Category Archives: Writing

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Here’s a Ballot, Now What?

Originally today’s blog was going to be a random rant of whatever happened to be on my mind. Just like any other time a writer starts, they change their direction entirely. I became so passionate about one of my rants, that I decided to dedicate today to that instead.

Tomorrow is election day. I’m not going to give a speech about “people died for us to have this right”. I don’t believe in guilting people into voting. I don’t even believe in it myself. People didn’t die for the right for politicians to lie to us and make us overpay them. I’d like politicians to make minimum wage and not getting paid when they aren’t working like the rest of us. I’d also love them to be stuck with the same crappy choices for healthcare that the American people get. Maybe if we take away the riches and benefits, we’d get people in office that actually care about the people they’re sent to represent. I’d also like it if every law they pass also affected them. Then maybe they’d consider what they are passing before they decide to take the bribes to pass it. Also, I’d like to make it that people had to pass a general current event and civics test before they get to vote. It may be unconstitutional, but at least people who will vote have a general idea of what they are voting for and not race, party affiliation and good looks. I’m also offended that the old guy from Face the Nation (he doesn’t deserve a name, don’t bother telling me) for his commentary. Thankfully you can get access to transcripts online so I don’t misquote him:

“And here’s a confession. Sometimes voting against someone I don’t like is more fun than voting for someone I do like.And here’s the best thing of all. You can vote for or against someone for the best of reasons, the wrong reasons, or no reason at all. It is your vote, and you can do with it as you choose. In fact, you can waste it if you like.”

Really? Not that anyone probably takes his show anymore seriously than they do Fox & Friends, but he has the power of the masses. And he uses it for that? He could inspire people to make a change in the political times! He could tell the viewers, “listen, we need to vote on the issues not the person” or “you need to vote for someone who shares your same view of the country and how you want it to grow”. No, he says “waste your vote if you’d like, just do it”. He could’ve easily had said in one sentence “vote for Batman for president because Superman is from another planet and isn’t technically eligible for presidency”. This actually disgusted me. This disgusted me almost as much as most politicians do.

Growing up, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I was also smart enough to realize that writers are starving artists and you needed a job to fund the dream. For a long time, I decided journalism would be the way to go. I started writing for my middle school newspaper and I hit a moment of realization: I was far to opinionated to be a real journalist. I could be an Op-Ed columnist, and did well with that. The teacher was proud of me when I went to her and said “it would be against journalistic integrity for me to write news, I can’t do it without being biased”. Shortly after, I decided journalism probably wasn’t the right place for me because it went against my morals. Watching news today makes me wonder what makes me different from every other person that decides to actually go ahead with that career path but instead of reporting news, they report their own version of the news. It really does sicken me. There should be a political party named “The Cynic Party”, I would jump the Democrat label for that.

The point is that these people (Fox News, Face the Nation, etc.) all are able to reach people and inspire them for good. They could tell people that issues are more important than white dry erase boards and half facts. They could actually give the viewers a full story, the true full honest story, so when we go into that poll booth we can make informed decisions that suit us and our visions for our ideal country. Instead, they tell us “this guy’s a Kenyan Muslim” and “this guy is a corrupt Mormon business man” or “does it really matter, just close your eyes and make your pencil mark anywhere”. Now we get to go blind into an election and pray we come out in one piece. I’m not sure who’s more to blame for this, the politicians or our “newscasters”.

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We

In the morning, it’s hard to find anything worth watching. You’re stuck with baby reality television shows, infomercials, or biased news talk shows. So, I generally chose the baby reality shows. It makes me feel better than I’m no longer pregnant anymore and I get to laugh at how silly they look talking about normal things making it seem like they’re the first person to have to make a cold lunch for one child while pregnant. Yeah, we’ve done that move on. I find reality shows are really just comedies for me to sit around with my popcorn because the way they make every day life seem like an over-dramatic soap opera is really just hilarious.

