Tag Archives: mom

Hi-ho, Hi-ho

I just had a baby. Yes. Me. The woman who said she would never have another child nor get married. I managed to (a) have another one and (b) marry the baby daddy, too (Young Gun…’member him?). I made plans and God laughed. Doesn’t He always?

Said four-month-old baby is miles away getting fed and changed by daycare ladies while I am at work squirming in a hard arss chair (which I am convinced is grinding my vagina bones into dust little by little). I have checked the daycare daily report feed about thirty times in the last two hours. I can’t even. This is not for me.

I say work is not for me but in all actuality it isn’t the working that’s not for me, it’s the being back in…hmmm…. society? Not saying SAM’s aren’t apart of society. I just wasn’t. I barely brushed my hair or cleaned my underboob (or wore a bra) while I was a temporary SAM.  Now I am thrust back into rush hour traffic, eating Pop-Tarts for lunch, and fake smiling. I have been thrown back into wearing underwear and shoes. I am subjected to professional stuff. If I was not one of those go-to-work-only-to-daydream-about-being-home kind of people before, I am today.

I mean, I could totally flip my desk over and burn up the road. I could call Young Gun and tell him I quit this $!@#. He would understand. He would say okay and freak out behind my back. I could plan my day around going to the WIC office and applying for government assistance. I could go to Starbucks and work on the next great American novel. I could be with Cookie. There could be fresh baked cookies or muffins for The Boy and The Girl when they get home from school. Dinner could be ready as soon as Young Gun hits the door. There could be forest animals flitting about and little singing dwarves dropping by. It could be….

A mess. An absolute mess. Who am I kidding? None of that would happen. There would be fresh nothing for the older kids, dinner would still be rushed, burnt and late, the only animals flitting about would be Tinkerbell and all her little flea friends. I would end up sitting at Starbucks getting fatter (and broker) by the day and writing the next FB post instead of a novel. *Sigh* As much as I don’t wanna admit it, sitting in a cubical on this vagina-bone-grinder might just be where I need to be—for now. At least until I grow up a little or win the lottery…whichever comes first (wink).


Feeling Replaceable

The biggest problem with loss is the feeling of being replaceable. Sure, it is nice to be the dumper or the two-week-noticer, but when you are not, it doesn’t feel so good. I got a taste of that when I was unexpectadely reminded that even though I am the mother, there is always room for one more.

It is something you think about when you have an ex anything and there are kids involved. You forget there is the potential for your off spring to bond with another adult. You ex has bonded, but you could give two shits about that particular bond (matter of fact you have often wished they got stuck together like humping dogs in the street). No. What worries you most is her (or him) glopping themselves onto your kids with fun stuff like shopping and outings and your kids sticking. After all, you are the rule setter, the drill sergeant, the taxi, the bill payer, the yeller, the spanker, the bad guy and on the tired days the ‘i don’t care’ guy. You don’t get the luxury of every other weekend fun in the sun spoil time with your children. Your spoil time and your mom time is intermingled together and it can be hard to tell the difference. To them…you are just mom…and to you…well…maybe you are not entirely replaceable but you certainly aren’t alone and it hurts.

It hurts somewhere way deep down, in a place no one can quite touch, when you think about being replaced. When your boss lays you off to replace you with someone younger and cheaper–it hurts. When your significant other breaks it off to replace you with whomever–it hurts. When your kids replace you with a girl/boyfriend, or just activities and friends in general–it hurts. But I suppose it doesn’t have to.

Looking at it behind mature lenses, we are truly irreplaceable. Someone can fill our seat momentarily, sure, but we are marvelously, wonderfully made uniquely enough so that no one person can step comfortably in our footsteps. There is only one you. There is only one me. Of course…I prefer to seethe and throw a tantrum about the potential of the Replacement, but that’s only because that feels better than being all yogi-om and mature. Realistically (here’s the mature crap again), I should know my worth and I should know my place within this world and in the hearts of those who truly love me. Why…I am smwart. I am kand. I am impowtant. Can’t take that away, no matter how much glitter and gold is thrown in the air.


Where Do We Go From Here?

When visiting home, Mommy said something that sorta jarred me. She mentioned her age. “Blah blah…when you’re almost 60…blah blah.” That phrase snapped my brain like a rubber band.  My mom is indeed almost 60. *shock n awe* Where did the time go? Better question: What happens now?

My mom is never afraid of aging. She’s always been ready–maybe not for the Change or the grays, but she has always maintained liking a few more years. That is awesome for her and it has taught me a very valuable lesson: do not fear the clock. However, with those few more years comes pressure on me–being that I am an only child.

I think about death often. Not enough to be creepy but enough to be semi-prepped for it at any given moment. My parents’ death is no exception. Hearing Mommy say that she was almost 60 jolted that sleeping realization that she won’t stop almost being 60 or 70 or 80. She (nor my dad) will get any younger. They will continuously get older, they will steadily fill their bathroom cabinets with medicines instead of younger smelly things like expensive lotions and soaps. They will constantly add to the vitamins already lined up on the table. Their yearly doctor visits will now happen more frequently and caution to moving things or picking up things will be had.

So, as the only kid, what happens now? Let’s face it, my parents will eventually fall apart. Hell, I’M falling apart (slowly)! How do you plan for an aging parent? Do you plan for them the way you would plan for yourself or your children? Do you just file it away for later?

It sorta scares me, the thought of my parents getting older…Mommy especially. Dads are suppose to be old and grandpa like. Moms? They are suppose to be invincible and never aging. It is inevitable, I suppose, to look up one day and see your Mom as 85 or stop by daily just to ‘check in’ (when really what you are doing is making sure she’s not dead). I guess for now I won’t worry too much about the future part of it all–I won’t keep asking where do we go from here. I will just keep praying for health and making plans to be closer. I just hope they don’t get too much older (and grayer) before I get there 😛