Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Whats Right

As difficult and lonely this past year has been, I have found comfort in my friends and family. Even if LB's daddy was off living his new life with his new family, basically leaving us in his distant memory, I had an army of positive thinking on my side. I had LB's three Leo Aunts there to pat me on the back, and puff me up.

They inflated my pride, and my ego as the "super mom", the mom who could do it all. I could face anything with them cheering me on, applauding my every success.

And every nasty word that slipped through my lips was met with overwhelming consensus. YES, what a total A**HOLE he is to leave you and LB. I don't understand what is WRONG WITH HIM. What a COMPLETE LOSER.

And as much as I hate to admit it, those bitter words and spouts of rage brought me as much comfort as the pats on the back.

Because it was easy being the good mom when he was such a F**wad. It almost made me want to try harder at being a mom, just so I could prove how much more above him I was. The worse he acted, the more he forgot about us, the better I looked, and honestly, the better I felt.

Now he has reappeared in our lives again. Wanting to be the "good dad." Wanting to see LB on a regular basis.

Everything in me screams "YOU DON'T DESERVE IT! WHY NOW? WHY NOT A YEAR AGO?"
But I know that's only my bitterness talking. If I were really the "super mom" then I would let my daughter decide what kind of a dad she has.

Every week I didn't hear from him, a sick little part of me got giddier and giddier, thinking "What if I never have to deal with him ever again?" That sense of guilty, delusional excitement has been growing for 6 weeks now, and all of a sudden POP. Reality.

And I have come to the conclusion that what may be easiest for me, may not be the best thing for LB. If I truly respect her as the amazing human being she is (even at 22 months), then I won't let my anger and sense of pride ruin it for her.

And its been hard, because my fishy emotions always seem to have a death grip on my sense of reason. I'm gonna catch that slippery, scaly bitterness, toss it back out to sea, so I can do what's right.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

A year ago

I've been having a lot of strange dreams, nostalgic thoughts and fits of deja-vu this week. Why? Because the chaotic sign of Aries is turning into the stable, generous sign of Taurus? Because a huge unknown has been eradicated from the world of child support? Because one year ago my life was completely and utterly unrecognizable from what it is today.

As I sit daydreaming at my desk, I have flashes of turquoise water, white sand and gentle sun come over me. Maybe my brain instinctively knows that at this time last year I was sitting on a beach in Miami, Florida, wondering if I should ever return to Colorado.

Why? Well, the current temperature on Miami Beach was 68 degrees and people kept telling us it was "cold" out. When we told everyone we were from Colorado, they asked "Why did you bring the cold weather with you?" Ha. Little did those bronzed Floridians know, there was still snow on the ground back home. Did I want to return to that? Hell no.

At that point I was not working full time. I did not possess the financial security and 5-day a week time commitment to something other than my daughter. LB had not been introduced to the universe of daycare. I held a part-time "Seasonal" job as an Imaging Technician, where I worked 12 measly hours a week while LB stayed with her daddy.

At that point I was still wearing a ring on my finger. A diamond ring that had seen the ruin of Louisiana, crack motels in Lubbock, Texas, the roar of the Aztec Speedway, the redrock of Lake Powell, the Santa Anas of Long Beach, California, and most recently, the molding, deteriorating carpet of our misshapen cabin in Mancos.

After I came back from Miami, I never slept on that carpet again. I never slept in that house again. I didn't even unpack my bags when I got home. I just took my daughter and left with the words "I think we need to take a break," echoing behind me.

Though I didn't realize it at the time, that was the day my engagement ended.

3 weeks later, I started my present job and managed to find a daycare slot.
4 weeks later, I had my own health insurance for the first time.
1 week later, LB had her first birthday.
2 months later, I received my first raise.
3 months later, I donated eggs to a couple in need.
1 month later, I moved into my own place.
1 day later, I pawned my engagement ring.
1 month later, I filed for child support.
3 months later, I have a child support order.

In 2 more months, I will have a 2 year old daughter.

Did I really survive it all?

Where were you a year ago?

Tuesday, April 22, 2008


LB is officially in undies at daycare. She had two accidents yesterday, but otherwise had a pretty successful day. I don't want to shoot myself in the foot with any glowing expectations, but I think she's about 75% got it.

I'm thinking of throwing a potty party once we are in the clear. I intend to make all my friends wear potty crowns and embarrass them thoroughly.

Oh P.S. If you're gonna lie about how much you make on the child support worksheet, at least rig it so your payment is realistic. LB's daddy (a roofer) apparently makes less than I do, which still works out to be more of a payment than I requested from him originally.