Something did catch my attention on Monday, and I decided to watch 3 hours worth of these shows for an experiment. On the first show at 7 am, the husband of this woman who was having a difficult time with the pain begs for an epidural after several hours. Her husband stood outside talking to the camera while they were putting the epidural in and said “we really wanted a natural childbirth so we’re pretty disappointed by this. Maybe next time.” I took the controller to rewind this (thank you DVR) to see if I heard this man correctly. It turns out, I did. I couldn’t believe my ears that a person could be that idiotic.. or selfish I haven’t decided yet. So I watched for a week and it turns out that in more than half of these shows the husband or partner says something like “we had hoped to have a natural birth/breastfeed but she couldn’t do it and we’re disappointed.”

If I had heard my husband say anything like that, I’d probably punch him in the face. It wouldn’t be hormones, it would be my short temper. The “we” part of the baby process ended with the making of the fetus. “We” cannot have natural childbirth, “I” can  have natural childbirth. He can be a part of the decision and most definitely was a part of every decision that was made. But there certainly was only one of us squeezing a child out. You could say “my wife wanted a natural childbirth but was disappointed she couldn’t” and it would be perfectly acceptable. I understand, maybe the “we’ makes him feel more involved. But it seemed like “he” wanted the natural birth more than she did, and to be disappointed that she “failed” him is incredibly aggravating.

Personally, I’d like to see him pop out a baby naturally and see how long he lasts. I give him 5 minutes before he offers to do unspeakable things to the anesthesiologist for pain relief. Then I hope he’s too far along to get one and has to go at it alone. No, I don’t feel bad for saying that. The most important point of this whole rant can be applied in mostly every situation in life: It’s easy to make decisions for other people without knowing what they’re going through. In pregnancy and birth, nothing ever really goes as planned. And no one ever realizes how excruciating it is until going through it. Instead of being disappointed that your wife couldn’t “suck it up”, sit by her every second of the way at your place next to the bed and let her decide if she’s in too much pain. Get her ice chips and rub her back and make her feel better, not worse. And to you reality show “supportive” soon-to-be dads, understand that any woman who had gone through childbirth and sees you say something like that, realize that we’re all thinking about punching you in the face.

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Why Halloween,It’s Good To See You.

Last year a freak October “Snowpocalypse” postponed our Halloween. This year, a freak hurricane headed our way. My son’s first reaction was “oh no, I’m going to miss school and my first student council meeting”, causing a pouty nearly 10-year-old walking around the house. It wasn’t until afterward when he heard a local town had already cancelled Halloween that his pout went into an angry face. “Not again!” I pouted on the inside too, the one holiday I look forward to every year was not going to be taken away from me again. It was bad enough all the stores saw fit to put out the Halloween decorations the same time as the Christmas ones. Christmas, you will not take this one away from me. The madness needs to stop.

Back to the point, without those cute little costumes and bonfire and all the candy I never eat this month means nothing. This year would almost mean nothing if it weren’t for the additions to my family without Halloween, that’s how serious I am about this holiday. It brings me more joy than it probably should, but I would find God and stab him if his stupid natural disasters had interrupted my favorite holiday again. He would regret it assuming I make it to Heaven, even assuming I believe in it. Don’t cross me, natural disasters.

All joking aside, (mostly joking) I hope people made it out of the storm alive. Stuff can be replaced, but loved ones are irreplaceable. The damage in other areas are terrible and we’re very fortunate here to walk away with nothing much but some downed branches. It’s times like this you really can sit back and think about how lucky you are, seeing other people lose everything. I’d say it’s times like these where we need to help each other out, but we shouldn’t be helping people only in times of extreme crisis. This is the same principle I hold on Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day. You don’t need a day to tell someone you love them or that you’re appreciative of what you have. You should do it every day. My thoughts go out to people who are in need at this time.

Today I can smile while my boys are dressed up in their cute and overpriced costumes. As much as my husband and I love this day, it’s mostly for our kids. The tradition of getting dressed up to eat a ton of candy and get sick is as timeless as leaving cookies for the jolly fat man. Plus, they’re only young enough to do it for so long that you need to live in that short moment. Yes, that short moment where they only wear that overpriced costume once for an hour. It makes them happy though, and that’s the most important thing. Except for our baby, his costume and everything is more for us than him. But they’re both still very adorable. Happy Halloween readers, and donate to the Red Cross to help out. Every bit counts.

