I've seen shades of myself at 17 in Haven's attitude lately. This does not necessarily scare me, but it does worry me as to what is REALLY going on with her. She's been snapping and saying, "Whatever," a lot. She sighs loudly and her eyes are usually rolled in the back of her head. She mumbles a lot under her breath.
Having once been a teenager, I have accepted that she might resort to this type of behavior. Whatever her reasons, I know that she is not happy but may not feel like she can adequately communicate as to why she's irritated. She may even believe that I would not understand if she tried to talk to me about her reasoning.
However, I was a moody teenager that was angry about a lot of things that I could not control. Many incidents happened during my raising that shaped my confusion and suppressed my ability to responsibly word what I was feeling. My expressed thoughts came out as, "I hate you all," and I meant it, for there was no other venue for me to state my resentment. I took every offense against me (and others) to heart and had trouble letting go or forgiving. Who I was is not who Haven is or who she will become. She's one of the most forgiving and gracious people I've ever known.
I can only speculate at this point as to what is going on with her:
Maybe she is under a lot of pressure at school. I know Chemistry and Geometry have been an issue for her. I will tell her this: You have six more years, baby. SIX. That is not a lot. You will love college! You will take classes that actually pertain to who you are and who you want to be. You will grow in ways that you never thought imaginable. You will come home and debate your learning and I will respect your views. Chemistry and Geometry are not the 'be all' and 'end all' of education, but you can get through these courses. Just remember: "C's and D's equal degrees," and as long as you get one, we are good.
Maybe she is not happy with track, although I do not know why; she actually placed at last weekend's meet. To that I would say, "Keep going girl!" There are not a lot of pole vaulters out there, and you've chosen a sport that challenges you weekly. I have never been more proud of the fact that you are an individual who works tirelessly to perfect your skills. It takes more than sheer determination to soar through the air the way you do. I am in awe each time I see you run towards that mat. Who cares if someone does better than you? I don't. Anything you decide to set your mind to makes me proud. So get your pole up and run, Haven. Eight feet or 12 in a half, it doesn't matter to me. YOU matter to me.
Maybe she's mad because I told her no when she asked to go some place the other day. To that, I say to her, "Some times I have to say no." Haven, you go and go and go and go until you are knocked down by a virus. Trust me when I say it is better to stay home one night and rest. Your body will thank you. Sleep and rest are very important. There will come a time (maybe when you are a mother yourself) when you will not be able to get the required rest you need. Cherish your down time. (And stop rolling your eyes. I know what I'm talking about.)
Maybe she has some feelings about the letter she received from her father a week ago. To that, I say, "I am glad he is coming around." I know how important father's are to young women. There is a part of me that is incredibly apprehensive about this development, but please do not fault me for this; I am your mother and want to protect you. Your relationship with your father should not and will not be based on my feelings about him. Daddy's are important, and if you want yours in your life I will not get in the way. I want to tell you that I think you are strong for attempting to have a relationship with him. I am incredibly proud of you for your ability to forgive, especially at your age.
Maybe everything I've ever put her through as a young mother is finally coming to fruition. I would deserve it to say the least, and would not defend myself with supported arguments about the hardships I had to endure being a teenage parent. If that is what this is, then I guess it is fair to say that I was not the best parent at 19 years old. I am at 35. Haven, you and I have grown in ways that other Mothers and daughters do not. I tried to find my way in the world while you went along for the ride. I made mistakes at 22 years old that I would not make today. I cannot tell you how extraordinarily strange it was to have a nine year old when I was 28. You have seen a lot of the world and not of the tourist variety. Our journey together, while not perfect, is ours and I can accept that you might have some resentment toward me. All I ask is for you to "get it out," so to speak, even if it can only come out as, "I hate you."
Whatever it is, don't hold it in. By doing so, you send poison into your heart that will only breed prejudice and hate. Those things are very hard to overcome--harder than the issue you are struggling with.
