Being thankful vs being grateful...

For this Thanksgiving, I have some thanks to send out into the ether:

I’d like to thank my ex…for giving me the three most beautiful children in the world. It’s the only thing I think he’s ever done right.

I’d like to thank my mom…for always being there when I need you and loving me unconditionally. You are the best mom in the universe!

I’d like to thank my landlords…for being the absolute best landlords that a girl could ask for. You guys are awesome!

I’d like to thank my doctors…for providing me with the care that keeps me available to take care of my kids (when I finally get off my butt and call you).

I’d like to thank my job…for paying me on a regular basis and giving me a job in this horrible economy and being understanding that I’m a single mom doing all I can with what help I’ve got.

I’d like to thank all of my internet friends…for being there for me and always being so supportive. You guys are so nice and you never fail to bring a smile to my face!

I say thanks to everyone who has helped me out, even if it was just by smiling at me when I was so stressed that I could scream. You have all been so wonderful in your own ways. There are things that I am grateful for in my own mind but that I won’t say thank you for because it would be rude to repeat them in front of polite company. Let’s just say that most of them involve my impending divorce and my ability to finally breathe a little easier. Just a few more weeks, you guys. A few more weeks.

I’m grateful that all of my basic needs are met. I have shelter, clothes, food, heat, and clean water. I’m grateful that many of my wants are fulfilled, too. I have a family that loves me, a man in my life now who loves me, a hairstyle I can live with, and a thousand other tiny things that make everything worthwhile.

Life is good. Have a Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

Thank you. :)

Me. Naturally.

Mother.

Daughter.

No-makeup-wearing, loves-to-laugh, hopeless romantic, curvy, bodacious me.

Naturally.

19 months, 2 weeks and 2 days...

We made it!

19 months, 2 weeks, and 2 days; I breastfed you for that long, my baby girl!

I’m so proud of us! You did so well!

We had a great start. You latched right on at the hospital without hesitation. You ate like a pro, as if you had been doing it for years instead of just a few moments. It was magic to see it go so perfectly after the unexpected misadventure I had with your sweet big brothers in the NICU.

We had a bit of trial and error when my milk came in heavy that first time. Sorry I squirted you in the eye and all the way up your forehead and into your hair. My bad. Mommy forgot about the firehose-effect that your cries would have on my super soakers.

Several breast pads and nursing bras later, there we were getting our routine down. It wasn’t long before you were enjoying your lunch out in public. Just think, before you were born I swore I was never going to do that because “OMG! What if someone saw my boob?!?”. If childbirth doesn’t make you lose some of your modesty, nothing else will.

I wouldn’t say that you’ve turned me into a lactivist, but I would say that you’ve made me want to help others through their breastfeeding issues. Just ask some of the ladies on Twitter! I’m quite the little fountain of info when someone pops up with a question about breastfeeding now.

The sweet smiles and sighs in the middle of the night have melted my heart and brought happy tears to my eyes in the dark more than once. Feeling the weight of you in my arms and smelling your soft hair as you snuggled in close and filled your belly always made my breath catch.

I watched you go from my teeny, tiny baby to my little toddler; from the infant who left little wet spots all over my shirt when I was trying to tell the phone guy where to find the hookups (he laughed because he had a little one at home who was breastfed and he understood exactly why you were rooting around like crazy) to the funny toddler who motor-boated me last week when you were done eating (you giggled when you did it and told me I pooted and made me laugh so hard my sides hurt).

We had some struggles over bottles that ended with me having to leave work several times during the day to feed you (thankfully I’m only 5 minutes from the daycare) until you would finally take a sippy cup for me. You didn’t hesitate to let me know you weren’t having any of that plastic bottle nipple when you could scream a little and someone would go find your favorite boobies for you.

We managed to embarrass your grandpa that time that you tried to root around on his chest when he was holding you (I’ve never seen someone pass off a baby so fast in my life!). Your Mamaw liked to pick on you by going by and popping you off my boob every once in a while just to watch you squirm around and fuss a little. That’s ok though because I’m pretty sure you’ve pulled enough of her hair out to make a rug (I told you not to lean so close, Mamaw…).

