Normal is the Watch Word

A decade.  That’s how long it’s been.

Let’s get real for just today.  10 years ago would have been the day I died.  Would have.  From the time I was a senior in high school until I was a junior in college, I was in a very abusive relationship.  I should have known from the start but I was in a bad place emotionally when it started.  I won’t go into gory details.  I am always open to talk about it but I find that people tend to not want to hear about it.  It makes them uncomfortable.  Which is a bit funny since they didn’t live it.  Plus it’s ironic.  We thrive on the exploits of the sick and demented.  We want all the details on Elizabeth Smart’s time while kidnapped or Ariel Castro’s captives.  Every second of a 9/11 flight.  But when it comes to domestic violence, no one wants the details.  They get fidgety.

But a few months before that day, I started to get out.  When that day happened, we’d been broken up but because he was still on the lease legally, we lived together but in separate rooms.  I’d been casually seeing someone.  Which may have triggered what happened.  Probably a combination of seeing me breaking free of the hold he had.  He was losing control.  I learned after that this time is the most scary.  When the worst happens.  I was young and naive so I thought the worst was behind me.

Rebuilding after was really hard.  Sometimes, it still is.  Some days I’m resigned to the fact that it’s part of my past, my history.  I grieve the lost of that girl.  The girl I was before him.  I adapt.  I learn ways to cope with random nightmares that yes, do still happen.  Hyper vigilance.  PTSD quirks.

But considering all that, I’m sitting here looking at a blog I wrote a day after and just reading it makes me feel like I’ve come so far.

decade

Yeah.

So really that’s all I wanted to say.  I didn’t want today to go by without saying something.  Recognizing the significance of it.  And how far I’ve come.  I blurbed it on Facebook.  I posted here.  Moving on now.

The Calm Before The Storm

So we are in the middle of a big move.  I have endless lists.  Things we need when we get there.  Things I need to do. Things I need to set up.  All the things.  All of them.  The things.  A kind doctor gave me a lovely prescription for xanax.  Which is good since I usually don’t know until I’m right smack into a panic attack.  My brain can’t relay the warning signs (thank you PTSD).  During a normal stressful time, I can just deal. Woosahhh and whatever.  My brain says, “oh there’s stress? Let’s put it into this little box and yup file that away for later.”  And then it eats the boxes.

Luckily, I downloaded all my Xanga posts so I’ve been able to look at myself from 10 years ago and see how much compartmentalizing I actually do.  Too bad I’m moving away from my awesome counselor or we’d be getting into double sessions of all that not healthy boxing away of things.  I think perhaps I felt like since everyone told me that I was out of danger, I was certainly okay, that I should move along with all that nonsense and so I learned to do that.

Add fixing ^ to my to do list.

So what else is going on?  Little dude is walking now.  He’s a walking fiend.  Crawling is of the past.  He went to his first playground this weekend.  He had zero interest in the other kids.  He just wanted to walk around.  I think there will be more park trips in our future.  He also likes walking around the kids book sections in book stores.  He loves books.  He brings them to you and sits while you read them.

No tags today.  This was an admittedly boring post.

 

 

A long time ago, we used to be friends

I used to be friends with a girl named Ana.  Some days she comforted me.  And some days she was a real bitch.  We haven’t been friends for a long time though.  Every once in a while, I think about her.  What it would be like.  Would it be different now?  Would I be happy this time?  I guess it’s safer to keep the red bracelet in my jewelry box.  For now.

Music Therapy

I grew up loving music.  I get it from my mom.  She used to play Michael Jackson when she was pregnant and I’d move around.  She’d say “dance, baby, dance!”  We had this one oldies station we listened to in the morning.  Zip Dude and Maria.  And every year she would call in since they would give birthday shout outs.

Back in the early days of dial up, I would creatively borrow music.  Yup, I was a tiny teen pirate.  I napstered.  I limewired.  Because of that, I have a really good collection of music you can’t find on cd or itunes.  Live stuff from James Marsters.  Katie Holmes singing “On My Own”.