I want you to know that I am here to listen. I am here for you. I want you to know that we, you and I, do not have to do the normal, typical mother daughter thing of being put out with one another because we are not the normal mother/daughter type. We can make our own way, just like we have all along. I'll even let you take the lead.
But, you must know by now that I am coming along for the ride.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Light A Fire Under It
Have you ever noticed just how slow teenagers walk? My daughter just might put that entire population to shame.
I swear to you she practices slowing the speed of her walk every time I am near her. I don't get it. Isn't she on the track team? Shouldn't she be at best, speedy? There are times when this does not bother me, but other times, I want to zip myself out of my skin and light myself on fire. (Not really, but really.)
I do not know if words can adequately express just how slow she walks, but here is my humble attempt:
SHE'S REALLY SLOW.
She's a girl, so I will honestly not complain about the amount of time she spends in the shower, the bathroom, how long it takes her to put her make-up on, or the amount of time it takes her to dry and straighten her six feet of hair every morning. All of those things listed above are necessary and require a little time and effort.
But, I am going to suggest she walk to places like -- to and from the car -- at a faster rate of speed. If she would just accelerate her walking, my life would be exponentially improved and she would not have to see me turn on MOM MODE: CRAZY.
I know she doesn't walk this slow on purpose. I've considered she may be daydreaming, and if she is, I would not want to stifle whatever fantasy is going on in her head. I would, however, like for her to daydream at a faster pace, and get her little butt to the car so that we may get her to school and social events on time.
Or maybe I could figure out a way for this not to bother me, which is likely not to happen.
I've tried counting to 10, working on being patient, and telling myself that I am not the only parent dealing with this, but my dang internal dialogue will not SHUT UP.
It says things like:
"Hurry up, Haven!"
"Come on, Haven!"
"Walk a little faster, Haven." and,
"OH MY GOD HAVEN IF YOU DO NOT HURRY UP, I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND AND THEN EVERYONE IS GOING TO EXPERIENCE CRAZY LESLIE, SO WALK A LITTLE FASTER AND GET IN THE EVER-LOVIN' CAR FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND HOLY."
Ugh. Once she's in the car, I spend the remainder of the drive trying not to think about how slowly she is going to walk away from my car. Some college or hospital somewhere has to have studied teenagers at length. They must know the cause for this. I did not walk this slow as a teenager -- I'm sure I was 'slowish' but not this slow. I don't know, my Mother may disagree.
In any case, I will continue to pray for a happy teenager, with faster walking.
I swear to you she practices slowing the speed of her walk every time I am near her. I don't get it. Isn't she on the track team? Shouldn't she be at best, speedy? There are times when this does not bother me, but other times, I want to zip myself out of my skin and light myself on fire. (Not really, but really.)
I do not know if words can adequately express just how slow she walks, but here is my humble attempt:
SHE'S REALLY SLOW.
She's a girl, so I will honestly not complain about the amount of time she spends in the shower, the bathroom, how long it takes her to put her make-up on, or the amount of time it takes her to dry and straighten her six feet of hair every morning. All of those things listed above are necessary and require a little time and effort.
But, I am going to suggest she walk to places like -- to and from the car -- at a faster rate of speed. If she would just accelerate her walking, my life would be exponentially improved and she would not have to see me turn on MOM MODE: CRAZY.
I know she doesn't walk this slow on purpose. I've considered she may be daydreaming, and if she is, I would not want to stifle whatever fantasy is going on in her head. I would, however, like for her to daydream at a faster pace, and get her little butt to the car so that we may get her to school and social events on time.
Or maybe I could figure out a way for this not to bother me, which is likely not to happen.
I've tried counting to 10, working on being patient, and telling myself that I am not the only parent dealing with this, but my dang internal dialogue will not SHUT UP.
It says things like:
"Hurry up, Haven!"
"Come on, Haven!"
