little face, I didn’t realize how much I missed him and I picked him up and covered him in kisses. The nice lady then says, we forgot your child’s stroller at the daycare. My day hasn’t been so great so far but I’m thinking, “Well, that’s OK we’ve walked to the daycare from the bus stop before, no problem”; for some reason, I was in good mood, don’t know why. So me and sweetie we are on kinsman about to cross the street when the bus comes and I wave it down and it goes right by so we walk. We walked and walked and walked. The place was on 90th and Kinsman we were now on 79th and Kinsman. I needed to go to my grandma-ma-ma’s (don’t laugh, that’s what I call her now) because she wanted to see “munchkin”. So I check on my phone to see when the next bus that runs up and down 79th will be coming; it was 1:24 pm, the next one don’t come until 2:27. I said, “Oh hell no! I’m not about to be standing here for no hour and 2 minutes waiting on no damn bus!” Sweetie as well as the people driving by looked at me like I was some crazy drunk woman with a smart phone. I was pissed. Okay, for those who do not know about Cleveland, at all. This walk me and sweetie took is one I will never take without a stroller ever again. These blocks are long as hell and let’s just say we walked all the way from Kinsman to Woodland (Google it). My son was fine, he got upset when I wouldn’t stop so he could drink from his sippy cup. I, on the other hand couldn’t remember the last time I walked that far before I had him. After a bunch of stops, carrying him half of the way and letting sweetie grab at every weed possible on the way – mind you, this baby is 30 pounds – the sun was out, it got warm and luckily I only had on a sweater or I would have been pissed to have to carry him, and my winter coat. Anyway, we made it to E 79th and Woodland and we sat at the bus stop. We were 5 minutes shy of when the bus would have made it to 79th and Kinsman at 2:27.
When the bus came I got him in the seat, he was tired and thirsty, I was tired and hungry; as well as pissed. We make it to our stop and walk to grandma-ma-ma’s and she’s so happy to see her great-grandson. My mom was there, too and she was happy as well. I sat there and rested for at least an hour. I fed my sweetie green beans, potatoes, and cornbread – which he loved. My mom made me the best hamburger in the world (I don’t know if I was hungry or it was really good) I pretty much scarfed the entire hamburger and washed it all down with some of the best kool-aid I’ve ever tasted.
Our bellies are full and I’m in better spirits considering. I decided it was time to head home for the day. I saw when the next bus to home was coming and we waited and then when it came we got on the bus. Sweetie fell asleep before we got downtown and I wanted so badly to switch places because I was so tired. We made it into the apartment and I lay him down and put him to sleep and everything was going fine until 9:30 at night. Here comes the good part…
Around 9:30 pm, I encountered the most painful toothache one could have. The entire right side of my face felt like it was punched by Sagat from Street Fighter. My teeth felt like they were hooked up to a car battery and someone was revving the god-damned engine. I called up Ced (my good friend) to see if he was home so I wouldn’t have to take the baby with me to the emergency room – he wasn’t. He gone say, “Why do you wait till I’m not at home to die?” I wanted to kill him in that very moment. He told me to call an EMT, I really didn’t want to go but this pain felt like Thor was in my mouth playing a game of golf with my teeth. By 10:30, I was in tears. There was no one I could call to take me to the emergency room. I was not about to call 911 just for a toothache; someone with a much more serious problem needs that EMT. I crawled around crying and getting dressed. I proceeded to get sweetie together as well as his diaper bag. He may not have understood me but I was apologizing to him because he was sleeping soundly and peacefully. He was probably damning me to whatever evil place he know of. I couldn’t blame his questionable looks and evil stares he was giving me when I was getting him dressed.
Now it’s 10:50 pm, and we are walking up 9th to catch a bus to University Hospital. Well, the pain got so great on the bus I thought I was going to blackout. The bus driver was driving slow and stopping and sitting at every other bus stop because he was early and didn’t want the other buses to be off schedule. I wanted to scream at this evil person who is obviously out to get me that’s driving the bus to screw the other bus drivers. My teeth were playing WWF with each other one side of my face, causing my entire right side of my face to feel like a laid my face down on an electrical current for kicks. After an excruciating 30 minutes, me and the sleeping baby finally made it to the hospital. I’m relived and my hopes were up, I’m like, “Yes! I’m here, my arms are tired, my legs feel like shit my face feels like death, but I’m here”. I get up to that damn evil counter and tell that evil woman that I’m in excruciating pain and you know what that evil woman told me? “Uh, well, there is a 6-hour wait to be seen by someone.” I looked at her like she just killed my only child. I was so mad and in so much pain I cried all the way back to the bus stop and sat there with my sleeping child in tears. 5-minutes later a bus come up the street. I was glad that it was coming so quickly and thought maybe the universe had decided to pick on someone else for a while. I was wrong. That bus said at the top “NOT IN SERVICE”. I sat down and cried some more. It wasn’t until 30 minutes or so later when a bus came strolling up the street. I called my grandmother and told her that I just came from the emergency room and they had the nerve – the audacity to be out of rooms and that I would have to wait to wait 6 damn hours. I bluntly asked did she have any drugs — she did. I get to 79th and Euclid, walked up the street, got to granny’s and she gave me an oxy.
