Category Archives: Children

Thirty-Fucking-Four


Damn, I’m old.

Yes, yes, I realize that a good many people out there are much older than I, but having celebrated my birthday just yesterday and realizing I’ve accomplished not all that much has made me feel incredibly aged.

It is true, I’m much wiser than my 33-year-old self was, having experienced child-birth and having lived with an almost step-child every day for the past year. For this I suppose I am grateful. However, there are some downfalls to growing older….

I have less patience for mankind as the years go by- my theory that most people are assholes has been proven again and again over the past year. While I was willing to overlook such trivialities in the past, as the years go by, I more frequently find myself daydreaming of a time when  I can walk through a parking lot without having a farmer hanky blown in my direction, and the imbeciles on the roads are restricted from operating motor vehicles.

I realize how non-existant my will power has become- I am not my perfect goal weight. I have not finished writing my best-seller. I haven’t learned any languages, or trained the dog to quit barking, or finished painting the mural in my basement bathroom. Boo on me.

I feel like I’m eighty most of the time- this may have something to do with the fact that I am not at my goal weight. And that my diet consists of Caribou Coffee and French fries. And that my chosen form of working out is walking out to the mailbox daily to see if a million dollar check has arrived yet.

Whatever. At least I still look good.

IMAG1000_1_1_1_1

Advertisements

6 Comments

Filed under Beauty, Books, Children, Humor, Life, Uncategorized

My Boy


IMAG0507_1My boy,

I think you are most beautiful

while you sleep-

arms stretched “this big”

and legs splayed, frog-like.

But then you awaken,

and I see

how completely wrong I can be.

You smile,

and even though your mouth

is as empty as an old man’s,

that smile holds

the whole world within it;

and I cannot help but

hold your tiny grinning face

in my hands.

I can scarce believe

that without a single intelligible word,

you make me fall in love

over and over again.

There are times

when I’ve felt a failure;

but looking into your beloved face,

I realize that whatever may come,

I’ve already succeeded.

Leave a comment

Filed under Beauty, Children, Family, Life, Love, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Elegy for a Crayon


th7M0IL8VOI saw you lying there

Used up and broken.

Your flaming shade

the color of blood-

I half-expected to see

a pool of scarlet oozing

from your stubby ends.

Your wrapper

had been peeled away

completely from one of your pieces;

the other lay in shame

very like a rape victim,

in tattered vestment.

Your identification had been

ripped away.

Only the bold letters OLA

remained.

As I cleared the table,

I placed my hand over you

quickly

To conceal your

wretched state.

I recall a time

when I had adored ones

such as you,

and would never have thought

to leave them in

such a pitiful condition.

I wonder how many more

rainbows you would have

created,

had fate not sent you such a

vicious end.

I toss your remains

into the trash,

apologetically,

and I think to myself.

Children can be so cruel.

Leave a comment

Filed under Beauty, Children, Humor, Life, Poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Baby Mine


I wrote this for a flash fiction contest. The writing prompt was to write about a demon who is really bad at their job and keeps making the life of the person he is possessing better. I can’t get it to publish on the website, so I guess you guys get to read it…

I know it’s against the rules to possess a baby, but come on. It was just too easy.
Felix Bartholomew Embry was born at 3:01 A.M. That was how he caught my attention in the first place. Any baby born just in time for the witching hour has a special pull for all of us demonic spirits. There were several of us in the hospital that night, but I was the first one to hear his borning cry.
“Ahh,” I thought to myself. “A pure soul ripe for the picking.” If I could feel anything remotely delightful, little Felix’s squalling would have filled me with a thrill to the tips of my toes, if I had toes. Instead, I had to be satisfied with a nefarious sensation as I made my way to the birthing suite.
As I entered, I took in the scene. Squalling babe resting not so silently on mother’s magnificent chest, proud father beaming down at them. I’ve never been fond of newborns; my newest conquest being no exception. In fact, for a moment, I wondered if some other insidious spirit had already beaten me there. Felix was a disturbing shade of violet, and his toothless mouth looked much wider than is comforting for a baby’s to look. I should have left right then.
“He’s so beautiful.” I would have laughed when his mother said so, but demons cannot laugh without a voice to use. I took one more look before attempting to enter Felix’s flailing body, and then I made my move.
I felt his limbs stiffen momentarily as I slipped in, but as I was not completely immersed, I couldn’t see what was happening. For a split second, I saw the hospital lights above burning down like brimstone from Heaven when his eyes rolled back in his head, but then I was stuck, and saw nothing. I shook myself, and felt the mother’s grip on him tighten when I did so. Ah. There. I settled in. I reached deep within myself and found my darkest, most terrifying voice. I couldn’t wait to see the parents reactions when they heard the voice of Beelzebub come out of their “beautiful” spawn.
“Hello, mama.” What the fuck?! I tried again.
“Daddy!”
Their faces reflected the shock that I was feeling. Not only were my words not coming out how I was saying them, but they were emitted in the most angelic child-like voice ever heard. I growled, and it came out in an adorable infantile giggle.
“Did you hear it?” The father looked in awe at his wife, and then his son, and back again. I tried to look around, but this gelatinous baby body I was in refused to obey.
This was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Basically, no matter what I do, it comes out making little Felix look like an infant prodigy, and I’m stuck in here living a real-life version of Charlotte’s Web. Fuckin’ A.

