Weepy Heart

I woke up at 2:30 this morning with tears in my eyes.

The baby is fine (don't worry) but it's my heart that is in need of healing.

I tried to lock my feeling away.  In a little box that I could open up when I was ready.

I guess the box opened up on it's own.

I am an only daughter.  Even if I weren't I am a daughter. Her child. Their child.

How is it that I can be so easily dismissed.

How can anyone push the gift of a child to the side.

Recently I've learned of a friend of my hubby's infidelity.

With an 18 year old.  He is probably 34 or 35. This child got pregnant.

She was sent away by her parents.  She had the baby in a hotel, alone, on the bathroom floor.

She quickly wrapped the baby up. Left the hotel room and threw the baby in the dumpster.

The DUMPSTER.  Threw her away, like garbage.

But that isn't the part that hurts me the most.

The wife found out about his affair and the baby.  She forgave him.  She was willing to make things work out.

The baby was placed in Foster Care until the invesigation is complete.  The wife wants to get custody of the little girl and raise her with the rest of their family.

Last week she kicked the husband out of her house.  Not because of what he did.  But because.....

He doesn't want the baby.

Again.  A child is dismissed.  Tossed to the side.

That is how I feel.  This baby is too young to know the damage that was done to her but I am not.

I don't know what my mother is doing.  She won't call.  I can't call her (remember she changed her number).  She won't respond to my emails.

I thought I could let it go but deep down my heart is weeping.

And I need someone to take me out of the dumpster because I feel like I was thrown away.

I Don't Think I'm Ready for THAT

Yesterday was beautiful.  I mean a thankgodwinterisgoingawayandspringiscoming type of beautiful.

As tired as I was from getting close to NO sleep the night before, I could resist taking Lael to the park to enjoy the warmth.

A bit after we got there the little girl that lives across the street fom us came to the park as well.

Originally the girl ran over to a group of boys and didn't see Lael. I nudged Lael to go over and say hello. (I try to get her out of the shyness)

Lael went to say hi and then the girl followed her back where they began to play together.

A few minutes later one of the little boys came up the the girl and said "So-and-so likes you."

I.Just.About.Died.

I mean this girl JUST turned 8 and is in the 2nd grade.  Lael wasn't in earshot so didn't hear what was going on but WTF!

Then the other boys ran over and they began giggling and whispering "You tell her" "No! You tell her" "You like her not me."

Again. Died.

The girl ran over to her mother (who was on their back patio and couldn't hear it) and told her.  I'm not sure what she said to her but the girl ignored the boys and continued to play with Lael.

After a few minutes her mom called her in.  I'm not sure if it was because the boys were lingering around or because the sun was going down. 

Either way, I am mortified FOR her.

Seriously.  Does this shit start in the 2nd grade?

I'm not prepared for this.  Am I going to have to talk to my 1st grader about what these boys mean.

When will she come home talking about a boy liking her?  And who will dig my grave because once again DIE is what I will do?

I don't remember having to deal with boys at least until the 4th or 5th grade. 

What have yall experienced?  Any advice?  Seriously. I'm too young to die.

When I take my girl to the park I only expect to deal with this:

Nothing else.

Question Of The Week

When I'm having a particularly bad day at work (like today) my supervisor whips out her "If: Question of Life Book." 

Today's question.

If you could teach your children one life lesson, what would it be?

Let me know your thoughts.

That's all I got for yall today. My brain is functioning off of 3hrs of sleep.

But I think this is a fun idea. I think I'll do a question each week. Whatcha think?

Signs You're At A Ghetto Birthday Party

I am proud to have a diverse group of friends.

I have some really ghetto friends and very classy friends.

For some reason I can adapt to either situation.

Saturday I went to a birthday party.  My friend, who happens to be my hairdresser as well, threw a party for her daughters who turned 6 and 8.  The exact ages of Lael and D.  Fun.

Except.  She is one of my ghetto friends.  I love her don't get me wrong.  But there are just "things" that happen at ghetto parties that don't happen at classier ones.

Some may be confused on how to determine if you are at a ghetto birthday party.  Let me help.

1. The invitation is sent by email on a word document with many spelling errors.

2. You get to the party (which was at grandmother's house) to help set up and the mother and children aren't there yet. 

3. While waiting for them to arrive about 10 guys are walking through the house because one of the family members decides they are moving out at the same time as the party.

4. The kids start arriving for the party that is scheduled at 3pm but nothing is ready because everyone is helping out with #3.

5.  The kids are sent to the backyard.  To play.  That's it.  Just play.

6.  The party finally starts at 5pm.  2hrs after it's supposed to.

7.  At one point there are 20 (yes, I counted) girls in the backyard and another 10-15 inside the house. 

8.  When it's time to order pizza, the mom thinks 9 medium pizza's are enough.  Ugh. No.

9.  When it's time to wash their hands you have to get up and help restore order because hello? #7 and because the bathroom sink is filled with bubbles.

10. The girls all get fed and once they are eating cake it's 6:45pm.

11. I decide to leave and the party is still going on.

12. I call the next day and find out that the party went on till about 8:30.

13. You also wake up the next morning with a cold, because no matter how many times you sanatized your hands, it was just to many of them.  Kids, not germs.  Well germs too.

Too much for me.  But the kids did have a blast.  That's all that counts right?

