Little Miss Sunshine

So, this is my baby theory and why I know she was made for me and I for her. Even when we are both being assholes, we are assholes that are meant for each other.

On the 13th March 2013 at 9:05am, I gave birth to a phenomenal little girl. It was a high risk pregnancy from the beginning and I was completely terrified and constantly anxious that I would lose her. I knew that after all the drama, the blood, the tears, the stress and fighting I had gone through when I left her biological father when I was 11 weeks pregnant that emotionally I would not survive the loss of losing the baby I had never planned for. I needed her more than she needed me. She was my life source, not the other way round. 

After the initial shock of getting over the realization that I was pregnant, which was well into my second trimester I came to the shocking and nerve wracking truth that I was too scared to bond with her. Even though I knew I was pregnant I had never wanted children but after many emotional internal wars I decided I was going to have this baby and do the best that I could no matter what that entailed. Even when I went for scans and heard her heart beat, saw her little fingers for the first time at 12 weeks and when I was told I was first having a girl...the thought hadn't rested well within my soul because I was absolutely bat shit crazy scared. I had a horrible childhood with no real example to speak of or how the fuck to do this and I was freaking the fuck out that I was not only going to ruin this child but that I was going to subject her to the shitty life I had and that I was going to do this parent thing alone. And I decided I would rather die than let that happen so I naively adopted an 'out of sight, out of mind' approach. This helped for my mental state but it obviously didn't stop the growing baba inside of me. My OBGYN told me to talk to her, play music to her...and my own stupid fears kept me from doing that so I didn't. I didn't want to love something I could potentially lose but I also knew my lame ass attempts were futile because I loved her the minute that Clear Blue digital stick showed me my future.  

At 15 weeks I developed a very bad bacterial infection on my cervix and one night I woke up with shooting pain. After crawling to the bathroom in a sweat I realized I was bleeding. The banshee type scream that came out of me woke up my family and I was in the ER 20 minutes later and was admitted. I was there for three days before being given the all clear and a 2 week course of antibiotics to finish. After that scare I decided to throw caution to the wind and bond with my child. I told her I loved her and that I always would. I told her I would always protect her and I asked her to please hold on for me because I needed her more than she needed me. After this scare I became a paranoid mess. I read every article online, I got the books and read them. I sought advice from experts on how best to keep my child in my tummy. Eventually I realized I was driving myself crazy and that I was going to make myself lose her. Some nights I would lay awake until the birds chirped and if there is one thing I hate more than moths (I have a paralytic fear of moths) it is the sound of birds chirping. I. Cannot. Stand. That. Sound...anyway. Off topic again.

I tried to calm down. But it wasn't easy. I hated being pregnant. When I found out I was pregnant I was in the midst of a very abusive relationship and the type of personality that I have can be at times, destructive. When I am hurting, stressed or coming apart I hurt myself. I lost so much weight due to the stress that upon finding out I was 9 weeks pregnant I was weighing a mere 41 kg's and at 1.64 m tall I looked like a little refugee child. I battled so badly to gain weight that at my 21 week scan I had only gained 5 kg's and my gynecologist told me that if I wanted to keep my child, let alone have a healthy baby that I had to do something drastic to get my ass into gear and gain weight. It wasn't that I wasn't eating, I have a helluva fast metabolism naturally and stress just speeds it up. Imagine a hyperactive kid on Ritalin. Now imagine that kid is my metabolism and you give this kid a huge dose of speed and a long stretch of road to run on. That is what happens to my metabolism when I am taking strain. So I tripled my carb intake and started on a protein shake.

At 23 weeks pregnant I had another bleeding episode, same cervical infection, three more days in hospital and another 2 week course of antibiotics. At this stage she moved from the position she was in and went into breech and stayed there until the day she was born. My doc said she would likely move back but after a while she didn't and he said there are tons of studies that show babies that are in distress move into breech as a safety and defense method. So this kid was a smart ass before she even came out.

All went well until 27 weeks. I was gaining weight but the downside was that I was the most psychotic bitch when pregnant. Jeeeezuuuuz. My moods were awful. My Mom has had three kids, and she came up to me one day and said "I don't want to hurt your feelings but you are really very unbearable as a pregnant woman". And I was. I was angry, moody, happy, tired, energetic as fuck and downright sick of the farting. The heartburn was also so bad I was utterly convinced I was having a heart attack and forced my parents to take me to the ER where I ended up looking like a tosser when the doctor told me what it really was.