Leave a comment

Filed under Children, fiction, Humor, Life, short story, Uncategorized

Contemplating Motherhood


IMG_0854_TranquilI always said I would be a good  no, a great mother if I ever had kids.

Well, I have one now, and I’m starting to think I might have not had a fucking clue what the hell I was talking about.

I don’t find myself rambling on non-stop to every ear willing to listen about my son’s sleeping habits, bodily functions, learning progress, etc. Of course, I tell them if they ask, but when people ask, “How’s the little one?” I am quite at a loss for words, and stumble around in my head frantically searching for the right words I’m supposed to say. My response is usually- “He’s good. He’s the cutest baby in the world. He’s a happy boy.” People look at me after I’ve said so, waiting for me to add more. What else is there to say? He’s a baby. He sleeps a lot and cries when he’s hungry.

Then there are the times my Babe and I are at home. Of course I read to him, which he seems to relish, perhaps because I do all the voices. I give him the recommended Tummy Time, despite the fact that he came out holding his head up and possessing of legs pretty much strong enough to walk on. We go for walks sometimes, during which I worry that the cracks in the city sidewalks are bad enough to cause shaken baby syndrome. I feed him when I’m supposed to, and play with him so I can see his adorable smile; but then I hear these women talking about how much they love babies and always want to hold theirs, never wanting to put them down. I put mine down. In fact, the only time I hold him is to feed him, read to him, and occasionally cuddle profusely with him. But what I wonder is: do all those women obsessed with their babies have maids? Because I have a house to clean, and a dog to take care of, and a yard full of flowers to take care of, and how the hell am I supposed to hold my baby all the time when I have all that shit to do?

I don’t look ahead and think to myself that, “Oh, hey! I’m going to want another one of these little papooses in a couple of years so this one has someone to play with, or so I have another baby to hold.”  I love him to bits, and I want him to grow up to be a strong, respectable man, but how could I possibly love another one when this one has my whole heart? Even if he did make me completely miserable the entire time he was growing inside me. And I already want him to be 2 or 3, so he can talk back to me and I can at least understand him.

I haven’t dropped him on his head, but neither do I gingerly hold him as if he might break the way my Rockstar does. I don’t like to see his sad face, but when he cries when he’s not hungry, I don’t immediately pick him up, and I tell him he doesn’t need to fuss, because I know he’s faking it. I know this, because during these times, I walk over to him and start singing “Somebody to Love” and his little fake cries turn into squeals followed by smiles. At least he has good taste in music.

Honestly, the only proof that I have at least one motherly bone in my body is the plethora of pictures that have filled up my phone and my Facebook wall.

I’m not even sure my Rockstar finds me to be motherly, since he asked me why do I have to cart the baby around all over the place. I just thought I was acclimating him to the general public. And I thought him being with me was better than leaving him with a babysitter….

I suppose I’ll not really feel like a mother completely until he gets old enough to actually call me “Mommy”. I guess if he believes it, then there’s no reason to doubt it.

IMG_0923_Color

 

2 Comments

Filed under Children, Family, Humor, Life, Love, Photography, Uncategorized

Giving Birth and All That


So, yes, it’s very sad that I had to go back to work after giving birth to be able to find time to write again. What the fuck.

I’m not complaining, I promise! After all, for almost four whole weeks I got to hold the cutest baby of all time whenever I wanted. (I know all parents say their kids are the cutest, but besides for mixed-race babies, my kid really is the cutest. And yes, I’m aware of how politically incorrect that sounds, but it’s true, and you all know it.)

Anyhoo, I know it’s a bit overdue, but I am now ready to inform you all of the grisly story that is called childbirth. I am quite certain there are a few (or more) of you that just winced and clicked on your mouse madly to exit my blog at that last sentence- well, fuck you. I had a person come out of my vag, and proper attention must be paid. Those of you still here- I appreciate your iron stomachs. I promise, it won’t be as bad as all that. To be honest, there’ve been episodes of Sons of Anarchy more cringe-worthy.

So a week and a few days before my Babe was due, I hobbled to my weekly doctor appointment. I say hobble, because my feet were so swollen that I had to buy a pair of flip-flops two sizes larger than my normal fabulous footwear, and said flip-flops STILL managed to cause deep impressions on the tops of my feet. Trust me, the pain it caused me to walk into a public venue sans heels nearly rivaled that of childbirth. Anyway, I digress.