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6 Weeks Later

I’m sitting there, embarrassed that my first “holy crap I leaked, and it’s obvious and embarrassing” happened, but pleased at least it was at the doctor’s office where they’re used to that sort of thing. I’m waiting in the uncomfortably cold room wondering why if they’re going to hand you something to “keep you warm”, they don’t give you something that’s actually warm while you wait to be examined. It could be worse though, I could still be pregnant. Or maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing considering I got more sleep and could sit down and enjoy more of a meal than a granola bar or something else I only need one hand to eat.

Then the door opens, a troupe of people cheering and applauding me. My midwife comes in with a microphone… “3 minutes?!! 3 MINUTES??!! How does it feel?”

I look at the camera and asked “..3 minutes…?” I had no clue what was going on.

I shook my head and closed my eyes a minute, they were drooping from being exhausted. I opened them and my midwife and her student P.A. were standing there, waiting for my answer. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

She laughed, “I think you set a record. A 3 minute push time. How does that make you feel?”

“Really, that only took 3 minutes? It seemed a whole lot longer…”

“Don’t tell your friends, you’ll lose them all afterwards. Both deliveries happened quick and the last one was 3 minutes. I’m afraid to see how your next one goes. I might have to hospitalize you before your water even breaks. You might not last the 10 minute drive.. in fact you probably won’t. You’re famous. Everyone was talking about it. It’s even in your notes all capitalized.”

I laughed. I wanted to be a famous writer… apparently my claim to fame is getting a kid out of me because it was the only way to stop the pain. I’ll take it though. Obviously I ignored the whole “not telling anyone” thing, because honestly it just makes a funny story. Or gives me something to brag about. I don’t get much to brag about but how awesome my sons and husband are. This achievement.. this one is mine. I should feel sad that this is my accomplishment, but I made a friend with the labor nurse who said to call her next time.

The real lesson here is no matter what you do, you take pride in it. Whether it’s mastering making one son breakfast while holding an infant and making his bottle and feeding him after while making your son his cold lunch for school. These may seem minor, but minor victories are all the rage. Even the littlest of them to others are huge moments for you. Embrace them. No matter how boring or meaningless they seem to everyone else.

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Wanted: Father

At the bus stop while waiting for my older son to come home, another mother and I were talking about the new baby. Somehow it came up that my older son was not biologically my husband’s. She explained to me that she understood and that the story was the same about her eldest. Then she proceeded to tell me about how she went to her class reunion for the sole purpose of finding a daddy for her child. Then went on to say she understood about when her and her husband had a child, it was different for him than it was for the child that wasn’t biologically his. I think she was looking for someone who understood her situation. She was looking at the wrong person.

I never went out for the purpose of finding someone to play daddy to my son. Sure, a guy who was kind to my son was something I looked for. I didn’t want anyone to play daddy, I didn’t ever once think that I needed a person in a father’s role for my son. We were doing just fine. I understand now that I met someone who fit so perfectly in the role that at a certain age a boy does need a male influence, but I still don’t think it necessarily needed to be a “daddy”. I’m the only girl with 3 older brothers; a male influence for my son wasn’t exactly hard to find. I imagine problems when you go out into the world for the sole purpose for looking for a replacement father. You’d find someone perfect for him but not for you and end up miserable. Or you find someone absolutely perfect but wonder if he was only there because your kid was so awesome. Then there’s the paranoia part of “what if he was a pedophile targeting me for my kid?”. I’m fine with not having any of these scenarios, I have a hard enough time understanding why someone as awesome as my husband puts up with me.

Then to the other point. I might be naïve in my thinking, and I admit there’s probably a difference when you hold your baby for the first time than when you meet your girlfriend’s baby at 6 months old. In general though, I see no difference in the way my husband cares for either child. He loves them both equally, and is equally proud in both their achievements. Though one’s achievements is acing his schoolwork and making student council while the other one is going a day without explosive poop… still he beams with pride at both his boys.