At 27 weeks I had my third and last threatened miscarriage. There was more blood this time, and something just didn't feel right. When I got to the hospital and they put that god awful fetal belt on my belly, smiling faces turned into frowns. The loud voices dropped into hushed whispers and I picked up a sudden sense of urgency in their actions. I was sent for an urgent abdominal scan and I didn't notice that my gynecologist had turned down the volume on the ultrasound machine when he did this. After this I was taken to the maternity ward and placed in a very fancy private room. 15 minutes later I was again hooked up to the fetal belt but this one came with it's very own fancy screen to monitor movements. About an hour later I was told that after triple checking there was no movement. No heart beat. No sign of life. I demanded they check again. They did. Nothing. I was hysterical. Inconsolable. I realize now they put me in a private room and away from the new happy mothers because I wailed and cried, and sobbed, and screamed and cursed everyone and everything the entire night. I was scheduled for a D&C at 11am the next morning. 

My gynecologist did a sonar before the procedure. I was numb. I recall tears pouring down my face but feeling this indescribable sense of loss. I wanted to die. And I was planning my demise the minute I got out of there. I didn't want to live without her. I was then snapped out of my thought by hearing my doctor say "Sweet Jesus". I turned my head to look at him and asked him what was going on. He turned a knob, and I could clearly hear what sounded like a horse galloping. And it was strong, steady and the most beautiful fucking sound I will ever hear. It was a heartbeat. And it was perfect. 

I thought a cruel joke was being played on me so I craned my neck to look at the monitor and there I saw movement. Little Legs. Little Arms. They were moving. She was there and she was going no where.

To this day, I nor my doctor can explain why the tests the night before showed no signs of life and frankly I don't care but I like to think it is the typical style of V to do things as she sees fit and she just didn't feel like coming to the party that night. 

My doctor said I had to have a c-section. I was torn. Part of being a good enough mother (according to society) is doing natural birth. With no painkillers. If you choose to have an epidural you are "drugging your child". You are taking that child’s right away to come into the world with a clear state of mind. It doesn't matter if your child is ripping you in half and your blood pressure is through the roof and you can't breathe because you are in so much pain that it would be easier to just pass out because you are pushing out a baby hippo. A Human body can bear up to 45 del (units) of pain. Yet at the time of giving birth, a Mother feels up to 57 Del (units) of pain. This is similar to 20 bones getting fractured at the same time. Don’t get me wrong, to those woman who do choose to push, I take my hat off to you. You are strong AF.

But my uterus was at the risk of tearing. I have struggled with severe endometriosis since I was 16 and was told that I would never fall pregnant. I had 7 operations in 5 years. I was due to have my right ovary removed because it was constantly developing large and aggressive cysts that were basically impossible to treat or remove. I was in tremendous pain daily and I would have a period for as long as 10 months which would result in constant hospital admissions, plasma treatment, blood transfusions and constantly being ill. Eventually my Medical Aid stopped paying for my treatment and hospital admission because I was costing them too much money. A few weeks before I was due to be in theater to remove the ovary, I found out I was pregnant. 

So back to the birth method. I felt like I had to have natural birth. My Mother did it. Her Mother did it. My Great-Grandmother did it. So did all my aunts and female cousins. My doctor told me that even if she was in the birth canal and I had natural birth the pressure would have torn my uterus as it had gotten so weak with each operation, that I could end up having a hysterectomy, losing my baby due to the dangers involved or possibly die myself. And if I survived that, I would never have been able to carry another child again. My choice to push was never mine and it never will be. It wasn’t meant to be.

The slack I got from Mothers regarding my having a c-section was terrible. I was told I should have let my doctor turn my daughter into the birth canal and “taken my chances and given my baby the best start to entering the world naturally”. And..wait for it, I was told our bodies are designed for this kind of strain. Well...maybe yours is, and maybe every other woman's is but mine wasn't and my uterus was basically a disheveled hacked up mess that was holding on by the end of a thread. Even when I explained this and the dangers involved some women had the cheek to tell me I was making excuses to take the easy way out. Huh? The fuck? How do other Mom's even think they have the right to spew that kind of crap to another woman? I was told they would never have let their doctor “gut them open” and I was told “I would never have put my child through that trauma”. Firstly, I nor my doctor was not prepared to allow him to go elbow deep in me to turn a baby in full breach. Secondly, he didn’t “gut me open”. Three months down the line and you could barely see the scar.  I was up and WALKING, nursing and sitting with my baby 3.5 hours after the op and that is because it took that long for me to catch up on some sleep and gain the feeling back in my legs. Lastly, my daughter was born within 5 minutes, lying on my chest with big, curious eyes, excellent scores on the Apgar scale and she weighed an impressive 3.4kg. The protein shakes worked because in my last trimester I gained 25 kg's. And this is all from a baby who nearly died three times. 