Just for the hell of it, that pain went out fighting. It took 15 minutes for that pill to actually give me some relief. Then when it really kicked in I was so damn happy I could have started dancing. Before that, I was crying, I woke up half the house screaming and moaning.
The baby knew something was wrong because he wouldn’t leave my side and he kept putting his hand on mine and looking at me with sad eyes. All I could do was apologize to him, I felt so badly that I had him out that late because of my pains. That is a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I would have gladly traded labor pains for the kind of pain that was running through the right side of my face. All I have to say is that I need to be more grateful for things because there are people in pain and there’s nothing that can get rid of it. The fact that I have the privilege to be able to get rid of mine shouldn’t be taken for granted.
I have a dentist appointment next Tuesday. I really…REALLY hope I can make it to Tuesday. That pill I took last night is still working but not as good as it was when I first took it. The pain is there and it’s giving me a very, very mild headache but anything is better than what I went through yesterday. There may not be much food in the house for the baby and me (I could go without – like I’ve been doing) but if I’m not 100% capable to take care of myself, how can I take care of my son?
My son is the size of a two year old – with the strength of an ox. It seems my son’s tantrums are getting worse as he age. He kicks, he screams, he throws his head around like a wrecking ball, he rolls around on the floor, he cries big old crocodile tears, and screams on the top of his lungs. It doesn’t matter where we are, if he doesn’t get his way, he’ll throw one faster than you can say “no”. I used to call him Quick-Draw McGraw because of how fast he throws tantrums over the the smallest things. He’s the fastest in the West – and the East.
When he throws one of his famous tantrums, I just sit him down and look at him. If I need to finish cooking, I just walk away and let him have it. There’s nothing I can do to stop the tantrums because I’m stubborn. If I mean no, that’s exactly what I mean. So if he can’t have something, he’s not going to get it. I put my foot down and he hates it. He doesn’t realize yet that I’m very patient and when it comes to kids throwing tantrums in public, I can’t be embarrassed; and I don’t apologize to bystanders. You can’t control a mad baby because they can’t control their emotions. Getting him to calm down in the past has resulted in a black eye, a busted lip, and loose teeth. I learned my lesson after the loose teeth. Wrangling a child the size of a 2-year-old is not wise when they are as strong as a bull. It’s best to put them on the floor and let them have it.
We’ve been in doctor’s offices where he was plotting to rip up all the magazines on the coffee table. I saw his plan in motion and I nipped in the bud. He was thoroughly upset and people watched, and so did I. He realized that his tantrum wasn’t getting the desired results, so he quit. He eye-balled the magazines and I eye-balled him. He’d look at me once in a while to see if I’m looking at him and yea, I’d be staring him down and he just act like the magazines don’t exist. He’ll play with the toys, but not after he gets my smile of approval, though. For some reason, he needs confirmation because in his little head, I’m the wicked witch of the west and I’m the one who tells him what he can play with and when.
I don’t stress myself over his tantrums because we both know they won’t last long and I’ll wait till he’s done.
If this is what I’m going to have to deal with until he’s about 10 I guess, then, someone is in for quite a few rude awakenings and I’m not sure who, yet.
They say 1 is the new 2 and it could any more truer. If you could say “No!” like you really want to, you’d tire yourself out from exhaustion. I never seen a baby fallout as much as you. What I mean is even the most tedious things ruffle your feathers. I can’t type on my keyboard without you trying to yank my hand away from it. I can’t sit you down on the floor without you screaming at the top of your lungs. If I take something from you that you aren’t supposed to have, then all hell breaks loose. Good thing I didn’t have multiples…
Anyway, you’re 13 months today and I almost forgot; well, not forgot just didn’t realize what day it was. That’s how it is these days. You barely let mommy sleep and you’re getting into everything that you think you’re big enough to get into. The days blend together when there’s nothing on the agenda. This single mom stuff is really hard but I’ll survive it. That’s what I am, a survivor and you aren’t going to drive me insane; nuts yes, insane no.