I lucked out. I didn’t need to find a daddy for my child. I found a guy that was right for me and it turns out he is an amazing and caring father. I don’t think you need that though, your child will survive just fine even if it’s only you raising him. Turns out, kids aren’t as complicated as you think and just need a strong influence in their life that loves them with every inch of their heart and soul. This applies if you’re unhappy in your relationship or single with your child. They’ll be happy and thrive as long as you’re there happy and thriving too, showing them that all you need is love and hard work.

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And It’s Been 10 Years.

The announcement of my 10 year reunion should’ve shocked me. Has it really been 10 years? I was prepared though, as my oldest son was born a few months after graduation. I’ll show this in a hilariously funny conversation my son, my father, and I had when my son finished the third grade and was about to start his summer vacation.

“Can you believe I graduated Kindergarten only a few years ago? Man I’m getting old.” My son looked down as if he were remembering an ancient memory.

“Can you believe this time 40 years ago I graduated high school?” My father said.

“Well this was a long time ago for someone my age, Pop.” My son rolled his eyes as if to say “Oh silly Pop”. My father laughed.

“What do you mean? That we’re old?” I looked at my son, pretending to be angry. He looked stunned and started to stutter something to backtrack his statement. I decided to join in the conversation. “Can you believe this time 10 years ago, I graduated high school?”

My son looked at me, and he goes “10 years ago? Wait.. I’m going to be 10….” He looked at me confused. I changed the subject.

This made me realize the timing of my pregnancy was terrible. If I had gone to my reunion pregnant, there would be an excuse for my size. They’d touch my belly, making me wish I could drink to forget them all touching me, and be done with it. Then they would mock the other skinny girls from high school that seemed to double in size since graduation and we’d all feel better about ourselves. Don’t worry about the girls being mocked, it’s an open bar and they’d probably already be half in the bag.

Except this reunion I’m not the skinny girl from high school. I’m the “just had a baby and look awkwardly big” stage of post-pregnancy. I figure I have about a month after my doctor gives me the thumbs up to get back to working out to get into some sort of decent shape before I become the girl who was scrutinized. At least I have the advantage of basically being invisible and not so memorable.. maybe. The calendar is giving me hives considering this, but I’m stubborn… I mean, I’m determined.

So dear weight loss gods, just give me 20lbs and I’ll be happy. Either that or replace the 20lbs from my lower half and redistribute it up top. If they’re bigger, people won’t pay attention to the baby weight. Yep, I’ll be happy either way but I would prefer losing it. I might be vain for thinking this, I probably am. But I’m definitely not the only person in history that wants to look at least semi-decent for their reunions. I’m sure gyms split their money up from people getting in shape for reunions and people getting in shape for their weddings.

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Shames and Small Victories

Prior to this pregnancy, I had a pair of jeans I’d refer to as “my fat jeans”. I know I’m not the only one who has them. They’re the pair of jeans you can always count on to fit on your most uncomfortable days when you want a little more freedom, but otherwise wore a belt that barely helped keep them up. I’m not ashamed to admit that every day since coming home from the hospital that I try on this trustworthy pair of jeans just to see if today will be the day. So far, none has been “the day”.

I still use my maternity pillow, that lovely little “comma” shaped Boppy that helped me sleep when I was at my fattest point. I haven’t decided if I’m ever going to stop cuddling with that thing at nighttime, it’s incredibly comfortable. Admitting that is less embarrassing than my next point. One month later, I’m still wearing my maternity pants. Not the ones from the early pregnancy, but the one pair that fit me at the end when I was incredibly huge. I’m not wearing them because they’re more comfortable than any other pair I own. No, I’m wearing them because they are the only ones I can squeeze over my “still recovering” body. (Somehow that sounds better than saying “fat”.)

Then a few days ago I did have a small victory. I pulled out a pair of maternity pants from earlier in the pregnancy. (It should be noted, I was in them very early in the pregnancy. So early that it was really embarrassing.) This pair came from around the middle of it, and as sad as it seems this was a huge moment for me. So huge, I texted my husband saying “I was able to squeeze my postpartum butt in my skinnier pregger jeans. I’m moving up in the world”. It’s the little things that matter. Maybe next I can try squeezing myself in one of my pre-pregnancy shirts, because I’m still wearing my maternity shirts too. I even managed to look slimmer in a picture taken this weekend of me, my husband and the eldest boy out pumpkin picking with friends. These are my small victories that make me happy.

