Tag Archives: Children

To Raise a Little Man


So I suppose it’s about time for the big gender reveal….. I am actually a man.

Ha, just kidding. I am all woman. Except for the little 15 ounces growing in my belly.

Yes, my baby is a boy. YAY! A boy is what I’ve always wanted. But you know what they say: be careful what you wish for.

While the ultrasound technician was roaming around for the evidence of a teeny tiny penis on my baby, I was mainly ecstatic about the fact that he had two arms and legs. I know that seems like kind of a minor concern when there is the question of gender, but, ya know. It’s a little bit easier to do things with all your appendages. Anyhoo, the Babe was in a pose that could either mean he is ready to be a Prima Ballerina, or he’s just waiting to hold up his future NASCAR trophy. I’m not quite sure which thought is more disturbing to me.

When the technician pointed out his little testes, I had mixed feelings of elation and slight disappointment. ‘Tis true I wanted a boy, and I still do, but the idea of such absence of sparkles and ruffles in my future child’s life gave me pause. The only hope is that he may one day be a famous drag queen, because we know then there will be sequins and makeup aplenty.

After my appointment, I got to thinking about the problems I may have in raising a little man. (Other than the fact that my Rockstar wants to name him Vince, after Vince Neil of Motley Crue- a problem which need be addressed another day.)

What do I know about being a man? My coworker insists I am quite manly, indeed, so I shouldn’t have a problem, but I believe he only thinks so because of my appreciation for much sex, a subject we have talked about at great length. Honestly, I’m not quite sure why else he would find me masculine, unless my cursing sailor’s mouth convinced him. Who knows….

What I DO know is that I want my boy to read, and read a lot. I realized that other than blogland, there has been quite an absence of men that read in my actual real life. Sure, here and there, a male that loves books as much as I do has reared his head, but it’s been a disturbingly rare phenomena, like Loch Ness monster sightings. I’ve gone away wondering if I actually saw what I saw, kinda thing. I myself do not find reading to be a solely feminine act, but, you must admit, it doesn’t exactly go with beer and hot wings.

Aside from that, I want my son to be sensitive. Not meaning I want every drop of rain and flower petal to bring him to tears, but that if he sees someone in pain, or having a bad day, he will take notice, and perhaps try to better that person’s situation. Along with that, I want him to treat women like princesses, even though by the time he is old enough to think about girls, most of them will probably be sluts and/ or lesbians (in which case, he might get his ass kicked if he tries to treat them like princesses.. All girls should be made to feel special, even if they are only subpar.

I want him to have self-confidence, but not the yucky jock kind. I mean the kind that will allow him to not be bothered when his mother grows out his hair and people tease him for looking like a girl. The kind that allows him to be proud of himself, and teach others to also be proud of themselves.

If he marries, I want him to have at least a slight interest in planning his own wedding someday, whether it be to a girl or a boy. We all know the best boys are the ones that take an active role in such things, and are generally worshipped among women.

If he doesn’t marry, I want him to be happy in whatever life he chooses, and to have many adventures.

I want him to say what he means, and mean what he says, and not be afraid to say what it is that needs to be said, but know when to stay silent.

I want him to know it’s perfectly ok for him to like Barbie dolls, and to admire their exaggerated feminine features, but to realize that real women that look nothing like Barbie dolls are also desirable. I also want him to like dinosaurs, and realize they are the coolest creatures ever to live. (Besides for mermaids and unicorns.)

I want him to be just a little bonkers, because all the best people are.

I honestly don’t know how I will help my son to become this man I want him to be; luckily, I may be able to help him out in the bonkers department.

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On Nausea and Still Remaining Myself


Pregnancy is not an excuse.

Yes, ok, I haven’t written on my blog (or anywhere else, for that matter) for a shameful 18 days; my longest hiatus from blogging yet, I believe. I haven’t drunk coffee or whisky or any mind-altering substance for many weeks, (and I do not intend to for many many more weeks). When I go out to eat in a nice restaurant with edible food, I can no longer finish my Rockstar’s meal after snarfing down my own. In fact, I cannot even finish my own meal, and have taken to sharing. I still think of sex more often than the average person, but I also think of sleep more than a two-toed sloth. I remind myself of one thing:

This, too, shall pass.