Let’s see, what have you accomplished so far besides you saying “mama” so much to where I want to change my name to Dog…or…Cat…
You’ve taken 5 steps on your own so far. Soon enough, you’ll be running and then I’ll really have to keep up with you. Hmm, what else? Oh! You’ve finally got chewing down to a science now. I think that’s great and I’m so proud of you! What’s not so great is every time it’s time for mommy to eat, you want what I have even though you just ate and your stomach sticks out so far you look pregnant. You’re not saying any words yet (unless ‘mama’ counts) and I’m in no rush for you to start.
Well, I’m looking forward to these last 6 months of the year and can’t wait to see what next year have in store for us. I just hope you haven’t shot up like a tree before you get to try on all your new outfits I’m planning on getting.
Love,
Mom
This first year of being a mom has been a long one and from another person’s standpoint it’ll only get worse before it get’s better. They’re little people with a lot of attitude but they love the people who take care of them to death. They’ll drive you nuts but it’ll be your turn for payback soon enough…
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Hey sweetie,
You’ll be one today! There are a lot of babies that don’t make it to see one hour, let alone 1 year. Therefore, I am grateful to have you in my life. I’m taking this time to express how much you mean to me, how much you drive me crazy, and how much I wish you didn’t have to grow up. 
Today was a test of the wills when you decide to get a hold of my calendar/notepad and rip days off the back and front. You had calendar sheets littered in your playpen, outside your play pen and under my desk. Granted I should have kept up with the calendar and even ripping of the expired days but, I digress. I knew something was up when I tuned you back in after tuning you out to do my school work to hear a bunch of paper rumbling behind me. It sounded like a baby rolling around in a paper-filled play pen. I turned around and saw just that. You were so into what you were doing you didn’t even notice the noise I was making looking for my camera to take a picture (or a few) of you and your toy of the day. You were caught red-handed buddy and I have a feeling there will be more days like that.
Today was the day that you finally put those four teeth to some use. You chewed and chewed and chewed; you enjoyed your breakfast lunch and dinner and I enjoyed watching you enjoy it. It made me feel accomplished and I know you felt accomplished too. I thought you would be 18 months old still getting hand-
fed by your dear old mom but you got the hang of it and I knew you would. Mommy is proud of you.
You’ve taught me so much in the year you’ve been here so far and I’m a better person, a better mother because of you. I thought you would you think I was a failure of a mother and that I couldn’t do anything right. With my hair all over my head my shirt hanging from me, and with one pant leg up and one down; I could look like the wicked witch of the west and you’d still love me. The way you reach out (or grab and tug on my shirt) and say, “ma-ma“, it gets me most of the time. Sometimes though, I wish my name was “dog” because you’re wearing “ma-ma” out.
When you were first-born I was so scared that I thought you could smell my fear and you would reject me as your mom. Sounds crazy I know but it’s true. When you gave everyone in the room the finger, I kind of felt bad because you acted like you didn’t want to come out. I’m sure when they laid you on my tummy, you were giving me the evil eye through closed lids. I was so scared when they put you on my tummy, I didn’t touch you at first until the midwife told me to help wipe you off. I was in such a daze; much of that day is a blur. I don’t remember who handed you to me after you got wrapped up. All I know is that you were finally here and even though I was afraid, I was happy to see you.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a year and at the same time, it feels like you’ve been here with me forever. One minute you can’t hold your neck up for long periods of time and the next, you’re trying to walk while holding on to someone else’s leg. You’re getting so big so fast and I’m afraid that time is moving too fast. I wish it could slow down just a bit so I can spend time with you while you’re still a baby; you’re practically a man now! You got 3 in a half teeth – with another one sprouting through, you’re eating adult people food now, you call me Goku and, everyone absolutely loves you. That classifies you as a man little dude.
Now that you’re officially a man, it’s time to get rid of Mr. Binky and Mr. Bottle. I know I know, you like to lay back in your lounger and drink your troubles away but, that’s not going to fly. You’re going to be mad, and frustrated, and probably wish you had the eye-hand coordination to throw your sippy cup square in my mouth, but, that’s too bad, you’re not about to be 1 going on 2 still drinking from a bottle. This is going to hurt me more than it’ll hurt you. So, get mad, fall out, kick them adorable feet in the air, and scream like you just don’t care; I’m putting my foot down and that’s that.
You are a handful but mommy loves you so very much. You keep me on my toes and I’m grateful for that because boy do I need it.
Today is going to be an interesting day, I know that for sure! I hope it goes smooth as possible because the sooner you get to put your hands in your cake (and make a mess) the better.