Yeah. I'm not expecting much. Good thing I can support my daughter and myself alone. That's how I roll.

Friday, April 18, 2008

I'm Back

So the reason I haven't blogged in a week or so is because blogger got stuck in the school district's internet filter. Those naughty high schoolers must have been blogging during class! SHOCKING! Unlike myself, who only blogs on her....ahem... lunch break.

This week has been to exhausting for me to blog at home.

My head hit the pillow last night at exactly 8:17. Why?

My grandma turned 73 this week and we took her out to dinner. Sadly, the distance between the restroom and our table seemed like half a city block, and since LB is in the midst of Potty Training Limbo, I was forced to haul her booty to the facilities every time she looked at me and said "Poop?"

How many times did she actually use the potty? 1 outta 4 times. Well I guess those odds a better than none, but MAN was I exhausted.

The 4th time she asked to go, I was like ughhhhhh. "You DON'T have to go!"

My mother almost bit my head off. "It is YOUR responsibility to take your child to the potty EVERY TIME she asks."

LB, high on "teesecake" and Ice "ceem" joyfully dragged my tired ass back to the restroom. She's learning how to jump, so walking is a whole new spaztastic experience. Whoa Nelly. I can't wait till she's jumping from the top step of the stairs.

Anyway, tonight I get to go out again. Yes, I actually get to be a real adult instead of a Potty Attendant. LB is staying with her grandma and I am taking my friends out for a celebration of sorts.

  • JL's grand opening is next Monday!

  • Jiji and Grady have set a date!

  • Curmudge and hubby have been married 2 years!!

So we're gonna hit Mama's Boy, which (according to my mom) is the new meat market for middle aged singletons and divorced Boomers. Maybe I can pick up an ex-hippie/doctor?


Friday, April 11, 2008


I've hit a rut with potty training. Its reached the point where LB likes using the potty, will tell me when she has done it in her diaper, she likes getting stickers every time she uses the potty, and will go pretty much every time I put her on there. She is happy with this progress, and so am I.

However, she still wears diapers, thus making her "accidents" a normal part of her day, and not really a big deal. The potty training regimen that daycare has provided for me, demands a complete ban of diapers all together. They even frown upon training pants (which I just spent $75 on), insisting I should go straight to thin cotton underpants that older kids wear.

Let me just say that they don't even make cutesy girly panties in 18-24 month size. I had to special order training pants in LB's size alone.

So last night, I took the plunge and put her in the brand-spanking new training pants. I made a huge deal (like the book tells you to) about having "big girl undies" and how awesome it was. LB liked them, but didn't really understand that she couldn't pee in them like a diaper.

I tired making her sit on the potty every 30 minutes, but I had the worst timing, failing to prevent an accident ALL EVENING. The new training pants were soaked, I was frustrated and LB was getting more and more upset as the night went on.

By the time I put he down to bed, she was clingy and whiny. She refused to lay down when I left the room. By 8:30 she was hysterically screaming. I don't even think she remembered why she was screaming. By 9:00 I could hear her going hoarse.

I sat downstairs, trying to ignore her. I kept running through the comments I received at daycare this week, "She had an emotional day" "She woke up from her nap crying" "She refused to eat breakfast" "She is sooooo sensitive!" and felt like absolute sh**.

I want my daughter to be brave and strong, not whiny and emotional. Am I turning her into a kid with issues already? Is she that kid who makes the adults roll their eyes, and not want to be around? Am I spoiling her? Do I give her too much attention? Is she destined to be one of those "only children" who can't share her toys or relate to other kids?

In 6 months, LB will be the same age I was when my sister was born, and I wish with all my heart I could give her a sibling. I wish she could have what my sister and I have. Sometimes I wonder if she is lonely, bored or not stimulated enough by living with only me.

Lets just say the "tough mommy" routine failed miserably by 1:30 am, since LB did not sleep more than an hour at at time after that, and I resorted to letting her sleep next to me. At 4:00 am, she no longer wanted to sleep in my bed, so I sat on the couch, holding her in a blanket, and eventually fell asleep sitting up.

Ugh I am spineless.

Thursday, April 10, 2008


Since its that time of the month, I get a free pass to drinking all the red wine I want, right? Well Lemme describe how ridiculous I am, right now.

I was an emotional wreck last night. Since I got my taxes back, I treated myself to some online purchases, and have been waiting for them for a few weeks. The housing project that I live in, as you all know is fairly new, and therefore has recurring problems with delivery drivers finding the place.