I will miss our quiet time together at night, your tiny hand resting on my chest just over my heart and your knees curled up at my side. I’m proud of the fact that I provided you with some of the sustenance you needed to thrive into the beautiful girl you are today. I’m also so glad that I could be your source of comfort when you needed a soft place to curl up and feel safe.

I may no longer be feeding you from my breasts but know that I will always be here to comfort you, I will always have a place in my open arms for you to turn to when you need a soft place to land and I will always get a little sappy when I hear you sigh happily in your sleep.

Here’s to a wonderful 19 months, 2 weeks and 2 days. You are worth every moment and more.

I love you, Babygirl. Thank you so much for being mine.

Finding common ground...

I’ve found since becoming a parent that there are some things that no one but another parent will understand.

You’re standing there holding a screaming child, one that moments before was completely docile. Your eyes meet a stranger’s and instead of a dirty look, you see compassion. You see a smile. You see experience. You see understanding.

You’re standing in the toy aisle alone; searching, searching, forever searching and you look over to find that suddenly you aren’t alone anymore. You both smile because you just know they are looking for the same thing you are and apparently you both have the too-late-for-the-sale blues.

You’re trying to get your kids in your car but the car next to you parked too close and as you’re standing there trying to navigate the minimal amount of space needed to get said kids in car seats without actually taking your shoulder out of the socket and door-dinging the car next to you at the same time, a hand reaches out and holds the edge of the door to keep it from hitting the other car and gives you that two extra inches you needed. You smile through your car window and say a million thanks while trying to keep from dropping the diaper bag.

You’re entering a building, carrying one child while simultaneously holding the hands of two other children in one hand, the person exiting the building actually stops as they see you coming and waits for you to get there so they can hold the door for you. As you pass by they smile and say they remember when their kids were that small and here you go again with the million thanks and a huge smile.

There are days I want to hug strangers.

The New You*

Scream, yell, slap, hit
Punch the wall or a busted lip?
Ferocity and viciousness
Pain and anger and hatefulness

So much hurt
So many tears
His rage is the one thing
That she always fears

What trips it today
Won’t trip it tomorrow
And for every moment of happiness
There are weeks of sorrow

Guard the kids
Pray for sleep
Wish him away
But you’re in too deep

Gather your things
In a rush you leave
Buckling crying kids
In frail car seats

There aren’t enough reasons
To make you stay
No more promises
Broken day after day

Run away
And never return
Find a safe place
Watch the memories burn

No repeats or do-over’s
No redemption for him
That chapter is closed
You’re beginning again

Get yourself together
Make a life for your babies
One without fear
With guarantees and not maybes

Live again and guard your heart
Protect yourself at every cost
If he comes back around
Remember all that you’ve lost

Let go of your past
Its time to start new
Bring with it your warning
This is the new you.

*I hesitated before posting this one because it is a poem I wrote over a year ago when I was escaping a very bad situation. I'm in a better place now and I feel like there are others out there that could use a little perspective. I've been there. I'm still here finding my happiness. Get out while you can. You deserve the best this world has to offer.

Go here. There's help out there. Find it.

Work to do...

Being a single mother is hard work.

It’s cooking dinners every night, alone.

It’s washing, drying, and folding clothes every week, alone.

It’s cleaning up spills and loading the dishwasher and hand-washing the pots and pans, alone.

It’s dusting, changing sheets, hanging coats, wiping faces, wiping asses, picking up toys, refilling the humidifiers, doing the middle of the night breathing treatments, alone.

It’s grocery shopping, Christmas shopping, and gauging your ability to wrangle three kids through every store known to man, alone.

It’s taking your kids to someone else’s house for a visit and never sitting down to visit because they aren’t baby-proofed and those what-nots have sharp edges.

It’s deciding not to take your kids somewhere because dammit, you’re tired, and it’s more work to leave than it is to just stay home.