This ride is no where near over and I’m going to enjoy myself along the way. It’s going to be some bumpy roads and a few dead ends but we’ll get through them together. I promise.
Love,
Mommy
It’s going to be a crying shame when my son is an adult. I love Pac-Man but as time progresses, Pac-Man and games alike are becoming a thing of the past. Eventually, not even a remake (Pac-Man Championship Edition) will be enough for anyone to play them. One day I’m going to pull out an emulator and play Pac-man and I’m sure Adam and his little friends are going to look at me like I just stepped out of a National Geographic for gamers (I wish) circa 1952 and I won’t give a damn. I don’t know about anyone else but I refuse to let the good games die; they are a dime-a-dozen these days.
I wish I still had my Sega Genesis and NES consoles. I was trying to hold on to those forever; to pass them down to my son. Nah, I wouldn’t have passed them down to my son, he wouldn’t have want them.
I’ve always been a gamer and forever will be until arthritis cripples my fingers to the point I’m inadvertently holding up gang signs. Even then, I won’t need my hands unless I lower my standards and play my video games via Kinect for the Xbox 360. I’ve been a PC gamer for some time now and it looks to me that I feel as if I’m too good to play anything on a console. I spoiled myself. With games like Pac-Man and Super Hang-on becoming a thing of the past, all it does it make me hate time even more. Time is obviously not on technology’s side or we would still be playing video games on the Atari. I had the pleasure of owning one of those as well.
Makes you wonder how old I am. I’m only 24 but I know where the good games lie and it’s not in the crap that people are playing today. I look at the video games that’s being distributed and its insulting. No original idea, no decent plots, no anything. Just “The fools will buy anything we make so just put this character in the game this way, give him/her a sap story; throw a world domination plot in there with a few guns and make them buy the DLC for unnecessary and absurd prices”. Disgusting I know but once the gamers raise their standards, companies like EA and Activision will continue to milk you for all you got.
I know one thing, my son(s) (or daughter) will know the history of gaming before he/they/she ever picks up a controller. Yea, it’s that serious. You, the “I’ll buy and try anything once” made it that serious.
Sometimes I feel like a broken record way before its prime. My son isn’t even a year old yet and I already feel like I’ve wasted a lot of good oxygen telling him to do something knowing full well he’s just going to look at me with that adorable devilish grin he has when he’s doing something he shouldn’t. There are things of course I can say to him that I will never grow tired of saying. Unfortunately, it’s only a few things. Here are the top 10 things I say to my beloved everyday.
I went through the usual ritual I go through when putting my son to sleep for the night. It took a little longer than usual because he took a late nap but I knew he was tired because he was nodding off in my lap. Anyway, when he finally fell asleep, I did the “you better be sleep” test to see if he’s truly sleep or he’s playing me, I sit there for like 10 minutes He’s sleeping away when all of a sudden, he starts laughing. I look down and he’s asleep. I don’t know why but tears immediately started coming down my face without warning. I never heard a baby, let alone my son, giggle that long or that hard (or at all) in their sleep. It kind of threw me off guard when the tears started falling.
Babies are so innocent, all they need is attention and love. The way you treat them will show in their actions and demeanor. He I guess was so happy and content with himself at that moment, he was laughing in his sleep. I bet it was about his dad doing something goofy. I have to tickle him for him to laugh; I don’t have to do anything to make him smile though. That laugh was so adorable and innocent, I held him for another 30 minutes. When I put him in his crib finally, I was standing there waiting for it to happen again. After 15 minutes or so, I left the bedroom a little disappointed when it didn’t happen. Maybe it was just a once in a lifetime thing?
This little boy had me at my first positive pregnancy test; there was no hello needed. He keeps me on my toes and does something new everyday. My little man is growing so fast …okay, I got to go before I get tears all over my keyboard.
You’re 11 months today! You’ve been on this earth, driving me crazy for 11 months. Time sure does fly, doesn’t it? I’m so proud of you!
To celebrate, we walked to the library and sat in the reading garden for a spell. We couldn’t stay there too long because of all the mosquitoes and other flying insects. They didn’t seem to bother you but I didn’t want you to get bit and I forgot to get you some baby bug repellent (do they even make repellent for babies?). We then strolled downtown and saw a huge white tent in the middle of Public Square. The Horseshoe Casino opened up today. Forgot all about that. We hurried our tails back up to our place and finished cleaning up. You of course got into everything you thought you were grown enough to get in – after you followed me around the apartment for a while. Your gums have been bothering you all day, making you a little irritable and felt the need to chomp down on my hand on occasion. This of course made you laugh when I took my hand out of your mouth and said, “ow sweetness, dang, that hurt”.