So I wanna say this...to those that choose c-sections, don’t be disheartened. If you do what’s best for YOU it is also best for baby because at the end of the day, what affects you, affects baby. And also, fuck that shit about it being the easy way out. A cut to your abdomen still hurts ya know? It is a cut, duh! 

To those that do natural with epidural, good for you; you are STILL a Mom and choosing to numb the pain just means that you numbed the pain. Not that you did it half way. 

For those that do natural, the “natural” way. Well done, you are tough and should know it.

For the first time Moms, being a Mom does not give you the right to lecture other first time Moms or Moms to be. I am going to take advice from the 52 year old who has given birth to and raised three children, not from the 28 year old with a one year old. Please be mindful of what you say, you’re treading on thin ground when you criticize a Mom or give what you deem to be advice. Sometimes it comes across as condescending bullshit and all we really wanna do is punch you in the ovary even when you may mean well. Before you quote expert advice, pull yourself toward yourself and ask yourself if that person REALLY wants to and NEEDS to hear your all knowing, self righteous patronizing lecture on what is “best for baby”. It is MY baby after all, not yours.

That being said, to ALL the Moms out there that may be reading this. New Moms and old Moms, pat yourself on the back. Thank you for your patience with us and for wiping our snotty noses. Thank you for kissing our boo boo’s. Thank you for wiping our tears away and for keeping our little dreams alive.

Thank you to my Mom for trying to teach me how to be the best Mother I can be. Thank you for showing me how to do things, for standing by me and my little V. Thank you for all the love you show her and I. Thank you for teaching me that it doesn’t matter how I brought her into this world, thank you for showing me that I brought her into this world regardless of the method.

I am a good enough Mother. YOU are a good enough Mother. Look at what you have made. A live, breathing human being. There is no other super power in the world that could trump what you have done. So sit back and stop stressing about whether you are getting it right. Stop stressing about how you should have done things or whether you could have done them differently. Your way was just right. It did after all bring that amazing little a-hole into this world, and there is no one else who could have done that. And there is no other a-hole like ours.

And below is a perfect image to describe this. 'Cause ain't no one can do like Dr. Seuss do.

.

I am wining

2/11/2016 

Yes I am posting again – don’t judge me. 

If I had R5.00 for every time I said/was told/silently thought to myself “don’t worry, it’s just a phase” about V and her epic meltdowns (or when I was reassuring friends about their assholes and openly lying about said reassurance), I could quit working and I could stay home full-time or move to an exotic island and live comfortably. I’d be rich as fuck! But, the huge majority of that fantasy money, of course, would come from the annoying voice in my head repeating over and over “it’s-just-a-phase-it’s-just-a-phase-it’s-just-a-phase” while taking deep breaths and willing my brain not to explode and/or drink myself into a happy state of semi-consciousness. 

So I am drinking that wine I had. And I am listening to Johnny Cash and having short little bursts of crying spells because parenting is hard...and also, wine and Johnny Cash together makes me cry every time. 

V is three. She is apparently a “threenager”. I don’t know what the fuck that is supposed to even mean?!  I can tell you she is a love terrorist. And a total asshole sometimes. And so far, the differences between the so-called “it’s just a phase” comments have been shorter than the real life events themselves and way more real than the thought that it's just a phase. I’ve come to the stark realization that it’s all utter bullshit. There’s no such thing as “terrible twos” or “threenagers” or whatever manipulative nicknames have been given to various stages of life to secretly trick us into being okay with it and their shitty tantrums. I think if I hear my Mom say the words "you were the same way at her age" or "I told you that you would understand when you had your own child" one more time I might run into the wall at a rapid speed to knock myself out cold. I DON'T care Mom. I don't remember being an asshole at that age, do I? And NO, I don't understand. Can't you see the tears brimming in my eyes?! Your argument is irrelevant, Mom... 

