2/22

"I hated everyday of highschool.

It's funny I guess you did too.

It's funny how I never knew.

There I was, sitting right behind you..

I guess you finally stopped believing that any hope would ever find you

I knew that story, I was

sitting right behind you"

It's not too much of an exaggeration to say that I couldn't wait for high school to end. I didn't "fit" anywhere or into any of the groups and did a pretty spectacular job of isolating myself.

I was a smart kid that didn't want to hang out with the other smart kids who practiced math sets for their SATs after school and on the weekends. I was an athletic kid that would rather talk about books than stats. I wanted to be in the popular group, but I didn't drink or smoke in highschool and I wasn't religious enough (yes, there was a very religious church-going popular crowd) to fit into the other popular group. I just floundered socially. Academically, I never felt inspired. Some of the work was challenging, but not engaging.

Basically, I joined as many extra cirriculuar activities, sports and honors groups as possible to make sure that when the time came, I could get as far away from high school as I could.

I went to Smith College, 3,000 miles away from my home town. There, I found the love and support that I had been looking for in highschool. I found interesting, fiercely intelligent women who didn't put me down for using "big words" to express myself. We all secretely admitted that we liked to read, write, draw, paint and go to elitist coffee shops where people recited spoken word poetry. It was a coming out moment for the intellectualism that we had supressed throughout puberty. I reveled in it and drank up as much as I could.

Just recently, I had a friend from high school tell me that a mutual friend was looking for me on myspace. I've had a myspace account for the last two years or so, but left it completely blank and only used to occasionally message people or check other people's pages. I updated my page, added some pictures, and suddenly - it's like a windown into my past has blown open.

The crazy part is that I love the fresh air. I love finding out who got married and who got their master's degrees in chemistry or education. I'm sure that it's time that has helped heal some of the wounds that teenagers mutually inflict on each other, but people genuinely seem surprised and happy to hear from me. It's allowed me to reconnect, not only with the people that I grew up with, but with a part of myself.

I had written off the teenage version of myself as someone that I didn't want to know. Turns out, she had a lot of problems and a whole hell of a lot of insecurities, but the NSP in high school wasn't as bad as I had originally thought.

10/27

Much more to say about the day (and about my annoying tendency to rhyme unintentionally). Nevertheless, I'm rushing out the door. I just wanted to you all to go over and say hello to R.

R. is the one that took me to the gala and managed to leave with my cell phone. He's the tall, cute guy over there on my Flickr page. He just started a blog and I want to encourage him on this endeavor (because he says that I forced him to)

I don't think that there are enough male bloggers in the world. Plus the guy is a single parent to four teenaged kids, so you know that he's going to have some interesting stories! There are only so many ways that I can sound interesting while begging Zac to walk. Really, there are times when I even bore myself.

So, what are you waiting for? Go over and show him some love because we all know that I haven't been able to recently.

10/26

Do you remember this photo?That's me...in the hotel room before my baby shower, hugely pregnant at seven months. I look big enough to kick the ass (well, ok, at least sit on and injure) anyone that crossed my path. Walking around Lowe*s to get supplies for Zac's nursery was an event that caused me to reconsider A) whether I should go out in public or not and B) whether I should use an electric wheelchair in stores larger than some industrialized nations. '

Looking at this picture makes me remember why I was so miserable my last trimester.

It's shocking to think that I want another child.

Fortunately, I get to experience pregnancy and child birth vicariously with one of these women that attended my baby shower:

She's expecting and I'm glad that I'm not that big anymore.

10/23

Right after I had Zac, I had this period of mourning for the person (I thought I had) left behind when I held my infant in my arms. I thought that I would never drink beer with abandon again. Never watch a stripper grind against a pole while Def Leppard's song, "Pour Some Sugar on Me" was blaring through the club's loud speakers again. Never spend way too much money on herbal supplements and think about 'colon cleansing' again. I thought that I needed to give up a part (if not all) of myself to be the mother that Zac needed me to be.

I've learned that isn't the case.

I still drink. The strippers and Def Leppard are absent, although that's really for the best most days. The bottle of phylum husks currently on my kitchen counter indicates that I've not completely weaned myself away from spending money on the regulatory functions of my digestive system. Sometimes I even like to pretend that I have the same energy as the 24 year-old woman I was before I learned about Peanut.

When I enter this delusional state, it starts to seem like a good idea to go for a road trip on Saturday, even when I spent all Friday night hunched over wondering if I need to poop or if my uterus is going to explode in a blaze of glory all over my couch (I still haven't figured out where the cramping is coming from). Even my headache and utter fatigue didn't deter me from waking up so very, very early on Saturday morning with Zac, who now thinks that sleeping beyond 7:15am is some kind of mortal sin, and packing for the journey.