Reality

So many of you know that I work in the Pentagon.

I have been working in the building for 3 years but in and out of the building for 5 years.

If you didn't hear last night around 6:30 there was a shooting.

2 of our Pentagon Police was shot and in turn they shot the suspect.

This scares the living hell out of me.

It was right outside of the Metro entrance.  The entrance I take every.single.day.

It could've been anyone.  Me, my coworkers, anybody. 

Thank god the 2 officers were only grazed and they have been released from the hospital.

The suspect was not so lucky.  He was pronounced dead this morning.

This morning I was watching the news and Lael walks in.

"What, there was shooting at the Pentagon.  You can't go to work mom!"

I had to explain to her that everything was ok.  That nothing was going to happen to me.

But it's not really the truth.  Because we don't really know.  Anything could happen to any of us at any time.

Then she proceeds to ask me what if people shoot at our house.

I told her that I would protect her.

She says who will protect me.

I told her daddy would.

She says who will protect him.

I told her the dogs would and then I tickled her and tried to change the subject.

I worry but I don't want her little head to be worried too.

But it's reality.

For The Last Time

I wake up in the middle of the night and feel the little pounds coming from inside me.

I take a drink of water and rub my belly.  He repositions and then calms back down.

Other times I wake up to a starp pain.  It could be an elbow, a foot, who knows.

To have something you love so close to you but not be able to touch it is hard.

To see the little punches but not be able to kiss those little hands.

To feel the foot in your ribs but not yet be able to play with those toes.

It's a miracle.  I sometimes forget that.  That life is a miracle.

I complain about the pains, the big boobs, loss of balance, and many more complaints.

But the thing is.  I am blessed.  So many that would die to carry a baby.

To be able to experience the pains I speak of.  To have the connection that I have.

To love someone you haven't even met yet so much that it pains you.

I worried about my heart being big enough for more than one child.

How silly was I.  God gives you that.  I don't know when it happend.  Maybe right after I heard his heartbeat.

Maybe right after I felt the first flutter.

But it happened.  I am in love.  Just as much as I am with Lael. 

She was sick yesterday and stayed home from school.  I was lucky that I had taken off so I was able to care for her.

I feel blessed for that.

Though cleaning up puke and taking her temp wouldn't be my favorite pastime, I am blessed that she's mine and I get to do that.

I get to nurse her back to health.  My child.  I get to feed this baby in my belly and help him grow until he's ready to be born.

I am blessed.

So it kinda saddens me that this will be my last pregnancy.  I know that I can't afford to have more.  So I will treasure every kick, punch and jab he dishes out. 

I can't stand my desk job but realize my real job is the best one on earth.

Being a mom.  I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Damn it feels good.

No Such Thing As Perfect Family

I didn't have a bad childhood.

I didn't have an awesome childhood.

I don't really know where to rate it.

It's hard to say what is "normal" and what isn't.

My life started out with my mom being married to my biological father (who was in the Army) and us living in a few places.

At the time I had an older brother (by 4 years) who was fathered by my mother's 1st boyfriend at 18.  My father was her second an she had me at 22.

Living in Germany, 4 years later, my next brother was born.

I'm not really sure when the abuse started but I do remember it shortly after we came back to the US.

We lived in Oklahoma.  I can remember my Big Wheel, my Cabbage Patch doll and I can also remember hiding under the table when daddy came home.

I can remember seeing him beat her.  I can remember him trying to beat me because I refused to let him hold me.  I remember protecting my brother. 

I can remember looking at my mother one day and asking when we were going to leave daddy.

I remember my mom packing a bag and leaving everything else behind.

We hopped on a bus and rode back to DC to say with my Grandmother.

At some point during all of this me and my younger brother became the best of friends.

We have a connection that I can't seem to explain.

Years later we have watched our mother remarry.  Have another son (10 year younger than me) and gain a step-son as well.

I am not close with any of them to include my oldest brother.  I don't really remember him through my childhood.

Part of that is because at 12 he lied to our school guidance counselor and said that our mother abused us.  We were taken away from her for a short period and shortly after he went to live with is father. 

I can count on 1 hand the amount of times I've seen him since then.

My point is, my family is far from perfect.

I am not close to any of them.  I don't talk to my grandparents or uncles.  I don't know where my cousins are.

My younger brother just got out of a detention center and may or may not graduate high school.

My oldest brother just got out of jail for beating his wife, again.

And my stepbrother, well, lord knows what he's up to.

But then we have Dyon.  How I love him so.  He is my family. And I am his.

He was headed down the wrong path but I grabbed him by the throat and showed him a different life.

He joined the Marines.  Words cannot express how proud I am of him.

A few weeks ago he returned from Iraq and then he flew into DC to be with his family.  Me.

He stayed with me up until yesterday.  He will be going to Afghanistan in April.

While he was here he saw my mom once and I don't think he saw my father or brothers at all.

I am not surprised but it still stings.  He pretends it doesn't bother him, but I know him better.

I have to make up for his family.  I have to be his mom and dad when my parents are too busy with their own lives to remember they have children.

I hugged my brother yesterday morning before he left for his flight.  I gave him a kiss and whispered in his ear how proud I am of him.

He needs to hear that.

No family is perfect and I try to remind myself of that.  But I have my own little perfection and he'll be leaving for war soon and taking a piece of me with him.