"Walk a little faster, Haven." and,
"OH MY GOD HAVEN IF YOU DO NOT HURRY UP, I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND AND THEN EVERYONE IS GOING TO EXPERIENCE CRAZY LESLIE, SO WALK A LITTLE FASTER AND GET IN THE EVER-LOVIN' CAR FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD AND HOLY."
Ugh. Once she's in the car, I spend the remainder of the drive trying not to think about how slowly she is going to walk away from my car. Some college or hospital somewhere has to have studied teenagers at length. They must know the cause for this. I did not walk this slow as a teenager -- I'm sure I was 'slowish' but not this slow. I don't know, my Mother may disagree.
In any case, I will continue to pray for a happy teenager, with faster walking.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Ozzy and Me
Addiction is a terrible thing.
Many years ago, Haven had to live through a lesson on drugs and substance abuse. We had just moved into our first brand new home and I allowed Haven to have a television in her room.
One Saturday afternoon, I walked into her room to find her watching 'The Osborne's,' a reality television show about Ozzy Osborne and his family. As I went to the television to turn it off, Haven asked me a question, and I had to think for a second about how I could use the answer as a lesson.
If you've watched the show, you would know that more often than not, Mr. Osborne was not very easy to understand. He mumbled incoherently and made no sense. I think that was all part of the allure of his show; to see how incredibly messed up he was. I can only imagine what a 9 year old thought.
I sat down on Haven's bed, and told her that should she ever decide to do drugs that she might end up just like him, minus the millions of dollars and mansion. Haven asked very good questions and I tried to answer them to the best of my ability. Haven finally said, "I feel bad for his family."
Haven has had some experience with substance abuse. I nearly drank myself to death after my father died. Those are six months that I can never give back to my daughter, and live every day trying to make it up to her. It was an enormous failing on my part as a mother, whether grief was to blame or not. She did not just lose my father, I was lost to her for an entire six months and am lucky that no camera crew was able to document my actions.
I got better after my father came to me in a dream. Maybe it was my sub-conscious telling me that I knew right from wrong, but I would like to believe that my father really did sit on the edge of my bed and tell me to "get better or die." I had an entire conversation with him that night. He told me that he knew that I was sad, but that he was gone, and that it was my job to care for Haven the way she deserved. He said that Haven needed me and to start acting like the person he raised. He would not hear any of my excuses. I woke up the next morning and began to deal with his death.
A year later as I sat on my daughter's bed discussing Ozzy Osborne, I apologized to Haven. Now that she is half way through her high school experience, I often ask her what she remembers about me and Ozzy. She laughs when it comes to Ozzy; she hugs me when it comes to me. Children are incredibly forgiving.
I know that Haven may chose to experiment, but I honestly think she will make good decisions based on some of the things she has seen during her lifetime. I cringe when I see celebrities struggle with addictions, and the media glorifying them in a way in order to make money. They have families that suffer through the addiction right along with the celebrity. My Haven suffered right along with me.
I hope that she will not judge me by what I've done in the past, but by who I am today.
Many years ago, Haven had to live through a lesson on drugs and substance abuse. We had just moved into our first brand new home and I allowed Haven to have a television in her room.
One Saturday afternoon, I walked into her room to find her watching 'The Osborne's,' a reality television show about Ozzy Osborne and his family. As I went to the television to turn it off, Haven asked me a question, and I had to think for a second about how I could use the answer as a lesson.
If you've watched the show, you would know that more often than not, Mr. Osborne was not very easy to understand. He mumbled incoherently and made no sense. I think that was all part of the allure of his show; to see how incredibly messed up he was. I can only imagine what a 9 year old thought.
I sat down on Haven's bed, and told her that should she ever decide to do drugs that she might end up just like him, minus the millions of dollars and mansion. Haven asked very good questions and I tried to answer them to the best of my ability. Haven finally said, "I feel bad for his family."
Haven has had some experience with substance abuse. I nearly drank myself to death after my father died. Those are six months that I can never give back to my daughter, and live every day trying to make it up to her. It was an enormous failing on my part as a mother, whether grief was to blame or not. She did not just lose my father, I was lost to her for an entire six months and am lucky that no camera crew was able to document my actions.