I went up to Austin to for-the-love-of-God get away from Houston and meet John Farmer, who told me that I should use his full name in this post, and Carolyn. John Farmer and I walked around the state capital, which is filled with portraits of many, many old white men and large groups of children learning about the state seal. Then we went to the Austin Museum of Art and a restaurant across the street for an early dinner. I was so tired from the three hour drive up to Austin that I seriously considered asking John Farmer to find something else to do for two hours while I slunk back into my car for a nap. I didn't do that though and I was barely able to control the cramping emanating from my lower half and the yawns coming out of my mouth as we made our way to 6th street for a beer.

I called Carolyn and she joined John Farmer and I at a bar called the Dizzy Rooster that boosts a sign above the cash register proclaiming, "Dance on the bar at YOUR OWN RISK!" Normally, that would be my kind of place. After a week of intense stress, though, (from the crazy ex-wife) insomnia (from my own insanity), and a hotter-than-expected day in Austin, I was done. I wanted to go home to my bed in Houston and curl up with a stuffed animal I named Sick Dog. I wanted to be anywhere, but in that bar, trying to talk over the loud music.

Carolyn took me to her house and, for all of the Leonard Cohen fans out there, fed me "tea and oranges that came all the way from China" and exuded a grace and tranquility with her actions, her home, and her life that caused me almost instantly fall into a deep sleep in her guest bedroom. Let it not be said that I'm the best houseguest ever.

I don't mourn the person I left behind when I became "Momma" to a child that wakes up in the middle of the night just to hang out with me. I mourn sleep more. Self-identity be damned, I want a pillow and blankie please.

10/06

Some people do spring cleaning. Right on the cusp of spring, people around the world suddenly feel the need to sweep out their closets for the first time, get rid of the debris around their fence, and welcome the change of the season with wide arms. The feeling can be euphoriant; freer, lighter - emerging with a clearer sense of purpose.

Spring in Houston has the opposite effect on the population of southeast Texas. You can feel the heat and humidity creeping into the air and with a sinking feeling, you begin to prepare for hibernation under the air conditioner. Let me just say that the Houston Livestock and Rodeo Show in April is the world's largest INDOOR rodeo. Even traditional outdoor activies are moved inside for eight months out of the year.

Record high temperatures aside this past week, October is the silver lining out on the horizon for Houston weather. I swept the patio free of dirt and swept all of the leaves out of the storage area, cleaned all of the first floor windows (inside and out), and managed to get all of the laundry off the rug in the living room. This morning it was 68 degrees out, with a slight breeze. Of course, the high temperature of the day made it up to 91 degrees, but MNS didn't seem to mind too much.

Did I mention that MNS came to visit Zac and I??? I didn't? I've been too consumed with stupid assholes saying stupid things to me? Well, that is my mistake.

MNS's visit spurred the cleaning frenzy. She's my first out-of-state, non-family visitor (hi Aunt Jen!!!) and I was more excited than I wanted to admit. So, I cleaned.

Of course, the beautiful weather outside meant that MNS and I were able to take Zac to a park close to my parents' house where Zac squinted and hammed up for the camera, as witnessed below:

Heeheehee, I'm so cute, especially when eating an apple

But, then again, I also got in front of the camera to get some lovin' (although I think he just wanted the apple):

And there was swinging. Much, much swinging to be had at the park (by now, I feel that if you haven't noticed the amazing tie-dyed onesie that Mr. Zac is sporting under the jean overralls, then I should bring it to your attention):

I'm such a big boy. I know.

And we all basked in the attention of Aunt L., who made this weekend special and wonderful:

Baby feet! I'm holding baby feet and you all can't have any!!!!

10/04-2

I wanted to say thank you to everyone that consistently gives me love and support, both on and off this blog. It means a lot and it helps me say, almost on a daily basis, "No. I don't deserve that. I deserve more," which isn't easy for a people-pleaser like myself.

Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to make people happy. If members of my family were fighting, I wanted them to talk it out - I would be the go-between if I wasn't the direct cause or source of the anger. I'll avoid head-on confrontation with most people and absolutely run from anything that I deem 'threatening' or even vaguely annoying (like going to the dentist).

I think I even followed the career path that I have so I could make people happy, which makes me happy, or at least content most days. Being in non-profits is like saying to someone, "I know that what I have is a little more than I can reasonably be thankful for. Here - have some of mine, some of me, I'll give it to you because I think you deserve more than you currently have." And you do that day after day because making people happier, healthier, safer, richer, and less discriminated against is what the non-profit world is about.