This is after I caught him getting into stuff he wasn’t supposed to. He crawled back to me smiling like it was a game.
You’re still edging around furniture when you want to take steps. You’re very confident in trying to climb up my leg but it seems you’re not quite ready yet to start taking those first big steps. I need you to hold off on that okay? I want your dad to be the first person to see you walk.
After I finished cleaning up, we watched Finding Nemo and it kept your attention for a while. I held you for pretty much the rest of the day. You of course clicked and clacked away at my keyboard and tried to yank the mouse out of the USB port. When you weren’t doing that, you were pulling my hair. I ask why do babies insist on pulling their mother’s hair and get a devilish kick out of doing it every time you do it. It’s a wonder I don’t have bald spots in the back of my head or huge patches of really short hair.
Anyway, I fed you, bathed you and let you play in your bath water until I thought that you’ve had enough fun for one day. You were rubbing your eyes so I knew it was time for bed.
I laid you on the bed I sleep in and laid next to you and watch you do your infamous I’m-really-sleepy-and-my-eyes-are-heavy-but-I’m-going-to-roll-around-on-the-bed-until-I-fall-asleep dance. You finally fell asleep and I kissed the space between your eyebrows and laid you in your crib. I must say dude, your arms are long and I can see why you hate sleeping in that thing, you have no room to maneuver.
Now I’m sitting here contemplating on what I’m going to wear to your grandma’s graduation this Wednesday. I’m also contemplating on whether I should do my school work now or in the morning. Mommy is really tired though and I guess it can wait until tomorrow.
Mommy loves you sweetie!
I know some of you may read this and say, “Oh no! Not you! You seem so happy in your blogs! You’re a gamer, how can you be on the edge of self-destruction?!” Everyone gets depressed sometimes, well; I’m depressed most of the time; if not all the time. It’s recently, I was on the brink of a nervous break down, all it took was one more push and I was going to lose it. On May 11, 2012, I lost it; I lost my sanity.
On June 9, my husband and I got into one last fight (I will not mention the details) and this fight made me feel like a child, like I couldn’t do anything without his approval. I do what I’m supposed to do, take care of my son and do my best to make my husband happy. This marriage was doomed from the beginning, the only reason why we got married was because of the baby; nothing more. It won’t be a year until June 5th and we couldn’t even make it that far. This marriage was filled with a lot of arguing and crying; crying and arguing. On the inside I wasn’t truly happy because I knew this wasn’t love but I was trying to make it work. Once upon a time, I was in love with my husband but as I sat and looked at him every day: playing video games, eating up the food I provide, disregard my feelings, only played with his son when he felt like it, wasn’t working. I felt like the world; my world was sitting on my shoulders. I was trying to find a job, still am, trying to find a daycare/baby sitter so I can work, go to school, be a wife, a mother and a slave of my mind. I was on the brink of self-destruction and there was no stopping me.
Apparently my soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t like that I went to go see a friend, nor did he like that I put a password on my computer. On June 10, he gets on my Xbox 360, using my 26″ computer monitor, sitting in my apartment, and eating my food, bashing me, talking about me to whoever it was on the other end of that headset of his. He didn’t have the decency to come to me and tell me why he felt that I shouldn’t have a social life since he’s the reason I alienated all of my friends. I snapped! I was at first going to go get him bus fare and tell him to get out of my life and never come back, but, he stopped me when he saw I was going somewhere. He actually got up out of his seat of self-righteousness to ask me where I was going; after I ignored him the first time. Mind you, this man will just up and leave and don’t tell me where he’s going but if I do the same thing — catch 22. So, he steps in front of me and say “so are you going to tell me where you’re going?” and I ask him, “are you going to stop bashing me over the internet?” and he proceeds to say, “well look at what you’re doing!” What in the hell exactly was I doing? You’d be pissed too if I was sitting there on the Xbox 360 slinging mud on your name. To make a long story short, I banned him; I banned him from my apartment building. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take the back and forth anymore. I’m sick of the makeup, just to wake up, to break up. I sat there in the bedroom listening him to him while contemplating on what to do.