I got better after my father came to me in a dream. Maybe it was my sub-conscious telling me that I knew right from wrong, but I would like to believe that my father really did sit on the edge of my bed and tell me to "get better or die." I had an entire conversation with him that night. He told me that he knew that I was sad, but that he was gone, and that it was my job to care for Haven the way she deserved. He said that Haven needed me and to start acting like the person he raised. He would not hear any of my excuses. I woke up the next morning and began to deal with his death.
A year later as I sat on my daughter's bed discussing Ozzy Osborne, I apologized to Haven. Now that she is half way through her high school experience, I often ask her what she remembers about me and Ozzy. She laughs when it comes to Ozzy; she hugs me when it comes to me. Children are incredibly forgiving.
I know that Haven may chose to experiment, but I honestly think she will make good decisions based on some of the things she has seen during her lifetime. I cringe when I see celebrities struggle with addictions, and the media glorifying them in a way in order to make money. They have families that suffer through the addiction right along with the celebrity. My Haven suffered right along with me.
I hope that she will not judge me by what I've done in the past, but by who I am today.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
I, I, I, I Work Out
I absolutely never thought I would get to the point to where my daughter found my dancing embarrassing. I am a young mother and I've prided myself in keeping up with the latest dance moves and such. I have done this because Haven, the girls, and I hold "Dance Party USA" frequently in our living room. "Dance Party USA" is a virtual dance move free-for-all, and if you ever have the opportunity to join us, you should. It's a lot of fun.
Last night, we had a small, impromptu DP, and all was going well until LMFAO entered the picture. I hate those boys.
I hate them because in my daughter's eyes, they have turned me into something creepy and disturbing. Mind you, I do not generally try to embarrass myself in front of her by doing the dance moves that came straight out of my generation. I do not do the running man or the rump-shaker even though I am an expert at both. I do not engage in the tootsie roll or the Macarena because those dances are stupid, and didn't like them when they were popular. I stay current.
Last night, my daughters eyes and facial expressions told a different story. It was a super sad moment for me. I remember the way my Dad used to dance. He really had the "I won't keep rhythm" finger shake down. My Mom used to do this incredibly uncomfortable head bop thing that used to make me cringe. THEY were embarrassing, but I thought that was because they were so much older than me and no where near my generation. I am only 19 years older than Haven, and feel I should still be able to keep up.
I have considered several scenarios in regards to this mishap. Perhaps I was having an off night. Perhaps these LMFAO boys created the most ridiculous dance on the planet, and no normal person would look good dancing to their music. Perhaps, I have indeed become my parents. I don't know, but I am going to go with the second scenario.
In any case, I am sure the next time we have "Dance Party USA" I will become a wallflower and wait for her to ask me to dance.
Last night, we had a small, impromptu DP, and all was going well until LMFAO entered the picture. I hate those boys.
Last night, my daughters eyes and facial expressions told a different story. It was a super sad moment for me. I remember the way my Dad used to dance. He really had the "I won't keep rhythm" finger shake down. My Mom used to do this incredibly uncomfortable head bop thing that used to make me cringe. THEY were embarrassing, but I thought that was because they were so much older than me and no where near my generation. I am only 19 years older than Haven, and feel I should still be able to keep up.
I have considered several scenarios in regards to this mishap. Perhaps I was having an off night. Perhaps these LMFAO boys created the most ridiculous dance on the planet, and no normal person would look good dancing to their music. Perhaps, I have indeed become my parents. I don't know, but I am going to go with the second scenario.
In any case, I am sure the next time we have "Dance Party USA" I will become a wallflower and wait for her to ask me to dance.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
A Sunday Drive
I almost lost my life today. My sweet daughter will be getting her driver's license in less than three months and I am not quite sure the world is prepared for that. Please get prepared for that. Clearly, Haven needs more practice driving, but I am not sure my little ticker can handle the education aspect.