We’re not all celebrities that can buy all the best healthy foods and have personal trainers that can make us a twig again a week after giving birth. Most of us are looking at ourselves a month later going “really? I still look this big?” while comparing ourselves to Jessica Alba after her children. I do still try on those fat pants every day hoping, and I admit shamefully that every centimeter I manage to pull them up further from the previous week feels like a Super Bowl win to me. When you spend your day covered in godknowswhatevercamefromsomebodypartofthebaby, with tousled hair tossed up in the best ponytail you can manage with one hand since a visit to get it cut seems so far away, you take these small victories.

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How Dare You Hit Your Child

Last night while making my son’s favorite cheese and salsa dip, I looked over while he watched me eagerly and noticed his eye. He had a black eye, that he passed off while in the “just red” stages as a bug bite that his father believed and put bug bite stuff on his eye. I didn’t laugh at him for buying that excuse since I was too tired to notice it myself until this moment. My little almost tween had lied about what it was, yet that wasn’t the top of my concern list.

I will warn you that my first concern might make me seem like a bad parent in most minds. I was concerned about my son and whether he was hurt but since he obviously was fine my concerns went to a different thought. This concern should be a statement more on the state of our society than my job as a mother. I was concerned that some overzealous school employee would see a black eye and automatically assume that my husband or I had hit him. Every time he falls down or hit his head and it leaves a mark, I could only come back to this worry. I know I don’t abuse my kid. The school doesn’t and are hyper-vigilant to avoid issues involving liability tells child services about it. I appreciate the concern, it has its place. They do need to catch abuse and children are too afraid to say something. I’m not opposed to the schools being involved, I’m more concerned about the high prevalence of child abuse.

I told my son before he got on the bus to make sure he told the truth if a teacher asked. Lying would be caught by the teachers and they’d think he was harmed. It did make him come clean how it happened, so there was a bright side. Apparently he was playing football with his bigger cousin, and got a ball to the face. I laughed, all I could think of is when Marcia Brady received a broken nose from a ball to the face. I told him it could be worse and not to lie next time because head injuries are serious and he needs to let us know when he hits his head. We’ll see what happens today and hopefully someday people will stop seriously harming their children.

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In The Name Of Politics

Normally I save Friday’s for the occasion of discussing matters that matter to teen and single mothers. I debated with myself of posting something about politics, let alone on a day I specifically set aside for a certain audience. It didn’t take me long to decide that while I normally try to keep politics out of this blog, that this election matters to all people. It affects single and teen mothers as much as it does anyone else. So I decided to go for it.

This will be my first year voting… ever. I don’t believe in voting. I don’t believe my one vote matters, because in the grand scheme of an electoral college it really doesn’t. An election has never been decided based on one vote, and I know the argument of if there are 100 people just like me felt the same way, that’s 100 people who didn’t vote and cost an election. Last I checked, I didn’t think anyone lost by 100 votes either. It’s not our fault for not voting really; I blame the politicians we’re forced to choose from. They’re what’s wrong with the system by not giving people a reason to vote for them. This year seems like a good year to finally do it, though I admit my main reasoning is because of my state’s Senatorial race.

I don’t like Elizabeth Warren. I don’t like the idea of her. I decided a while back that I liked Scott Brown, and my reasoning might be silly but I believe in it and stand by it. My most hated thing about politics is that everything seems based around political parties. I hate that, I want to vote for a person because of what they stand for not what letter is next to their name. I think that they should omit the placing the political party next to a person’s name on the ballot to make it so people can’t go in their uninformed, see a (R) or (D) and just place a check there. (Though admittedly, I’m all for making people pass a test on basic current event knowledge to vote, because really the election could come down to someone who knows more about Jersey Shore than they do about anything going on in the world today.)  Why do I like Scott Brown? I like that though he’s pro-life, he doesn’t think it’s his business to be in mine. I like that even though he believe marriage should be between a man and a woman, he doesn’t think it’s his business to be in either. I like that he doesn’t care about who writes a bill, he’ll vote how he feels would be benefit our state, not because it’s a Republican bill. I appreciate someone who thinks for himself.