Whereas in past times not so long ago, any text message I received was almost immediately responded to, I have become a textical hermit. My repeated responses of “Not good. Puking all day. Sleeping when not puking.” I’m sure got old quickly when people asked how I was faring, and quite honestly, that exact response sums up the last eighteen days frighteningly well. It didn’t help that last week when my Rockstar had an entire week off between changing jobs, and instead of indulging in an all-week fuckfest with him, I was forced to hack and cough and blow my nose in between naps when I contracted the Mother of All Colds. The only upside was that the nausea that had continued to haunt me for over a month has finally begun to subside; I am no longer hurling unless I’ve not eaten within two hours. Yay me.

For the entirety of my adult life, I have begun planning my Halloween costume for each year in mid-summer. Not so this year. In fact, yesterday was the first day that I realized Halloween is less than two months away, and I said to myself, “Self! Enough of this bull-shit! You’re fucking dressing up, even if it is as a horse wearing a feed bag in order to catch the vomit!” There will be no alcoholic libations, but at least I have a house this year, so I plan on celebrating by scaring the beJesus out of the neighborhood childlings. The buzz from such doings will certainly suffice.

I realize that when you become a mother, (which I’m not, quite yet, anyway) you change. But I’ll be damned if everyone I know will only engage in conversations with me that pertain to my child, now or later. People without kids have lives, and do things, whether the People With Kids believe it or not. I will never enjoy talking about diaper genies and the latest invention created to make parenthood easier. I will, however, speak of sexually deviant practices with whomever is interested, even when my waistline is 57″.  I am not complaining about where my future is headed in the least, only stating how perturbed I am that having my head in a toilet has kept me from doing the things I wanted in the last weeks.

P.S. The ultrasound specialist assures me that my baby’s lack of legs and arms is a natural thing at this point. I pray he’s not just placating me.

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A Letter To My Baby


Dear Baby,

I would have addressed my letter “Dear Little Bastard”, but there are those who might have taken offense. Luckily, I am your momma, and shall teach you to have a great sense of humor, and to never be ashamed of who and what you are.

So, hello, baby. I’ve been waiting a really long time to be able to write a letter to you. You would think I’d have given a bit more thought to what I would write, but considering that I never actually thought I’d have an opportunity to write such a letter, you will understand my faltering. It seems very cliche’, but I love you, baby. I’ve loved you for a very long time.

I promise you will be the most loved baby there ever was, (I know that seems pretentious, but you will learn soon enough that I am very exactly that). And don’t worry, I promise to teach you what pretentious means, and how to spell it, because I don’t want you to be one of those silly people who only use simple words and nod stupidly when educated people talk to you. You will know many many things, and the things I cannot teach you, you will learn from other people who love you dearly, like Auntie Delightful, who will be your Fairy Godmother, and who did a happy dance in public when your existence was confirmed; she will teach you all about poetry and to love books like I will, and she will never run out of crafts for you two to o together. And my godmother Auntie, who has been waiting for you for a long time too. She will teach you to accept everybody, and to be kind to people you don’t necessarily understand, and, if you ask her to, she will teach you to quilt beautiful quilts that will keep people you love warm.

Your daddy will love you too, even though he might not say it. (You and I will get him to eventually, though, I know it.) He will teach you all about music, and how important it is, and how rockers wearing women’s makeup is not only funny, but very cool. He will also take you to car races, and watch football with you, and will play with you even though he is kind of old, and really just wants to take a nap. Don’t get mad when he doesn’t respond to all your questions- he doesn’t have as many words to use as I do; but that just means you have to listen closely when he does talk.

I have always hoped you would be a boy, because dinosaurs are so much cooler than Barbies, and teenage boys are less of a pain in the ass than teen girls. But if you are a girl, I will teach you to love dinosaurs anyway, and to not be a pain in the ass.

The most important thing you need to know is that life is beautiful, and all people are beautiful in their own way, so you need to treat them like they are special, because they are someone’s baby, too. Also, God is a cool Guy, but He sometimes will do things you don’t understand just because He can; don’t get discouraged, because you are tougher than anything He will throw at you.

I’m sure there will be many more letters for you, baby, but for now, I should really work on my book, so I will have more time and money to spend on you when you get here.

Love You Forever,

Mommy

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A Letter to My Mother


Since my blog is the reason my parents haven’t talked to me in over half a year, it seems only right that I would post the letter I’ve written to my mother this day.