Well, when the security guard and another guy who works in the building were on our way upstairs, the security guard tells me that my husband took my son and he left. My heart instantly fell out of my chest and I looked like a ghost. I couldn’t move, or breathe. I head outside and he’s standing at the bus stop with my son so, I walk up and grab one of the handles on the stroller. He grabs the stroller and tells me, “He’s my son too and since you’re kicking me out, you’re kicking him out too. You can come over my mom house to see him”. I told him no the hell I’m not, he’s not going anywhere. He tells me that he’s the father again and that he can take him. I tell him, not without me knowing and not without permission. Of course he then makes it about him and says, “You banned me so I can’t see him”. Dude! You were supposed to be banned weeks ago for punching my ex-boyfriend in the face. I still don’t understand why he was so mad at me when either way I would still be living here and he wouldn’t be able to see his son if he was banned for the violence he displayed in the hallway. The other guy that was with the security guard asked him to calm down and I were still yelling telling him that it had nothing to do with not letting him see his son. It was about my sanity! He was stressing me out and I couldn’t take it anymore. The security guard mentioned something about having the police called if it this can’t be resolved and Adam looks at me and says, “Well the police is gone have to be called”. All the blood that didn’t leave my face the first time left my face just then. My blood-pressure rose and I was getting dizzy. I didn’t need this now. I look down and glanced at my son and he’s without shoes, had on shorts that were too small, too small socks, a too small hat and a shirt. The only thing that made sense was the blanket. It wasn’t warm out that day and he didn’t even bring the boy’s shoes. He was taking my baby out of spite; to hurt me.
The other guy pulled Adam to the side and talked to him, he convinced Adam to give me the baby’s baby bag and his blanket which he refused to give when I gained control of the stroller. I immediately got my son in the building and went upstairs. Not long after that Adam text me calling me a bitch and saying how wrong I was. I didn’t respond back in a nasty way, I was very respectful the time he was mangling my character. I tried to get him to calm down and try to explain why I did what I did but he wasn’t having it. He was focused on hurting me. He was focusing on bringing up my past mistakes to justify why I kicked him out. On June 11th, 2012 he continued his bashing and verbal abuse; threatening a custody battle, and a lot of other things that seem too ridiculous to point out. When he called me a slut and then made that threat to take me on live television (Steve Wilkos), I was done. I was tired. I wanted out.
I made my son a bottle and sat him in his lounger. After 2 days, I finally cried; I finally let it out. I simply wanted to die; I didn’t want to live any more. I wanted to take all of my Trazodone, and just leave this world and I was so tempted, so ready, so willingly to do it. I took one look at my son playing with his now empty bottle — squirming around in his lounger and I knew I couldn’t do it but the thoughts would not leave. Then I started to think: “maybe I should kill myself so there won’t be a custody battle and Adam can have his son without a fight”. I was all out of fight, I was surprised that I wasn’t all out of tears; I spent most of this marriage crying my eyes out. I called mobile crisis. I told them that I needed help, could they send someone out here. All I needed at that moment was someone to talk to, to get my mind off of killing myself; leaving my son without a mother. The woman from mobile crisis had the dispatcher from the police department on the phone talking to me — asking me how old my son was, what I like to do for fun, what I’m in college for, things like that. The police didn’t take long to get to get to my apartment. I hung up the phone and let the policemen into my slightly messy house. They asked me was I okay and let me know why they were there in my apartment. I told them how I was feeling and that I needed help. They told me to get some things for the baby and grab my keys and phone. I did just that and then we were headed downstairs to the cop car.
When I got to the hospital, they took my vitals and blood while my son sat there frowned up wondering what was going on. I felt like I was the worse mother in the world. How could I let my son see me go through this? I thought I was stronger than this. So many things were running through my mind and all I could was cry. One of the nurses put my hospital bracelet on me and told me that someone would call me. I sat back out in the waiting room and called my grandmother and told her that someone needs to come and get my child. My brother and sister came up there and took my son home with them. I waited.
Minutes had gone by and a nurse came out and called my name. I got up and followed her to the back. When I got to my room it looked like an old storage room. It had a bed, a chair and a table. That was it. The television was behind glass and there was a cage that could be brought down to keep people from making a phone call or messing with the plugs on the wall. There was also a camera in the room. I was now on suicide watch. I sat there and looked at those walls for 6 damn hours. I cried most of the time because I let a man put me in here. I let him scare me into a hospital. I hated myself and I truly wished I was dead then; I definitely didn’t want to live any more.
In between the time I was sitting there, I had 3 different nurses come in to check on me. One gave me a dry turkey sandwich, graham crackers, applesauce and a ginger ale. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I bit into the sandwich. I sat in silence the entire time, I didn’t want to watch television, I didn’t want to lie down, and I wanted to be left alone. After 7 hours or so, the Psychologist finally comes in to talk to me. I tell her how I’m feeling and why I’m here and she asks for phone numbers — I told her my life story and she wanted phone numbers. She wanted my grandmother’s phone number and my primary Psychologist’s phone number. She left to make her calls and it was at least 30 minutes before she came back to tell me that she wants me to go to the psych ward out in Richmond, Ohio — told me that I have to stay there for 3 days.