It's hard for me to turn that off when it comes to romantic relationships. Someone said to me recently, "I deserve for you to come closer to me. I deserve to touch your stomach (the stomach that held the baby. The stomach that will never be the same. The stomach that I don't let ANYONE touch because it's too personal and sensitive)." I answered, "No, you don't deserve that." Then he said, "I, then, at least deserve a kiss," and I said, "No, you don't deserve that either."

While he left he threw back a parting insult in my general direction: "You don't need to ask me to go. I'd rather go on my own accord than deal with an asshole like you. Now I know why all the other guys ran too."

All because I have my own definition of what someone "deserves" to do with my body. According to my definition, you deserve to respect, cherish, and be patient with my body and the person attached to it because in return, I will love you wholly and unconditionally.

Until then, get the fuck off me, and you can thank everyone that reads this blog for the confidence to say that.

10/02

Uggh,

DeepSeaDiver J. wants to be friends. I just had a minor emotional outburst in his direction over IM. Now I feel like crap and a bad friend. He got off IM faster than I can finish going pee. It was fast, that's all I'll say.

Then I got an e-mail from my friendly free dating site, telling me that I have new matches for October. New matches? Well, sign me up and click the link, I always say! What did I see, but DeepSeaDiver J. staring back at me. He changed his handle and put up new pictures, although he said that he had given up internet dating after me. Turns out, he is back on the cybermarket, in more ways than one. I e-mailed his account there, and he quickly read and deleted the message (it's great when sites tell you the progress of an e-mail being read, discarded, ignored, or replied. If only people had small tickertapes running across their foreheads that registered the same emotions during a conversation. Dating would be so much easier).

Erasing all traces of me and my company.

7/15

Blind Date 6.5: SJ’s Kids in the Whitelands

So, with all the family obligations and sadness, I haven’t had a chance to post about a (how do I describe this – not fun, something more like – I’m glad it didn’t kill me) experience meeting the Sarcastic Journalist’s kids. She and the Hubs were looking for a rare night out a couple of Friday’s ago and thought that a shy 12 year-old might possibly get eaten alive by her two under two. I volunteered to bring Zac over and let the three kids wrestle until the passed out on the living room floor.

First off, let me tell you that the Whitelands isn’t all that far away from where I live. It’s just far if you don’t follow directions and instead decide to go pick up more cake as a housewarming present. Getting to the cake made me over an hour late (which conveniently rhymes). By the time I found SJ’s house in the Whitelands, Zac was in total, complete meltdown mode in the backseat. I had picked him day care and driven directly out to SJ’s house. I did not pass go, I did not collect $200, I did not feed him, I did try and give him a bottle which he promptly threw across the backseat in disgust. As we say in my family, he was “not a happy camper”.

Second, SJ is NOT exaggerating about the Whitelands. I have never seen a place like that before in my life. There really is a country club and there really is a giant lake with mansions. I can’t guarantee that everyone who lives there is white, but they certainly make more money than I do, regardless of their race or ethnicity. Pulling up to her house in my crappy car with my screaming child must have shocked many of her neighbors.

I meet SJ and the Hubs and then I’m quickly introduced to Ellie (the almost 2 year-old) and Sam (the 5 month-old stud muffin, a.k.a: the most laid-back baby in the world). She and the Hubs were in a bit of a rush to get out the door and seemed surprised when I kept asking questions about where to find certain items or how to put the two of them down for bed. I joked that she must not be used to leaving her kids with someone and she gave me a long, hard look that said, “No bio-tch. I’m not. And I hope my kids eat you alive”

With little ceremony, and me kind of wondering where they went, the two of them left for the evening. The biggest surprise of the evening was how well-behaved her kids really are. Really. I’m not joking. She usually makes her kids sound like they are the devil incarnate out to suck the life force from any adult they come in contact with. As SJ told me, though, “Who would want to read about how great my kids are? Come on. That shit would be boring”. So, it was a great surprise to have Ellie cuddled up next to me on the couch, watching Barnie, with Sam doing his best to keep Zac from straddling and suffocating him.

My son appears to really, really like other babies. I mean, “Zac-get-off-of-him-before-he-can’t-breathe,” likes other babies. The whole evening I spent pulling Zac off Sam, who was strapped into his bouncy seat like a turkey around Thanksgiving time in the eyes of my son. Zac wanted to kiss him, hug him, and rub his boy belly all over Sam’s face.