Since having my son, I’ve been so focused on him that I haven’t really listened to anything more than Disney Pandora.  But lately I’ve been grabbing my headphones at night and getting back into my playlists.  And what I’ve noticed is that it really helps.  If a song speaks to me, I put it on repeat.  Even if I put it on low in the background, my brain sort of relaxes and I feel better.

Admittedly, I have a weird taste in music.  I’d rather hear a Glee song than the original for a lot of songs.  Buffy OMWF is a frequently played album. I like Jonathan Coulton’s version of Baby Got Back.  I can listen to DMX screaming “What’s my name?!” in the same 5 minutes as Hanson.  From Bling Bling to Cherry Pie to Mayor of Pussytown without a blink of an eye. I know all the words to Neden Game.  I am completely ignorant on new music.  Until I watched the Grammys this year, I thought Daft Punk was a type of techno music.  I had no clue who Macklemore was.  I just don’t think new artists have the sparkle of the Temptations or Elvis or Michael Jackson.  Don’t get me started on that giant vagina Drake.  Dude, you grew up on Degrassi, not Compton.  I do like Neon Trees and Echo Friendly.  You won’t catch me listening to Taylor Swift.  I’ll listen to Beverly Mitchell’s one and only album while I’m cleaning the kitchen.  And I sing along.  Loudly.  Rolling Down Sonora Avenue!

What’s your jam?

Chhhanges!

Oh how I no longer have a little blob baby!  No, I’ve got an expert crawler these days.  He doesn’t want snuggles.  He has no patience for snuggling in bed and watching Dr. Phil or Gilmore Girls.  He wants DOWN and he wants to ROAM.  Changing him on the bed is a task as well.  Many times have we leaped across the bed to catch an ankle to keep him from diving head first off the side.  Because he can flip over in a hot second.

And he has opinions on stuff.  First opinion is always “yes Mommy, I would like to eat all your food.  No, not my food, your food.”  And if he can’t have my food? Second opinion is to scream like I’ve eaten his dog right in front of him.  I have birthed a baby foodie.  He likes everything.  Half of me is thankful because I’m such a picky eater, that would be a pain in the ass.  The other half is having a hard time adjusting to sharing all my fruits and veggies.  The husband thinks fruits and veggies are the worst things in the world.  So for almost a decade, I haven’t had to share.  Now my tiny minion wants all of Mommy’s oranges. And grapes.  And green beans.

I remember people telling me that it goes by fast.  It’s true.  That newborn smushy blobby stage goes by faster than you can imagine.  I remember being so excited for him to roll over or to stop hating tummy time.  Now I wish he would go back to the hours of cuddling.  He cuddles now but it’s in very short bursts because then he’s on to the next toy or cat to chase or food to yell for.  Before I know it, he’ll be walking.  Of course…then we are truly doomed.  Right now he’s contained by blocking off an escape route with a toy box and his pack n play.  It won’t be long before he realizes he can crawl over the toy box and move the pack n play.  Then what?  Barbed wire?

I know this is such a nostalgic post. Don’t worry, I’ll go back to bitching about birth board drama again soon.  I haven’t been on there much these days.  I’m reading a lot and there’s not a ton of good drama anyway.  Be on the lookout for my BEC post though.  It’s coming!

For Fucks Sake…

Ignorance runs rampant.  I looked at a friend’s Facebook, trying to figure out why she doesn’t show up in my news feed.  Then I remembered why I took her off my feed.  The blatant ignorance on formula feeding.  She actually told me not to listen to people who say pumping isn’t really breast feeding.  I knew before I had my son that I would be a pumper.  It’s what I wanted.  My son would get what he needed and I wouldn’t be completely at the mercy of my tits.  I knew it was what I could handle.  I also set a goal that I was comfortable with as well which was 3 months.  I met that and was perfectly happy with myself.