When we got into the car today, she did all of the right things: She put her seat belt on, checked her mirrors, adjusted all of the settings on the driver's seat, and we set out on our way to pole vault practice.
It is a hard thing trying to educate a teenage driver when you think you might die. Haven is either going way too slow or way too fast, and she does both of these things when she should be doing the opposite. When she is going too slow, I honestly do not mind all of the hand gestures we receive from passing vehicles, and we get a lot. I just wave back with one finger and gently remind her to keep up with traffic.
When she is going too fast, like when she fails to use her brake feet from an upcoming light, that is what I have a problem with. I yell and scream and generally make my blood pressure rise to the point that I should be hospitalized. Haven looks at me and retorts back with, "What's the problem?" like the problem isn't already evident. We don't need to use our vehicle as a projectile missile. We want to see Haven graduate from high school.
I also in no way want to make her feel like she is not a good driver, because eventually, she will be. I don't want to hurt her by getting down on my knees in the driveway and offering up a prayer for my life and others who will be on the road. She might not take too kindly to that.
I was not an amazing driver when I first began, but I understand now why my father held onto the "OH SHIT bars" for dear life. I seriously have a hand cramp from this day's excursion.
We will be practicing again, and soon, and I pray it will allow us to safely arrive to our final destination. I hope it will result in me telling Haven, "Good job." Right now, I need a drink.
When we got into the car today, she did all of the right things: She put her seat belt on, checked her mirrors, adjusted all of the settings on the driver's seat, and we set out on our way to pole vault practice.
It is a hard thing trying to educate a teenage driver when you think you might die. Haven is either going way too slow or way too fast, and she does both of these things when she should be doing the opposite. When she is going too slow, I honestly do not mind all of the hand gestures we receive from passing vehicles, and we get a lot. I just wave back with one finger and gently remind her to keep up with traffic.
When she is going too fast, like when she fails to use her brake feet from an upcoming light, that is what I have a problem with. I yell and scream and generally make my blood pressure rise to the point that I should be hospitalized. Haven looks at me and retorts back with, "What's the problem?" like the problem isn't already evident. We don't need to use our vehicle as a projectile missile. We want to see Haven graduate from high school.
I also in no way want to make her feel like she is not a good driver, because eventually, she will be. I don't want to hurt her by getting down on my knees in the driveway and offering up a prayer for my life and others who will be on the road. She might not take too kindly to that.
I was not an amazing driver when I first began, but I understand now why my father held onto the "OH SHIT bars" for dear life. I seriously have a hand cramp from this day's excursion.
We will be practicing again, and soon, and I pray it will allow us to safely arrive to our final destination. I hope it will result in me telling Haven, "Good job." Right now, I need a drink.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Curfewitis
I had to take a break from writing my book. I am writing a story about a prevalent problem and I think I've actually given the problem to myself. (Sorry if I am being cryptic, the finished product will be a surprise.)
I love how now, we all are able to self diagnose ourselves with debilitating syndromes straight from our television sets. Don't act like you've never done this. I once convinced myself that I had Social Anxiety Disorder.
Right.
Well, if you've ever met me, you would know that being social and in social situations has never been a problem for me. I kind of love being around people. Maybe that's why I have so many kids. That's something to think about, anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, Haven did not come home when she was supposed to, and missed her curfew by a couple of hours. I cannot tell you how angry and scared I was. I screamed at her on the phone and demanded that she get her blankety-blank ass home immediately! (I had another Joan Allen moment. At some point, I am going to need to meet Mrs. Allen, that is if I make it through high school.)
The next day, I expressed how frightened I was not knowing where Haven was. She told me that she felt like she had adequately explained what she was doing and why she did not make it home on time. I told her that if that were true, she should have only missed her curfew by an hour, not by two. Miscommunication or not, that child is everything to me, and it is my job as a mother to know where she is at all times. It is pretty clear that I do not know everything Haven does. Girls are sneaky. I was a sneaky girl once.