If only the presidential race was as clean-cut for me. On on hand, I’m not certain about Obama and how he can fix things. On another hand, I’m morally opposed to Romney’s fundamental values especially the ones I think he’s going to force upon us. Yes, I think there are too many people who are getting free government money and that needs to end. I also think that the government has no place in my ovaries or someone’s bedroom. I don’t think that you can rant about Obama forcing too much government on us and in the same breath say Romney is a great person for wanting to make government in charge of who someone marries and what a woman does with her body. If you want the government out of what healthcare decisions you make, make sure the government stays out of other private business as well. I can’t bring myself to vote either way, though I know I have to. If only there was a super candidate that combines the few good things about either of these choices and omits the absolutely terrible ones, I wouldn’t have to wonder who to choose.

Eventually I have to make the choice, as does anyone else who will vote. You can’t count on the cable news channels to help you, they have their own agendas they want to force upon you. I want to be able to make a proper and informed decision before this election, and I’m not entirely sure the tools to make that informed decision are available to me. Especially considering both candidates change their beliefs depending on the audience in front of them. Though, I should be more easy on them because it’s not like any president ever really sticks to their campaign agendas. In fact, how do you know a politician is lying to you? You know the rest of that joke, you don’t need me to finish it. When you step into that booth next month, I hope you have the knowledge and the ideals to make a good choice for you. Don’t let anyone try to convince you to vote against your beliefs. Your beliefs are the one thing no one can take from you.

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We Heard His Cry… and a List

I won’t lie and say I remember too much about when my son was born, either one really. When you’re in that much pain, you just remember specifics. You remember his size, time of birth, you remember that people were standing around you but your eyes were closed and didn’t see who stood where. You remember his cry, at least you think you do. You try to anyways. I don’t remember his cry, I don’t remember much aside from my husband standing around the warming bed as they seemed to show off issues with my son. I couldn’t hear them, and no one bothered to tell me until after the fact.

When my husband started rattling of issues they noticed, I was looking at this little innocent child and felt bad. His face was bruised, apparently he was facing my back and smacked into my tailbone on the way out. One side of his face, specifically the mouth, was drooping. He had a double uvula (seriously). All of these problems were merely cosmetic, but you look at your little newborn and can’t help but to feel awful for them. Eventually he mentioned there was one problem that wasn’t just cosmetic, it wasn’t serious or life threatening which is good, but it did need to be fixed.

Tomorrow my husband and I get to meet with a pediatric urologist surgeon that’s going to fix my son. I’m nervous, he’s nervous but it’s something that we need to do. When you hear your child has a condition, you can’t help but to look up every detail you can about it and the surgery to correct it. The condition is hypospadias, watch out if you Google it I definitely had nightmares for a while after. Graphic pictures were unnecessary Wikipedia, drawn diagrams would’ve done just enough. There is such thing as too much information, probably much like this post.

No matter what the surgery is for, no parent wants to see their child have to go through a surgery. The idea of the large amount of pain and tubes being attached to him scares me. The idea of changing his diaper and seeing a catheter there with blood and grossness both worries me and grosses me out. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m terrified, as silly as it seems since it’s “supposed” to be a simple and common enough procedure. I’m also not ashamed to admit that I’m terrified of the idea of changing his diaper until the area heals. It needs to be done, so I’m good at just taking a breath and dealing with it.

Part of me can’t help thinking I did something wrong, I think any parent that just goes through birthing a child with anything “unusual” about him worries about that. Maybe I shouldn’t have divulged my love of Chipotle’s and Panera Caesar Salad, or maybe those 6 glasses of cola I had while pregnant did something. Rationally I know that things like these just happen. I keep saying that these things make him special, and special is better than a boring old normal baby. But somehow realizing that special doesn’t make surgery on a baby any less terrifying. I suppose that’s one reason you see the surgeons before you go through something; somehow meeting the person who will do the procedure will make you feel better and more comfortable about it. It’s hard to get comfortable about something even as routine as this though.