I felt like the best caregiver in the history of the world when I had all three kids under two down for bed at 8:30pm. Zac was in Sam’s crib. Ellie was in her “big girl” bed. Sam was (should I really admit this?) on the floor in his parents’ bedroom. On his stomach. On a blanket. I went in to turn him over and save myself the embarrassment of admitting that I really had killed her youngest child. Sam woke up and started crying. Then Zac woke up and started crying. The two of them were like dueling banjos for the next hour-and-a-half until I finally admitted defeat and called SJ and the Hubs home.

Any woman with multiples now has my utmost respect. I must be out of my freaking mind for ever entertaining the thought of having another child.

1/05

For M, stories from the Northeast:

It's hard to sum up my entire trip to the Northeast. It was my first trip with Zac, alone, so there were some extra challenges, but also extra small joys and triumphs. Here is what I learned over my winter vacation:

• I can read a magazine in airport for at least 20-30 minutes as long as I give Zac another magazine to chew on. He can happily chew while I read the 2005 Worst Dressed list.

• The Chili's restaurant in the Detroit airport won't let you bring strollers in, no matter how hard you fight. I tried to tell them that if they were handicapped accessible, then they could accomodate a stroller. The woman kept repeating: "Do you see the sign? The sign says no strollers," to which I said: "Well, the sign is stupid." Not my most brilliant comeback, but it's hard to be brilliant while your son is chewing on a stuffed monkey and the front, left wheel of your stroller isn't touching the ground.

• Zac looks adorable in a snow suit, even though he hates wearing one.

• My sister and brother-in-law are fantastic at watching Zac. I left to go out on New Year's Eve and instead of worrying about Zac, I worried about Jen and K. being alright with him.

• I don't have romantic feelings for the FOB, much to my surprise and delight.

• I do want to rip off his head and shove it down his deadbeat ass, much to my surprise and delight. I actually don't like to be angry for extended periods of time and the anger I feel towards him was more shocking in its intensity.

• It's a lot of fun to say "No". Really, I think I should do it more often. For example, when the FOB asked if I could get him a bottle for Z: "No. Get it yourself and juggle the squirming baby while you are at it and think about all the times that I had to do it after recovering from my C-section while you were out drinking and having sex."

• Snow, be it wet and heavy or freezing rain, is cold, especially when you've lived in Texas for the past year.

• It is almost impossible to push a stroller on a sidewalk that hasn't been plowed or salted. I tried in Northampton. Their efforts to be an eco-friendly campus causes me to swear profusely.

• Mixing beer and champagne, even at midnight on New Year's Eve, the night that you think you can do anything, will make me throw up during a cab ride. It's even worse when you arrive at your destination and realize, not only do you not know where you are, but that owners of the house don't know you. All night, as I slept on a circa 1970s sky blue couch, I heard: "And we don't even know who this girl is!". Yes, I was that drunk woman that passes out in a comfortable spot, only to have the party move into the room where she lies, sleeping and unknown.

• Having friends and family around me, only emphasized how much I miss having a partner, but I love to see Zac smile and stick his tongue out and everyone that I love and who love him in return.

7-14

Right now...the baby is sleeping and I have a couple of minutes to write. I was stupid yesterday and tried to pick up the 40 lbs stroller when Peanut, Grandma, and I went to Babies R' Us. The pain in my incision is enough to tell me that I shouldn't try that again for a couple of weeks. My favorite part is when I sneeze or cough and I get this great burning sensation in my stomach. As my friends and family keep telling me though, I could have stiches in my crotch or near the other hole. On the other hand, have you ever tried to suppress a cough? It's not as easy as it sounds.

I'm posting a picture of Peanut in comparison to another object. The teddy bear is normal teddy bear size and the purpose of this picture is to put to rest the "Oh My God, your child is huge!" phenomenon. He is newborn size. He wears newborn diapers, newborn onesies, and newborn socks. Yes, he is 9 pounds, 5 ounces now (the NICU is pretty hardcore about beefing kids up fast. It's like baby boot camp in there for eating) and yes, he's 21 inches long (the average newborn is 15-24 inches), but to me, he's heartbreakingly small. As in, "How the hell did I get the enormous responsibility of taking care of something so small? (Don't answer that. I know how it happened and why, but you're not my subconscious speaking at 3am) Who authorized this? Don't they know that sometimes I sleep until 2pm? That I sometimes care more about myself than other people? This is a human here!!!!" Besides, if anyone gets to call my child huge, it's me. Not you. End of story.

My love and grateful thanks goes out to L. for talking to me last night and calming me down during the worst of my paranoia. Thank you. You are a great friend.

5/19

Baby shower in Brooklyn, NY, 4/30/05

3/16

Deb's baby