During my upbringing, I did not feel like my parents needed to know everything I was doing, because I was usually doing something that they would not approve of, like drinking and smoking (or in my case, doing both at the same time). I am sure Haven feels the same way. This is all a part of growing up, and whether or not I like this stage of child-rearing, it is going to happen, and it is coming at a fast pace.
A few days later, I found that her screen was off of her window. We live in a two story house, and Haven's room is located upstairs. I asked her why her screen was off and she told me it was so that she could go out to sit and think on the roof.
Right.
I am not one of those mothers who believes everything my child tells me. In fact, I am one of those mothers that embraces worst case scenarios, and reacts to them.
I told her that leaving the house via her window was not a smart idea. I told her if she was brave enough to sneak out of the house, while knowing how I would react, she should be brave enough do it by the front door. I told her she didn't need to break a leg to be defiant. Short of chaining her to her bed (which is against the law), I did not know what else to do. She swore to me that she has never sneaked out of the house before.
I don't know what to believe. It seems to me that mothering is getting harder as she ages.
Haven has a lot of freedoms, more than I ever had. More often than not, when she asks if she can do something, the answer is yes. She will be an adult in less than two and a half years, and it is my belief that these years are for me to show her how to function in the world once she is out of our home.
I've always told Haven that I would trust her until she showed me that she could not be trusted. I told her to be prepared for that day because I most definitely would pull her out of some house party in a disgusting pink robe with my hair in curlers. I don't actually own those items, but need to locate some fast!
I love how now, we all are able to self diagnose ourselves with debilitating syndromes straight from our television sets. Don't act like you've never done this. I once convinced myself that I had Social Anxiety Disorder.
Right.
Well, if you've ever met me, you would know that being social and in social situations has never been a problem for me. I kind of love being around people. Maybe that's why I have so many kids. That's something to think about, anyway.
A couple of weeks ago, Haven did not come home when she was supposed to, and missed her curfew by a couple of hours. I cannot tell you how angry and scared I was. I screamed at her on the phone and demanded that she get her blankety-blank ass home immediately! (I had another Joan Allen moment. At some point, I am going to need to meet Mrs. Allen, that is if I make it through high school.)
The next day, I expressed how frightened I was not knowing where Haven was. She told me that she felt like she had adequately explained what she was doing and why she did not make it home on time. I told her that if that were true, she should have only missed her curfew by an hour, not by two. Miscommunication or not, that child is everything to me, and it is my job as a mother to know where she is at all times. It is pretty clear that I do not know everything Haven does. Girls are sneaky. I was a sneaky girl once.
During my upbringing, I did not feel like my parents needed to know everything I was doing, because I was usually doing something that they would not approve of, like drinking and smoking (or in my case, doing both at the same time). I am sure Haven feels the same way. This is all a part of growing up, and whether or not I like this stage of child-rearing, it is going to happen, and it is coming at a fast pace.
A few days later, I found that her screen was off of her window. We live in a two story house, and Haven's room is located upstairs. I asked her why her screen was off and she told me it was so that she could go out to sit and think on the roof.
Right.
I am not one of those mothers who believes everything my child tells me. In fact, I am one of those mothers that embraces worst case scenarios, and reacts to them.
I told her that leaving the house via her window was not a smart idea. I told her if she was brave enough to sneak out of the house, while knowing how I would react, she should be brave enough do it by the front door. I told her she didn't need to break a leg to be defiant. Short of chaining her to her bed (which is against the law), I did not know what else to do. She swore to me that she has never sneaked out of the house before.
I don't know what to believe. It seems to me that mothering is getting harder as she ages.
Haven has a lot of freedoms, more than I ever had. More often than not, when she asks if she can do something, the answer is yes. She will be an adult in less than two and a half years, and it is my belief that these years are for me to show her how to function in the world once she is out of our home.