So last night, I was in the shower, drinking red wine(having put the toddler to bed, of course). I was feeling pretty sh**y, having dealt with a bad situation at work, one where I am forbidden to talk about, due to confidentiality, but basically it just so happens I get to see the evidence of my baby daddy's "responsible" parenting to his girlfriend's kids, and he hasn't seen his own daughter in 40-something days. And I deal with it on a weekly basis, but yesterday it was just too much.

Anyway, I get out of the shower and discover that there are two packages sitting on my welcome mat. Immediately I am elated, until I discover that one of the packages has been partially ripped open, and the training pants that I bought for LB have been rained/snowed on all evening.

Sob. Shake it off. Cry. Shake it off. Shake it off.

The next package is a pair of kick-ass designer jeans I bought off Overstock.com for a whopping $35.00 (marked down from $95.00). Now let me explain something, before you read what happens next. The jeans shopping options in my town are as follows:

  • Wal-Mart
  • JC Penny

  • Corral West

I no longer can buy jeans from the teen stores at the mall, because A) they fall apart and B) my C-Section Scar does not look good creeping up and over cooch-riders.

So I immediately pull the amazing jeans out of the bag and pull them on. I look in the mirror.

I have muffin top. I have camel toe. I have watermelons for thighs. My ass looks like it's screaming for help.

I lose it. I break down. I cry and cry and cry.

Its hilarious, because who buys jeans without trying them on first (well, besides models.) I NEVER do this. But I am sick of either choosing Mom Jeans or Britney Jeans. There is no middle ground. And of course I am ragging, so everything is overblown and dramatic and totally out of control.

So what do I do? I throw the jeans in a corner. I put in Jurassic Park and keep drinking.
Best decision ever.

Why? Cause T-Rex, he feels my pain.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008


My tooth hurts. Let me be honest and say that I haven't been to the dentist since my wisdom teeth were extracted in 2005. Yeah, a real FOND memory.

For all you lucky women who have decent teeth, after you get pregnant, that all goes to hell. My gums are shot. In pregnancy books, they have a term called "pink toothbrush", meaning that your gums have a tendency to bleed when you are pregnant, so teeth brushing is a yummy experience.

So I sucked it up and went back to the dentist, who informed me that I have 4 cavities. One on the right and 3 on the left.

Yay. Stupid Preggie Pops.

I sat in the dentist's office for 45 minutes yesterday, waiting to get my left side drilled, cause who wants BOTH sides of their mouth numb? And it was a good thing, because those 3 cavities on my left are starting to ache like a muther.

Sadly though, my appointment was pushing 3:15 and I had to pick up LB at 4:30, so I asked if they were gonna be done by then. Um, definitely not. So they filled the one cavity on my right.

My right side still hurts, and my left side feels like a toad is living in there and I can't feel it.

The dude next to me was getting root canal, so the doc was all "I'm writing you a prescription for Lortab, Ok?"

Lucky bastard.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Baseball Movies

Since I am no longer of the Bar fly crowd, my social gatherings tend to revolve around bringing the circle of friends (and their significant others) to the 825 sq ft space of my apartment.

The majority of my floor space is covered with LB's indoor climbing fortress/slidey-thing, compliments of Grandma. I keep telling myself I should move it upstairs into her room, but the monstrosity is more than I can handle alone, and considering the amount of sweat I worked up trying to put the damn thing together, I reallllly don't want to have to reconstruct it again.

Our last house party combined the following ingredients:

  • Homemade Egg drop Soup (compliments of Jijikero)
  • Garlic Thai Green beans (compliments of Curmudge's Hubbo)
  • Blueberry Cake (compliments of JL)
  • Red Wine
  • Keylime Breezes
  • A pouting pitbull
  • Michael Moore's Sicko
  • The omnipotent hotness of Will Smith in I Am Legend
  • A demolished kitchen.

Needless to say, it was a recipe for lots of screaming/throwing stuff at the TV, maniacal laughter, and well-lubricated conversation.

My EW noted that each year, at the start of baseball season, a studio or two decides to re-release an extended, updated, super goo-goo version of a classic baseball film. So, in our lushed state, my friends and I started proclaiming the best baseball movies.

I was shocked to find that not one of my friends had seen the movie Bull Durham, and they were shocked to find that I had never seen the Sandlot OR Field of Dreams. AHHH the horror! So our next get-together is going to be baseball themed, where all of us will fill the holes in our film education.

So what are the best baseball movies? Here are my personal favs:

A League of Their Own, 61* & Bad News Bears.

Monday, April 7, 2008

The solution to Unwanted Pregnancy

So if were president, this is how I would curb the influx of accidental pregnancies. Please feel free to throw peanuts, watermelons, grenades...etc..for my horrible immoral commentary on society.