But that's just it, her argument isn't irrelevant. She is totally right. We were also assholes once upon a time. Some of us still are… Because children get older and smarter but they remain impossible to deal with on a rational level. Children are human and sometimes humans are assholes. But when you’re a kid, everything is amplified, more intense and they just don’t know how to deal. And as a parent, you don’t know how to deal either, hence the asshole reference to the kid you carried for 9 months and would actually burn the world down for. 

When you’re a kid, you have no real power or control other than being crazy cute and lovable...or they could be the world’s biggest asshole. It’s like seeing a really pretty flower and you go on over to look at it...you are in awe of the awesomeness over it. You lean in to take in the smell of this gorgeous flower because you are completely overcome with intense feelings of love for this flower, and suddenly and without notice this gorgeous flower turns into a man eating Venus fly trap. 

For those that don't get my dumb references, the flower/Venus Fly Trap is my toddler. 

But my V is not a total a-hole for the rest of her life. At least I really hope she won’t be. I don’t think she will be. She is kinda amazing and unique. Her sporadic assholeness just kind of comes in really unexpected bursts. 

So, yeah… it’s a phase, but another one is right around the corner for me (and you) so get used to it.

So my wine is officially finished. My Little Miss is sleeping soundly, her temperature is back to normal and I am still winging it. At life. Parenting. And applying eye-liner. I am 30 and still don't know how the hell to apply eye liner without looking like a panda or a disheveled crack head. 
So I am going to retreat to bed and make a silent promise to be more patient and understanding. And I promise to be less of an asshole to my little A-hole.

But before I do any of that I am going to kiss her on her nose and like every night, I will whisper in her ear while she sleeps "I love you big, I love you small, I love you more".

The tent is going tits up

4/11/2016  

So the princess tent I got for V may be the death of me. Asshole has since insisted on eating in the tent. A-hole also wants to potty in the tent ONLY. None of us are allowed near her tent when she's in it except for her poor cat, who is aptly named Slipper after Cinderella's cat. 

The bloody cat doesn't even protest because it knows it's pointless. V zipped her and Slipper up in the tent for an hour today. I then hear V say to the cat "no Slipper, you must drink your tea you bad kitty". It was more a demand than a request. And I am the only one who can pick up the asshole in V's tone and I could clearly pick up that this kid meant business about this cat drinking its damn tea.

So I stuck my head in just to check that the cat was still okay and that you know...it was still breathing and shit, and when I did that I felt hot and stuffy it was in the tent so I promptly removed the cat because I saw a few scenarios play out.

Scene 1: the cat claws it's way to safety thus destroying the tent and leaving me with a devastated toddler.

Scene 2: the cat claws it's way through my toddler thus leaving me with an injured human and a bad kitty who will need a new home.

Scene 3: the cat dies from being force fed apple juice (that was the tea), thus leaving me with a devastated toddler and a kitty position to fill.

Yup. This was hard work. And all in a days work.

Fast forward a few hours, the sun was going down and the crippling heat was starting to make it's way out. I was doing light gardening with V. I had four small ferns that I wanted to plant and I wanted V to help me. 

She dug the holes, I put the ferns in and she filled the holes up. Teamwork, yo. And also, I suck at digging at holes and recently did a manicure all by myself and it took me 10 minutes to dig the wet soil out from under my index finger. Ain't nobody got time for that. 

I had my earbuds in while we were going green and I was listening to Metallica... I became way too involved in Kirk Hammett's bomb ass guitar skills and so did my head movements. After a while I glanced over at V and saw she's bobbing her head up and down. I asked her what she was doing and she tells me that she's moving her head like Mom because Mom loves rock. 

God. I broke out into the biggest smile. I couldn't help it. She does these kind of things all the time. She will say and do the most incredibly random things that just make me want to explode with love and pure adoration. I do love this asshole. She is definitely her Mama's child.

Mama bear signing out. For now. 

Good night moon. I love you big, I love you small, I love you more...

Spoil the child and spare the rod

3/11/2016

I'm so excited I might pass out from bouncing up and down. 

A few nights ago, over a glass of red. Okay. A couple glasses. And whilst checking my email account I saw an email from Groupon about some deals. I had a light bulb moment and remembered I had Groupon credits. Before I go into what I did with said credits I'd like to let off some steam and explain how I got these credits.

10 months after having V I met a guy that started at the company I worked at. He was only supposed to be there for 3 months. 3 months turned into 2 years. But before I get into him let me explain the creation of my little a-hole first.