I've always told Haven that I would trust her until she showed me that she could not be trusted. I told her to be prepared for that day because I most definitely would pull her out of some house party in a disgusting pink robe with my hair in curlers. I don't actually own those items, but need to locate some fast!
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
The Resolution
Well, hello, 2012. I hope you are kind to me and my daughters. My resolution this year was not to make one. I never follow through even with good intentions. I've been pondering what Haven's resolutions might be--if she has any. I am sure one of them has to do with track. She is a pole-vaulter and is pretty dang good at it. I bet her resolution is to make it over 11 feet. She already has 10 feet in the bag. She will do it, too, because she is determined, strong, and much better at following her dreams than I am.
I can clearly remember every new year celebration of my time in high school, but cannot even begin to think of what I might have said my resolutions were. They may have been something like this:
"I promise not to give my Mom a hard time about anything."
"I vow to be nice to my boyfriend and sisters."
"I am going to keep my room clean and organized."
I probably never did any of those things.
Haven began this year very sick. She came down with a nasty case of strep throat that I hope she does not share with the rest of the family. I found her the other day helpless, weak, and laying on the shower floor. My mother-powered strength kicked in and I was able to help her up and get her back into bed. It was then that I realized that no matter how old she is, she still needs and wants me to be her mother--even if it only comes out when she is sick.
Last night she was finally able to join us at the dinner table for supper. Her color was awful and she was still as weak as a newly hatched bird, but she showed signs of life coming back into her. She asked her four year old sister if she was happy to be back in school after the long holiday break. I bet Haven would like to be back in school with all of her friends. She barely ate as it was hard for her to swallow.
Her little sister laughed hysterically when I said, "Poor Baby." I questioned her laugh. I told her that Haven was still my baby; she was my first baby. Revy said that she knew that Haven came out of my tummy first. Haven told her what she remembered about the day Revy was born. We all enjoyed reminiscing about their births.
I am not the type of woman who finds being pregnant a joyous occasion. My pregnancies are plagued with months of bed rest and hemorrhoids the size of large catfish. It freaks me out that my body can stretch and contort as big as it does. I don't like that a baby can kick you so hard that you pass unintentional gas in front of your neighbors.
None of my deliveries came without incident either. Haven was 11 days overdue and I was not pleased about her still residing within me. When I finally went into labor with her, I literally threatened to choke my father out and told my mother not to even think about fixing her hair. I screamed at them to get in the car and not to stop at any red lights. When we arrived at the hospital, I told the nurse that my name was, "Leslie Epidural Williams," and I wanted to know when I could get one. 30 hours and a 4th degree tear later, my first daughter was born, blue, with an umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck. The doctor worked to remove the cord and assisted her with her first breath of life.
My second daughter was a scheduled C-section. Scheduled. You would think by the word "scheduled," everyone including my ex-husband would be prepared. Nope. Thank goodness my mother had previously flown to Hawaii, where we were stationed, for the delivery. She really saved the day and I was grateful she was there. My husband broke his flip flop as we were about to go into the delivery room. No-one wears shoes in Hawaii if they don't have to, and flip flops are acceptable foot wear for a delivery room. I think that's gross, but whatever. His shoe broke and was not going to be allowed to attend the delivery. My mother, who had no clue where in the world she was, raced home and back to the hospital with a new pair of flip flops so that my husband could see his first child being born. My C-section was preformed without complication and I was equally pleased with the birth of my second daughter.
My third delivery can not be classified as typical. Anything that could go wrong, did. At barely 37 weeks my water broke. My husband and I were taken immediately back to the operating room and I was preped for my second C-section. I was given a spinal block and the surgery began. The doctors were shocked when I told them to get their hands out of me. I saw the surgeon and anesthesiologist exchange looks. I was administered more medication and they waited for it to take effect. Once again, they began to remove my third daughter from me. Once again, I told them that I could feel it. Other looks were exchanged and my husband was escorted out of the room. We both missed the birth of my third child. Later, I was told that my baby had issues breathing and had to be resuscitated.