I am a supporter of a women's right to choose. Obviously, how I could I grow up under a feminist regime and NOT support the women's right to choose? Anyway, I thought I was one in a million, since Roe v. Wade has reached its 35th anniversary, and all. I figured this was ancient history; a well-integrated fact in our society, something common place and familiar in our ever-progressing, technologically advanced world.

Negative. Oh Lordy no. Absolutely NOT.

After I had LB and joined a few Internet circles of mommies, I began receiving the "abortion poem." I don't know if any of you females have run across it, but it is the lowest form of emotional manipulation I have ever read. It is propaganda at its finest. Hitler would have been proud.

The "poem" stars a fetus (who would probably be voiced by Dakota Fanning if it were a child actor), who apparently can smell, taste, hear, see, talk and has highly detailed "knowledge" of the medical world around it at the tender embryonic age of 7 weeks. So this tiny (yet fully developed) Mini-me, basically acts out the final scene in Braveheart (you, know where they pull out his intestines one by one?), screaming in its high-pitched Dakota Fanning voice (ala "DON'T KILL HIM!" in Charlotte's Web).

Christ, if I could insert eye rolling here, I would. The worst part is that I have actually had other mommies post comments on how "traumatizing" the poem was for them, and how they cried when they were reading it. PUHLEASE. I really can't go into detail over the anger this sparks in me, mostly because it makes the female race look dumb. I don't care about your beliefs, but PLEASE don't base them off a damn email that was probably written by a polygamist middle schooler as a class project. Do the research, and make a conscious decision.

*insert feminist rant* So, since our culture still puts all pressure to keep unwanted pregnancies at bay on our daughters, mothers, sisters and all other females of a reproductive age, this is MY solution:

  1. Doctors are required to keep records on when males begin producing sperm.
  2. Once males reach the age where they are able to reproduce, begin a sperm bank.
  3. Castrate males.
  4. When that male decides he wants to have children, access his sperm bank and let him.

This way, people may have children only when they WANT them. Only when its planned. Women will never have to terminate an accidental pregnancy. Wow! A world without Abortion? How does THAT sound you hyper-religious Nazis? What about instead of threatening, shaming and scaring the crap out of teenagers with worthless abstinence talk, we actually go to the heart of the problem?

Everyone wins this way. And if you are thinking that kids will just run around having sex all the time if there was no pregnancy risk, ummm.....aren't they doing that already? What about STDs? there are still tons of those around to scare people, and maybe with the pregnancy issue of the the picture, then teens may have just a little less pressure to deal with, and may be more open to the thought of safe sex.

You know what else this would eliminate? CHILD SUPPORT DRAMA! Kanye West's "Golddigger"...uh uh. Not anymore. There would be no more "Ole' keep a ****** baby trick." Do you know how many stories I've heard that go like this:

  • Girl gets pregnant.
  • Boy wants her get an abortion.
  • Girl refuses (Gasp).
  • Boy runs from child support the rest of his life.

Yeah. GREAT situation to raise a baby in. My solution would END that scenario.

Ok, so its fascist and unnatural and immoral, and really just my own personal fantasy, but come on. How perfect?

Please post hate mail on my comments, its a free country, Yo.

Thursday, April 3, 2008


Potty training is going remarkably well lately, and I'm happy to say LB has ahem....done her dirty work 3 WHOLE TIMES in the potty. I'm practically salivating over the notion of NOT having to buy diapers anymore. My co-worker told me that once the kids are out of diapers its like getting a raise...woo hoo! Since I'm not getting any salary increases in real life, this will certainly come in handy.

Still, she is only 22 months (on the 8th) and I really don't want to push it. My daycare's potty training policy is that I am NO LONGER ALLOWED TO PUT HER IN DIAPERS. That's it. Cold Turkey. Only Undies from here on out. They told me to pack LOTS Of extra clothes, and they will reduce the mess by setting a timer and putting her on the potty every 30 minutes.

Freakin' Potty Nazis!

So I'm going to quietly introduce the daycare potty to LB and see if she starts using it on her own.....without installing their Potty Boot camp Program. I mean, are they going to yell at her if she suddenly wanders over to the toilet and uses it?


Speaking of butts. This morning, as I was getting LB dressed, I pulled off the cold, wet morning diaper and said "Oh wow kiddo, your butt is COLLLD! That's probably NOT very fun to sleep in!"

She grabbed her booty and said to me, quite proudly "MY BUTT."

Everything is MINE at 22 months. Can't wait till she actually TURNS 2.