So today I see this… Screen shot 2013-11-06 at 11.40.05 PM

Really?!  No, you nit-witted moronic slutpuppies, formula companies aren’t coming for you.  Those are available for women who need/choose to supplement.  The similac one came out after my son was born and I wish I’d gotten to use it since we supplemented.   Of course they send you samples.  They want you to use their products.  I get samples from all kinds of products that want my business.  I don’t think Bounty has some sort of vendetta against dish towels.  I want to say something so horribly bad but I know my words would fall on deaf ears.  Ignorant people like being ignorant sometimes.

So between that and my grandmother sharing urban legends like they are true, I’m thinking that having my internet fixed today was a double edged sword.

I’d been disconnected for a little while thanks to Comcast’s fantastic service.  I don’t know about you but I can’t get through my month without talking to at least one of Comcast’s outsourced customer service person.  I spoke with May a few days ago. She kept repeating the same shit over and over.  “Don’t you worry, I am here to assist you.”  When she couldn’t figure out how to activate my modem, she sent me on back to good ol’ America to the “internet line”.  That guy just sent out a tech to fiddle with the wires.

I can say all my to do lists got done without the internets distracting me. My bathroom is spotless.  Laundry is actually done and put away.

Dear Abby and the Case of the Halloween Cats

So Dear Abby has a letter today about how you should keep your cats inside at Halloween. And not just if you have a black cat.  All cats.  Because some people still believe in Halloween cat superstitions.  What the fuckery is this about?!  Since when is there a rash of cat pranks going on during Halloween?  And what Halloween superstitions are there other than black cats are bad luck?

It’s not like I have to worry about this.  I have 3 cats and they all live inside.  They wouldn’t survive in the real world.  They lack the proper cat  skills.  Outside is way too far from the food dish.   I have a cat that hides under the bed when it rains.  A cat that only gets off the couch to eat or go to the bathroom.  I poke her to make sure she’s still alive every once in a while.  She’s used to it by now.  And I have a cat that eats marshmallows.  So three out of three that wouldn’t survive if they were chosen for the Cat Hunger Games that apparently happens on Halloween.  My couch cat eats plastic if she’s out of cat food.  Shit, she’ll eat the tops of cupcakes on the counter if you leave them out at night.  A bite out of each one.  And she’s diabetic.

Well, non-cat superstition related, I just spent half an hour trying to figure out how to change the font color on here.  Xanga, this is not.  There’s barely any themes.  I’m not savvy enough to fix that so I’ve put feelers out to some friends.  Why does it have to be so complicated?!

I’ll be posting regularly now so get ready!

 

 

You know PMS has you by the short hairs when you are standing in the kitchen at 2 in the AM eating ice cream out of the container.  After a week of eating cookie dough.

I’m 6 months pp.  That’s postpartum for those that don’t know the lingo.  And the that time of the month, has shown up the last 3 of those 6 months.  I feel like I’m relearning how to PMS.  And relearn how to reign that cuntmuffin in.

I’m a first time mom.  There is so much to learn.  From the second you get that positive pregnancy test, you are bombarded with information.  Plus you have to join the online mommy community!  So you start googling and come across this site called Baby Center.  At first you read articles.  Then you join the appropriate birth board.  BB.  You share in the joy of your newly found preggoness.  Then you get to work on the lingo.  DH, DD, DS, POS, KWIM… It’s exhausting learning all that.

I’ve been part of online communities before.  A decade ago, pro-ed groups were like underground raves.  10 years later, and my best friends are from that community.  But the mommy community is so very different.  From day one until now, drama and bullies.  Seriously, a bunch of starving, puking and cutting women are nicer than mommies.  Doesn’t that say something?

I know….what an interesting first post.  But the dude is asleep and I realize now is my chance to catch a few zzzzz before he decides he needs to wake up.  And play with his feet.  And start chattering.