It’s checking the diaper bag at the last minute before you go out the door and making sure you wake up when the alarm clock goes off because no one else is there to make sure you get up after you smack the snooze that last time and the alarm won’t go off now for 30 minutes making you unbelievably late again.

Those of you with a partner in your life, think of all the things you and your partner do in a day and then imagine doing them all by yourself. Yeah, it fucking sucks.

Now tell me how it would make you feel if someone came up to you in a public place to tell you how terrible of a job you were doing when you know the only reason your kid is crying in the restaurant is because she’s hungry and she won’t sit and wait patiently like an adult and the only reason you brought her out this close to bed time is because you wanted to get Halloween candy to give out to other people’s kids because they look cute in Halloween costumes and you know their parents appreciate it when you give out the good stuff and their kids like coming by your house.

You brought her an hour away from home because you live in the boonies and just trying to find a damn big store from which to buy candy is a trip that must be planned out in advance and you’re sitting in a restaurant you really didn’t want to be in just because you had to eat something before you passed out yourself. You end up on the phone with your ex’s girlfriend whom you hate because your ex is too stupid to use a phone and call the pharmacy to get your children’s medication filled so he will have it over the weekend that he has visitation, which is supposed to be with all three of your babies but he hasn’t seen his daughter since the end of April because he doesn’t have a car or a car seat and he only picks his boys up from the day care on Friday’s because his girlfriend brings him to get them and he won’t let you bring his little girl to his house for him to see her because his girlfriend doesn’t want you there and it just makes you want to vomit acid all over him to burn the hatred out of your soul at how horrible a person he turned out to be.

You’re sitting there trying your best to be polite to the girlfriend because the last thing you need is an argument in the middle of a restaurant with the dense-headed girl and some stranger walks up to your table and starts telling you how you’re ruining everyone else’s meal because your daughter is crying and that you should take her outside even though its almost freezing and very windy outside and she has a runny nose anyways all because you can’t keep her under control. What the hell does that mean anyway? Who gets the option to keep another person under their dominating control even if that person is only 19 months old? And who the hell does this bitch think she is to tell me that I can’t be in a family restaurant with my family? She was lucky I didn’t stand up and stab her with the butter knife in my silverware from being so stressed out.

So, instead of stabbing her with your butter knife, you just look at her with a completely dumbfounded look on your face because you are now not hearing whatever drivel is coming out of the girlfriend’s mouth and into your other ear because you’re half listening to this woman come over and be a complete asshole to you when she has no idea just how much other stuff you’ve got on your plate that makes her nothing more than some shit you stepped in on the sidewalk compared to the other things you deal with on a daily basis. Instead of saying anything at all, you let her finish and you finish your phone call and you look at your mom who is sitting there looking at you with the exact same look on her face and she didn’t say anything because she thought the rude woman was a manager and that we were going to have to leave after waiting all that time for food and it was just a bit too much so you both don’t say much after that. You make sure your daughter eats something, you eat your mostly cold food, and you get the hell out of Dodge as fast as you can.

In the car on the way home, your daughter sleeps as you talk about what happened with your mom and you wish the whole time that you would have went outside and keyed the woman’s car for being an asshole but you had bigger fish to fry and you didn’t need a trip to jail to go with your crappy evening. And when you get home, you put your baby to bed and you start all over with all the work you have to do because you are seething with unreleased rage and damn the kitchen looked good when you got done because apparently rage comes with a good dose of scrub the hell out of that counter and look at your pissed off reflection in the shine of that chrome stove eye liner.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more work to do because it doesn’t say anywhere in the contract that I’m getting a maid or a nanny or a cook or even a babysitter for Saturday. I’ve got laundry to do and asses to wipe and way more on my plate than I like to think about and to be honest my 40-hour a week job gets in the way of the 24-hour a day job I have at home and I’m a little pissed off about a lot of things and in the middle of it all I’m not getting to spend hardly any time with my kids and they’re growing up too fast.

Today, things kind of suck. Sorry about that.