None of that was fun. However, now that they are all here, I find that I have enjoyed every second of every minute that they have been on this Earth. I realized that from the minute that each of my children entered this world, I made the only resolution that I will ever keep: I vow to never leave you, I promise to always love you, I thank God every day that you are here, and I will always, ALWAYS do what I can for you.
I can clearly remember every new year celebration of my time in high school, but cannot even begin to think of what I might have said my resolutions were. They may have been something like this:
"I promise not to give my Mom a hard time about anything."
"I vow to be nice to my boyfriend and sisters."
"I am going to keep my room clean and organized."
I probably never did any of those things.
Haven began this year very sick. She came down with a nasty case of strep throat that I hope she does not share with the rest of the family. I found her the other day helpless, weak, and laying on the shower floor. My mother-powered strength kicked in and I was able to help her up and get her back into bed. It was then that I realized that no matter how old she is, she still needs and wants me to be her mother--even if it only comes out when she is sick.
Last night she was finally able to join us at the dinner table for supper. Her color was awful and she was still as weak as a newly hatched bird, but she showed signs of life coming back into her. She asked her four year old sister if she was happy to be back in school after the long holiday break. I bet Haven would like to be back in school with all of her friends. She barely ate as it was hard for her to swallow.
Her little sister laughed hysterically when I said, "Poor Baby." I questioned her laugh. I told her that Haven was still my baby; she was my first baby. Revy said that she knew that Haven came out of my tummy first. Haven told her what she remembered about the day Revy was born. We all enjoyed reminiscing about their births.
I am not the type of woman who finds being pregnant a joyous occasion. My pregnancies are plagued with months of bed rest and hemorrhoids the size of large catfish. It freaks me out that my body can stretch and contort as big as it does. I don't like that a baby can kick you so hard that you pass unintentional gas in front of your neighbors.
None of my deliveries came without incident either. Haven was 11 days overdue and I was not pleased about her still residing within me. When I finally went into labor with her, I literally threatened to choke my father out and told my mother not to even think about fixing her hair. I screamed at them to get in the car and not to stop at any red lights. When we arrived at the hospital, I told the nurse that my name was, "Leslie Epidural Williams," and I wanted to know when I could get one. 30 hours and a 4th degree tear later, my first daughter was born, blue, with an umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck. The doctor worked to remove the cord and assisted her with her first breath of life.
My second daughter was a scheduled C-section. Scheduled. You would think by the word "scheduled," everyone including my ex-husband would be prepared. Nope. Thank goodness my mother had previously flown to Hawaii, where we were stationed, for the delivery. She really saved the day and I was grateful she was there. My husband broke his flip flop as we were about to go into the delivery room. No-one wears shoes in Hawaii if they don't have to, and flip flops are acceptable foot wear for a delivery room. I think that's gross, but whatever. His shoe broke and was not going to be allowed to attend the delivery. My mother, who had no clue where in the world she was, raced home and back to the hospital with a new pair of flip flops so that my husband could see his first child being born. My C-section was preformed without complication and I was equally pleased with the birth of my second daughter.
My third delivery can not be classified as typical. Anything that could go wrong, did. At barely 37 weeks my water broke. My husband and I were taken immediately back to the operating room and I was preped for my second C-section. I was given a spinal block and the surgery began. The doctors were shocked when I told them to get their hands out of me. I saw the surgeon and anesthesiologist exchange looks. I was administered more medication and they waited for it to take effect. Once again, they began to remove my third daughter from me. Once again, I told them that I could feel it. Other looks were exchanged and my husband was escorted out of the room. We both missed the birth of my third child. Later, I was told that my baby had issues breathing and had to be resuscitated.
None of that was fun. However, now that they are all here, I find that I have enjoyed every second of every minute that they have been on this Earth. I realized that from the minute that each of my children entered this world, I made the only resolution that I will ever keep: I vow to never leave you, I promise to always love you, I thank God every day that you are here, and I will always, ALWAYS do what I can for you.
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