To Mom,
I know it has been a long time since we’ve talked, but honestly, I haven’t known what to say. The last time we spoke, you were concerned about my mental health, but would take no responsibility for the reason I am the way I am. I read the letter you sent me, and Aunt Bonnie and Gramma have mentioned just a few things you guys have discussed in conversation concerning me, and I realize a lot of my feelings toward you and dad are because of things that happened long ago, but they did happen, and helped to shape who I am, whether you want to admit or not.
I know that you planned me. I know that you both gave me everything you could as I was growing up. You showed me how to have faith in God, and I always do and will,  despite the fact that dad thinks I’m “fallen so far from the Lord.” Believe me, my faith is the only thing that kept me from killing myself when I was a teenager, or doing something worse.
I appreciate that you loved me so growing up, and did what you thought was best for me, which is why I refrained from telling you both about my blog. I respected you enough to shield you from the things that would have caused you pain or sadness, but I realize now that not being straightforward with you wasn’t honest, so I will be honest in this letter.
I know that you and dad both felt you made mistakes with the past relationships you had. Which is maybe why it was that your three older children felt mistreated or unloved. I can understand why my sister would have been jealous of me, because I know the pressures felt by being the “good child”. I understand why you felt you had to keep me distanced from my brother, though I don’t agree with it. I am blessed to have a brother who loves me so unconditionally, because his is a love I have never felt from another human in my life. He really is my best friend, and I understand his depression.
I have no children of my own, and that’s an whole other issue, but I know that a child is supposed to be the MOST important thing in a person’s life, other than God. That doesn’t mean you have to agree with the way they live their lives, or approve of them in any way, but I know that you are supposed to love your child(ren) unto the ends of the earth and back, and in such a way that they feel loved, and feel good enough, and feel that they can tell you anything.
I know I was a child long ago, and the things that happened then shouldn’t be of any consequence now, but I think of my childhood every day. You tell me I was planned, but clearly you and dad did not discuss my raising to the extent that you discussed my existence, because I remember many many times when dad disciplined me with pieces of wood that splintered and broke with the force of his rage, while you pretended he was not taking his anger out on me instead of you. I remember when you both found condoms in my room, and dad literally threw them in my face and told me that “no one would ever want me again” since I was no longer a virgin. I don’t have to have a kid to know I would never, ever stand by and allow anyone to say such a thing to my child, even if it was my husband, and even if I did agree with him.
I mentioned that I contemplated suicide when I was a teen. Perhaps depression is a hereditary thing, and maybe I have it, but I can tell you that ever night when I thought about it, it was because I wasn’t allowed to do much as a teen. I don’t mean being allowed to go out and party and kiss boys and get into trouble; dad was sooo concerned about the state of my virginity that he took me out of school, and wouldn’t allow me to stay at my friend’s house because she had a brother who had friends. I will tell you, you two raised me well enough to guard my body from those who would defile it until I was definitely old enough to know the consequences of my decisions. In fact, when dad was so worried about my sex life, I was innocent enough to tell Jeremy I might never want to have sex. I was with him for a year and a half before we ever had a physical relationship, and that was after I had already left home. (I know you both think I dated him before that, but you are so wrong.) This is what I have learned: sex does not make a person who they are, and virginity or the lack thereof should not make another person treat that person like a non-human. Dad has treated me that way.
That was long ago, and you’re right- it doesn’t matter now. But I have learned that while I can forgive someone for such things, I see no reason to include such people in my life. You are my mother, and I will always love you, and I understand that you think dad is the love of your life. Maybe he is, but I know from experience that he does not treat you like a queen as a husband should, and does not treat you like his most precious gift, which you are. Do you want to know why he and I don’t get along? Because I am just as stubborn as he is, and I refuse to accept the way he treats you. He demeans you in front of people, and there is no call for that, because you are the sweetest woman I have ever known. You deserve to be near your family if you want to be, and you deserve respect from your husband. If you think you have that, then as I said before- I am glad for you. But I see the way he treats you when you both come to visit, which is why I no longer wanted to have contact with him years ago.
I love. Love is everything to me, and love given to me is reciprocated ten-thousandfold. I love my extended family, because they have shown me love always, even when they might not have agreed with me, and have always hoped that I achieve my dreams. Dad, my father, has never even been interested in what my dreams were, unless they had everything to do with God. Dreams and goals can still include God without having to be such things as missionaries and pastor’s wives. God has given me a talent for writing, and music, and painting; what I do with it is my choice, which is also something God has given to me, as he has to us all.
I love this world that God has placed me in, and I love the gay people who are in it, because God created them too, and made so many of them amazingly flamboyant and beautiful. I love all kinds of music, because God gave men the ability to write such things. I love my beloved, my Rockstar, because he is a good father and he has the talent that God gave him to be able to play the guitar without knowing how to read music, and has given him the passion and the patience to deal with and try to understand my fucked-up self, even though he doesn’t understand my sadness at all. I love that God placed me in a church that is my family’s church, and put so many people there that appreciate my talent, even if it is a church that dad doesn’t approve of for no reason at all. I have received more love from the Methodist Church in 7 years than I ever received in every Baptist church we attended as I was growing up. There is no evil in that.
Concerning my blog: when I started it, I knew not what I was going to do with it, but I knew I wanted to hone my writing skills. Through the comments and the readers I’ve received since I’ve had it, I have been able to understand myself better, and I my confidence in my talent has grown considerably. I know not that if I ever finish writing any of the many books I have started writing, people will read them, and enjoy doing so. I am more honest in my blog about my experiences than I ever have been in real life, and that has made me be more honest in real life. Sometimes, though, the truth does hurt, as I’m sure most of this letter does. This too, is not an evil thing.
I am going to stop writing this letter now, because I have said enough, I think. I am sorry if I have cause you heartache in the past months, and I hope you can forgive me. I love you, mommy, and I just want you to accept me, flaws and all.
Love, Sparkle