In my first post I mentioned that I was a single Mom. It was by choice but also kinda forced. So, the baby daddy was basically a grown ass man with a malfunctioning brain. When I found out I was pregnant I was already 9 weeks along. I was laying on the bed one day and said out loud "babe, I don't remember when I last had my monthly. I think I might be pregnant". And the fact that I had been chundering up everything aside from my kidneys was a clear indication that something was growing. 

He thought I was taking the piss but regardless went and got me three digital Clear Blue pregnancy tests. I did my business in a cup and stuck all three tests in. And one by one, they all started showing results that showed me that I was 9-12 weeks along and with those numbers came a generic smiley face underneath it. I remember this day clearly. It was my parents anniversary. I was sitting on the side of the bath tub as I watched these tests show me my future and I burst into tears. V's sperm donor (that's what he is, he has never met her...doesn't even know her name), did his usual dumbass move and asked me a dumb question...

Sperm donor: "why are you crying, aren't you happy?"

Me: *in loud wails..."do I fucking look happy??"

Sperm donor: "well at least we know my fish swim"

I told Sperm donor that if we were going to do this he had to clean up his act, he promised to do this. In the two weeks that followed he not only broke his promise but he got worse at being a decent human. So I made the choice to leave and hack it alone. Things went tits up when I did this and shit got really messy. Messy is putting it lightly. He went full fucking tilt psychotic. Not becasue I ruined the concept of us being a happy family, but only because he believed if he couldn't have me then no one else could. I am not going to go into detail about what happened. I made it out of that and so did V. That's all I will say. 

So fast forward 9 months, I had healthy 3.4kg baby girl. I had sworn off men at this point.

Enter the recent ex 10 months after V's big arrival. 

He was everything I never knew I always wanted. Smart as hell, funny, sarcastic and crazy attractive with his partially bald head. He is literally the male version of me. But he was everything I should have run away from as well. He is and always will be the best and worst thing that has happened to me. He was almost the reason for my complete undoing. Almost. He hurt me, not only emotionally but physically too, and I just got sick and fucking tired of being sick and tired. I got tired of not feeling strong and good enough. We fell in love in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout and this is what happens when a tornado meets a volcano.

After we broke up (2 years later) he told me this "Baby, the moral of the story about hooking up with people you work with is that you don't get your pussy where you get your paycheck."
He moved to New York on the 13/10/2016. And I wish him well. And also, fuck him. Just sayin...

So New York ex is obsessed with massages and being pampered.
I bought him a spa voucher on Groupon when I found a great deal for R1200. The original package was R3800. I'd like to take the time to mention that as a 30 year old (semi attractive) woman I have never had a massage in my life and I'd further like to mention that I would give him one every single night for an hour without fail. When I saw this deal I didn't think twice in buying it because I figured it would give me a break in giving him massages and would temporarily help me with the developing carpal tunnel syndrome in my wrists.

Then I found out that he cheated on me, amongst the million other things and we broke up. And he had the fucking cheek to ask me when his voucher would expire and how he could go about using this voucher...so I did what is probably the only really nasty and childish thing I've ever done and I had the voucher refunded back to me in credits.



And so I bought V some Christmas presents. I got her a talking plush toy Olaf. He's amazing and he says all the cute phrases from Frozen, giggles and he spins on his bum. I got her a unique and gorgeous looking wooden abacus with handmade wooden beads. 

And with the few remaining credits I got her a princess tent. V is a major tomboy but her and I have this fantasy game we play where we look for fairies in the garden and capture them. She's been begging me for a tent and I didn't want to get another one because the other pop up tents I got her always fall apart. This one is made from original tent material and has reinforced high velocity aluminum poles for durability. 

So yesterday when the tent and the other purchases were delivered I decided to surprise her with it and keep the other gifts for Christmas. I set the tent up in a shade covered part of the garden and I put throw cushions and a soft blanket on the inside for her to be comfy on. I put all of her favorite toys in there and I patiently (not so patiently) waited for her to come home from school. When she got home I changed her into her tutu, fairy wings, tiara and gave her the plastic jar she uses when we 'catch' fairies. 

I then let her walk outside and she saw the tent. She looked confused for a bit, then covered her eyes for a few seconds with her hands and when she removed them she shouted "Santa was here".

I felt good. I felt great actually. And we played in the tent until we said goodnight to the moon. Because even little a-holes and their asshole makers need sleep.