While I am not known to be a person of chill and apathetic demeanor, my blood pressure on a normal day is like that of a dead person’s. However, on that day, the sight of my feet and the readings of my blood pressure were enough to get my doctor to schedule me to be induced the following Monday. If my feet would have allowed it, I would have immediately jumped up and futterwackened at her announcement. (If you don’t know how to futterwacken, you don’t know much, do you?)

I spent the weekend occupied at work, and during the night when I was unable to sleep, engrossed in the final chapters of every pregnancy book I had sitting around. When my coworkers asked if I was nervous about having my baby come out of my most private and tight of areas, I replied calmly and coolly that I wasn’t, which was the truth. For some reason, that was never an issue for me. My biggest fear was that I would cave, and ask for an epidural, the thought of which is probably what sent my blood pressure soaring in the first place.

My Rockstar and I arrived hellishly early at the birthing center that Monday, where we met up with my dearest Auntie, who I had asked to distract me from my labor pains when I knew my Rockstar would sit by silently. I was admitted and led to a room, where we met an Angel known as Nurse Nancy, my guide for this tour. She went over all the details I needed to know, none of which I recalled (then or now). I only remember being very adamant that an epidural was not going to be an option, so there. She laughed and said, “Ok, but you can change your mind.”

I was then hooked up to an IV (another thing that makes me recoil in fear) and donned a lovely hospital gown, which caused me almost immediately to “Patch Adams” everyone in the room. At first I was embarrassed, and then I thought, Fuck it. It’s gonna get so much worse before this is all over. It was several hours before I actually felt any contractions, during which time my Rockstar, Auntie, and I conversed amiably about I don’t even know what. It was quite boring really.

When my contractions began to worsen, I asked for the pain meds that were not the epidural. All I know is that Nurse Nancy had described it as feeling like you’ve had one too many drinks. Since it had been a good nine months since my last drink, I said, “Fuck yeah, get me drunk!” What I didn’t realize is that while a person is actually drinking, and may fall down or bonk their head with no immediate anguish, this drug administered did nothing to lessen any internal pain that comes with active labor. All it did was knock me on my ass immediately, so that I was very like a dead person, at least until a contraction hit, at which time I was too “drunk” to stand up and properly deal with that shit. So the last hour or two of excruciating contractions were spent alternately sleeping and writhing in the birthing bed. Good times.

When it was time to push, (this time did not come soon enough to my liking, as many minutes before that I felt as though my ass were going to explode) the only thing I actually remember thinking was that I didn’t want my baby to have a pointy head, so I pushed him out with no thoughts of how painful it might be. (Which actually made me not notice whatever pain there was.) The only mishap of acting so rashly was that my IV got torn out, which sucked balls. During the birth, I had instructed my Rockstar to stay at my shoulder, so as not to damage whatever idolization he may have had of my previously practically perfect pussy. Between pushes, I was pretty much out of it, but aware of his hand being reassuredly placed on my forehead. (Awwww.)

Once my Boy slid out, they plopped him on my chest, and proceeded to torture me mercilessly. It seems that my placenta was stuck, ( something my doctor who had been birthing babies for 25 years had never seen) and the previous Angel known as Nurse Nancy became my tormentor. Previously, I had thought very little of her considerable weight. Just then, I thought very much of it, since she seemed to be placing every extra pound of it on my stomach, the stomach that just went through countless hours of contractions. Up until that point, I had shed no tears, but as stoic as I can be when it comes to pain, there was no way I could stop the tears that leaked out of my eyes. Between having my belly pushed on, and having a hand shoved up me fishing around, and having my new baby on me without me being able to enjoy him, I broke down. They ended up replacing my IV, (which didn’t go in the first three times) just to give me another dose of meds known as the Shit That Puts You to Sleep. In other words, when my friends and family came to greet my Babe, I ended up sleeping, and awaking in a sort of drunken haze that was accompanied by slurred words.

Overall, having a whole person come out of me isn’t nearly as horrific as it sounds, but having a stuck placenta is a thousand times worse than it sounds. But, losing 24 pounds in less than a day and having an adorable Mini-Rockstar made it worth it. That doesn’t mean I’d do it again. I much prefer the making of children over the growing and birthing of them100_2592. After all, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.

1 Comment

Filed under Children, Family, Humor, Life, Love, Uncategorized

Frogs and Snails


Whoever said frogs and snails and puppy dog tails are what little boys are made of clearly never saw my kid….

Introducing Vincent Bohannen.

IMAG0075_1 IMAG0070_1 IMAG0071_1 IMAG0088_2_1 IMAG0069_1

7 Comments

Filed under Beauty, Children, Family, Life, Love, Poem, Uncategorized