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Untitled


She spent the day with her mother.

They did the things mothers and daughters do- window shopping, dining out and the like. As they were lunching on skinny fries and cobb salads, the girl almost dropped her fork when a small child of another patron nearby let out a ferocious shriek. That got her mother talking even more.

“So your cousin is planning to marry that dimwit girl even though she quit her job. I wonder how happy he’s going to be working three jobs when she’s sitting at home popping out babies?” The older woman tsk-ed once or twice before taking another bite of her salad.

“Well, he must know how pampered she is, Mom. They’ve been together since high school.” The girl tried to steer her mother away from baby talk.

” I just hate to think they’re going to have a bunch of babies when they haven’t thought about how they’re going to afford them. And that’s another thing that irks me, most of those kids at school where I teach have such horrible parents that care more about they’re dumb dogs than they do about they’re kids!” The girl hid her amusement at the fact that her mother still refused to use the word “damn” in front of her daughter, even though she was going to be thirty-two in two months.

“Yeah, well, isn’t that the way of it? All the people who shouldn’t have kids have whole herds of them when the ones that want them can’t have any.” The girl refrained from adding “including me” to the end of that sentence. She didn’t have the energy to get into that conversation today.

Her mom had a few more choice words on the subject before bouncing to another topic three or four more times before dessert came.

After her mom dropped her off, the girl walked slowly up the stairs to her apartment, the depression of the days outing weighing heavily on her heart. She couldn’t ignore the tiny tutus in the baby section of the department store earlier, or what seemed like the constant flow of new mothers with strollers who had sped by all day. She took out her keys, and let out a wavering sigh as she opened the door.

Her boyfriend was in a surprisingly good mood after having worked with morons all day, and was excited to show her the new guitar he’d found listed on Craigslist. She couldn’t help but think that the baby blue of the Gibson’s body would be the perfect color for a newborn’s nursery. After awhile, the two sat down to finish watching the last few episodes of a show they’d been watching on Netflix.

The girl was momentarily distracted from her misery as they watched the young love blossom of the two main characters on the TV screen, until the heroine’s sister decided that was the perfect time to go into labor. The girl clutched her pillow and unsuccessfully pushed back tears while the woman onscreen gave birth to a flawless baby girl, as the fictional family looked on proudly. The girl had had enough.

She had a lovely life- a job that paid her bills, a friend or two who were always there for her, a boyfriend whom she loved and loved her back, and yet she felt she hadn’t a thing in the world. She tried to push away the thought of the children she didn’t have as she slid down to her knees and slipped her lover’s boxers off before taking him in her mouth. She thought to herself before she lost herself in foreplay- She may as well play the part of a useless slut, since her body was never going to be used for a good purpose.

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Funny Thing


…is that’s it’s not funny it at all. But we put on a happy face and make a joke so as not to burst into tears. or some bullshit like that, right?

I got a text from my Ex-hubby the other day. I hadn’t heard from him since a few months ago right after he got married, but I knew exactly what it was he wasn’t telling me.

So when is she due? I text him after his initial blahseh greeting.

If I was going to have a baby, would you want to know about it? Was his response.

Not really, but I’d find out eventually, so we might as well get this over with. I steeled myself for the next text.

I just know how upset you got when people told you they were having babies. Always thinking of other people. Polite bastard.

So? Putting it off wasn’t helping anything.

June 29th.

You wouldn’t think one tiny little text with a date would make my whole world feel like it was ending. Well, you would be wrong. Surprisingly, it began with internal bleeding; you would never have known the news of someone having the baby that was supposed to be mine was eating through my insides like the ebola virus.

I guess I’m supposed to say congratulations or something. That was civil, right?