It’s 11:30 at night and I’m now at the psych ward talking to nurses and the primary psychologist at the ward. It took them at least an hour to get everything situated. They asked me a series of questions: they asked about my family, was I sexually abused the illnesses that run in my family, why I was there, did I still feel suicidal. They asked me everything, at this point, I just wanted to wring their necks and tell them I’m sick of all these questions, I just want someone to talk to. When they were done they gave me the run-down on what I could and could not do and what I could and could not have. You couldn’t wear anything with strings; you couldn’t have cell phones, no jewelry — nothing! Everything I had with me that day they confiscated; even my husband’s necklace of Africa that I was rubbing and holding on to when I left my apartment. They showed me my room, gave me an extra blanket, and my Trazodone and I went to sleep.
It’s May 12, 2012 and I miss my son terribly. I want to go home and look into his big eyes and tell him how sorry I am. I wanted to hold my son, kiss my son, and be with my son. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I was so mad at myself for letting someone get to me like that. I slept until one of the nurses came in and told me that my grandmother was on the line. She sounded more depressed than I looked. She wanted me home; she wanted me to be with my son, not in some psych ward with other suicidal people. On a side note: there were more black people there than any other race. That woke me up. Anyway, I talked to my grandmother for 5 minutes because I remember what they told me the previous night: “no calls longer than 10 minutes”. I walked out into the sitting area where people were eating breakfast and gave the woman behind the glass wall the phone and I stumbled back to my bed and laid back down. I felt like I was in an episode of House MD. There were people screaming and giggling. There was this one woman who blurted out rap verses in the middle of group session and another chick who smiled nonstop. At that moment, I felt like the sanest person in the building.
I wanted to go home; I wanted to be with my son. I felt like I was in jail; I felt lost. The only thing that I got comfort from was reading a book. If you haven’t read James Patterson – Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas, it’s a must read. That was a very good book and it made time go by quickly. The psychiatrist for the weekend finally came and he sat down and talked with me first. He asked me the same questions that the other nurses and doctors asked me and he told me a few things that I need to do. We sat and talked, and talked, and talked and then he told me, “You can go home today, instead of Monday”. I wanted to cry, not because I was going home so soon, but because I felt like I should have never been there to begin with. That’s not some place I never want to go again.
I was told by my doctors to walk away from arguments when possible. Don’t talk to that person for an entire day if they provoke me. He told me that I can’t be around for my son if I don’t make my health a top priority. He told me that I did the right thing by calling and getting help. He also told me to not worry about who loves me and who doesn’t; the only person that loves me unconditionally is my son. That statement kind of made me sad but, ok, I got his point. He told me to keep taking my antidepressants and staying healthy and happy; things will eventually turn out for the better. No telling when that’ll be, I’ve been waiting for 24 damn years.
To put it in a nut shell, accusations that weren’t true, the name calling, the verbal abuse, it pushed me over the edge and I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ll never let anyone else make me go through that again. The food was a level above regurgitated vomit, the people scared me, I missed my baby, and I’m glad that I didn’t spend my first Mother’s Day in a psych ward.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was excited, scared, and frustrated all at the same time. I always told myself that I’d never want children because I lacked the motherly love, the affection, and the emotions that were deprived from me when I was a child. I never had someone read me a story at night. When I had nightmares and cried out, no one cared or came to see if I was okay. When I fell down and hurt myself, no one kissed it and made it feel better. No one told me they loved me, so how can I love someone else?
Further into my pregnancy, I started to worry: I worried that my son wouldn’t like me — that I’ll be a failure as a mom. I was afraid that when he was born he was going to take one look at me and scream out in agony.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was months into my pregnancy and I should have known I was pregnant the moment I missed my period but my menstrual cycle has never been regular. I never understood why I was so excited that I was pregnant when I knew and felt that being a mom is something I couldn’t do. This wasn’t my first pregnancy. My very first pregnancy, I was 17 years old. Young and stupid. Doing things that I thought I was grown enough to do. The first time I have sex I wind up pregnant; I was scared. I was scared of what my friends would think. I was scared that I wouldn’t finish school. That all changed when my grandmother told me to get an abortion. When my grandmother made me get an abortion, I was devastated but sadly, relieved. I was in my last year of school and was months away from graduating. My grandmother told me that I can’t have a child get in the way of me finishing school. All I could think was that, she’s my grandmother and she wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.
Then I miscarried years and years after that. I didn’t even have an idea of what a miscarriage was. All I knew was that my cramps were excruciating and they only came around the same time every evening. I was bleeding heavily and crying every night until I finally went to the hospital and they told me that I was pregnant but were no longer. When I got home I took it out on my ex-boyfriend because he wasn’t there for me. Every night I was alone crying and in pain and when I saw him all I saw was red. Then I got mad at myself, how could I take care of a child when I couldn’t take care of myself? I felt like such a failure and it was my fault. I blamed myself for the miscarriage for a very long time.
I stopped blaming myself when I gave birth to my son. He didn’t look at me with agonizing pain, he didn’t scream in terror. He just looked at me through squinted eyes as they were clearing his airways and stared. When they wrapped him up and handed him to me, I was frightened, tired, and excited. So many emotions flowing through me but in the back of my head I was still worried of what he would think of me. I soon realized that my worries were unnecessary. My son doesn’t care how I look; he doesn’t think I’m the worse mom ever; or a failure. He’s everything to me. He’s my hero, my strength, my reason for living. He makes me so happy and everyday he makes me smile.
Being a mom is the best thing I’ve ever done with my life. I love being a mom. Every other aspect of my life I failed at. I’m a failure as a friend, a sister, an artist, a wife. I push all of my friends away, I lose interest in things I love and push those away too. I never have been close to my siblings so I pushed them farther away. I’m sure there are more that I’m forgetting but the point is, being a mom is what I was meant to be. There’s so many parts of my life that I screwed up by making the wrong decisions. I think the very first one was when I let my grandmother convince me that getting an abortion was okay when I knew in my heart it wasn’t. I wanted my baby and I should have stood up for myself.
I love my son unconditionally, I love him so much. I can talk to him and not fear of judgment. When he smiles at me, my world lights up like a jar full of fireflies. I feel like I was born to be a mother and I’m glad I got a chance to experience motherhood. What I miss the most though is his kicking and punching inside my belly. I miss rubbing my stomach only for him to respond back by kicking my hand. Even though my pregnancy experience wasn’t all that great and I was stressed out for most of it, the end result is all that mattered. I gave birth to my hero. He makes me happy when I’m down and make my day a lot better. He makes me crazy sometimes and yea he can be a handful but he’s the reason why I live. I live for my son and my son only. He’s all I have and I’m fine with that fact.
Thank you sweetie.
Oh boy! Where to start with this one? Okay a little background story here. South Korean Customs seized a ass-load of capsules filled with powdered human babies. The pills reportedly originated from China, where aborted fetuses and stillborn babies are believed to be chopped up into small pieces, dried on stovetops, then crushed into a powder. These pills are reported to cure illnesses. The pills are also to contain super bacteria. Now, I’ve heard about the dead rooms where babies are left to die after their parents abandon them. I’ve read about the hundreds of dogs being carted off to become a meal for a hungry family but this…this man. Life can’t be that bad on that side of the planet can it?
It makes you wonder though. There is obviously a lot of aborted fetuses in order for there to be a huge haul of these pills. No one was charged in this case, by the way, simply because they were for personal use. I’m making a mental note to never visit China.
This is why I hate anything based on traditional Chinese medicine. People rave on about the wonders of herbal medicine and acupuncture: “Ooh, they’ve been practicing it in China for like 3 million years!”
Yeah, they also think powdered rhino horn is a potent aphrodisiac (keratin is keratin: you’d get the same effect chewing your own fingernails) that the powdered genitalia of a tiger will infuse you with all sorts of magic healing and powers (it doesn’t; it’s just dried tiger penis) and all sorts of other magical BS that have no basis whatsoever in actual physical science; just the power of suggestion and gullibility.
I’m seriously thinking about finding a cave for my son and I to vacate to — forever. Now, if this is considered their alternative treatment I would hate to see what their conventional treatment is. Reminds me of Soylent Green. It was a book and eventually, a movie. It was set in the future. There was no sunlight to grow things, there were no meats of course. So when people died they were cooked to a crisp and made into a cracker and eaten by everyone. The main character in the story finds out where the bodies go and where the crackers are made. The movie really gives you the goose bumps.
There are many other books that I’ve read like, ‘The Jungle’. Since reading Upton Sinclairs harrowing book ‘The Jungle‘ I have tried to get away from meat. However, I must say that eating dead babies is a new low for me. What can we expect, however, from nations who will kill endangered tigers to make pills for sexual stamina, or hunt and slaughter intelligent, gentle giants (whales). Makes me ill. The only bright spot is the possibility of these people getting a super bacteria and dying from ingesting dead babies. It would be a culling, not a killing, in my opinion.