My sister is pregnant too.

The ebola virus had worked it’s way to the outside and I felt my body begin to melt into a hideous liquid mess of tears.

How are you doing, now that I told you? The “funny thing” is, he was asking because he knew exactly what was happening.

Not so good. I guess I didn’t really want to know you were having a baby. (Or that my internal organs would liquefy and my soul would die when I found out.) I only thought that last part.

Yeah, my eyes teared up as soon as I sent the text. I’m sorry.

So why is my Ex-Hubby sorry he’s having a baby and had to tell me? I’m sure you’re completely confused. After all, he should totally hate my guts because I cheated on him and then left him because I wasn’t in love with him anymore. I may have forgotten to mention- I also left because we tried for three years to have a baby, and when one didn’t appear, I realized I didn’t want to be with this man if there were no children. So I thought I had better find someone I actually wanted to be with if I was to be barren.

I’m sure you’re all thinking I’ve destabilized because it’s my ex that’s having a baby. That doesn’t help, no; because there was a time when I wanted to have 5 little boys who looked exactly like him. But you see from earlier in my post that I didn’t start crying until I found out his sister was having one too. It’s the fact that EVERYONE ELSE is having babies except for me. I’ve found out in the last two weeks that my cousin (who didn’t want a kid the last time I checked) and his wife are pregnant, the first girl I ever fell in love with and her hubby are, my ex and his new wife, and my ex-sister-in-law and her hubby (who also stated he wanted no children). So it’s safe to say that half the people in the world who are procreating are doing it because their spouses want them to. So all those half-wanted babies will be loved with only half as much love as they deserve, while my non-existant baby is loved with every fiber of my being.

“So why don’t you have a baby, already?” People keep asking me. It’s not that simple.

I have found a man who I want to be with. Unfortunately, he has a ten year old and is perfectly happy with only her. Because he has not yet spent 12 years with me, he doesn’t have the understanding of me that my Ex did, and so does not realize that telling me to hold someone else’s baby is like asking me to cut my own throat with a sharpened toothbrush. He does not understand that for the last two days, it has taken all of my will power to keep a constant stream of tears from falling. When I told him my Ex was having a baby, his only response was, “How do you know it’s even his kid?”

My Rockstar has agreed to have a baby with me when we have more money. The “funny thing” is, there will never be enough money. There will always be more bills, or other things to spend money on.

I can’t think about this anymore for right now, because I already can’t see, but this is to all of you who have kids who have ever even for a moment wished you didn’t, and all you parents with children with health issues, and all you pregnant women who are pissed off because you can’t sleep or have morning sickness, and all you individuals who “accidentally” had kids when you had “real” lives you wanted to have- you better fucking thank God or Shiva or whatever other deity it is you worship every fucking day for your babies, because if you didn’t have them, you could be just like me right now. And trust me. This doesn’t feel good.

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Kid At Heart


I will be the first to admit that I am not a completely mature adult. (Despite what my boobies may say.) It seems people that go around being adultish at all times are generally unhappy people. I find that life is best when one goes around with child-like enthusiasm. (at least sometimes.) Also, it is beneficial to the soul to always have time to play. Here is the list of child-like activities I have devised to help you along:

Playing games: While Chutes and Ladders and Candyland are fine choices to help maintain innocence, I prefer slightly… altered games, such as strip poker, naughty dice, and drunk Monopoly. I suppose beer pong could be included in this list, however, I find the concept of dirty ping pong balls in alcoholic beverages appalling.

Swinging: One of the best inventions that live on a playground is swings. There’s nothing better than leaning back, closing your eyes,and pumping your legs while feeling the wind in your hair. The only way to increase your pleasure would be to invest in a sex swing…

Bursting into song: I think Disney and Rogers and Hammerstein had the right idea. When you feel those strong emotions come over you, I urge you to sing a few bars of whatever song is in your head at the time. I guarantee you’ll feel great! If you are not partial to musicals, warble away at Balls to the Wall or Ten Seconds to Love.

Reading: I realize that many children find reading to be a huge bore. Those kids are just dumb. (Was that harsh?) Who cannot find joy in reading “Fox in sock and chicks with bricks and chicks on blocks, Sir”? And just because his books were written for children doesn’t mean Shel Silverstein won’t entertain the most mature of souls.

There are many other ways to entertain yourself, especially with kid’s toys. (Such as finding new sex positions by posing Barbie and Ken, and don’t even get me started on the Phonics Caterpillar that you can make swear.) Bouncing balls off of children’s heads is also highly amusing, but nevermind about that.

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