Inspiration

This poem lifts me up.

Not much else to say about it. It's perfect.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.


Maya Angelou

Meatloaf and Musings

Baby Girl loves meatloaf. I made it just for her. Not surprisingly, she seems to like salty foods more than sweet ones. Just like her mama. I'm so excited to get to cook things we both enjoy eating! Scrambled eggs was the first, but that barely counts. This was out first real shared meal. Granted, she ate about an ounce or two. And I had to pop little bites into her open mouth. But it counts, right?

Ingredients
1 lb ground pork (using up the remainder of my mom's pork share. When its gone,  I'll use beef)
1 lb ground turkey
4 carrots, grated
1 cup minced shiitake mushrooms (or any other type)
1 large minced onion
Garlic, to taste, minced (or garlic powder)
3 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
6 tbsp ketchup
1 cup oatmeal
3 eggs, beaten

Preheat oven to 375

Sautee veggies

Mix raw meat, oatmeal, eggs, Worcestershire, and 3 tbsp ketchup. Add sauteed veggies. Mix, mix. Add more oatmeal if mixture seems runny.

Form log in shallow pan.

Bake for about an hour.

Yum! 

In other news, I'm starting to wonder what in the fuck I'm going to do with my life. Before Gumball's dad (you know, my soon to be ex-husband) took off, I had planned to return to nursing school. Since leaving Massachusetts, and my nursing program, I find myself in a sort of limbo. I can afford to stay home with the baby. For awhile. On the other hand, I only know a handful of people here, and have zero life outside of the baby. That has been a relief, in a way, since my life feels so sad and lonely. I'm ok with not having any sort of life of my own, for now. I want to stay home with the baby. I pretty much can't stand to be without her. This is good for now. But I know that I am going to have to start planning for our future. And I have no idea what I want to do. Returning to nursing school would be an option, but there is no program like the one I left behind. I have a Master's degree. I was in a two-year to BSN RN program. Here I could study for four years to get a BSN RN. Or do an advanced, two year intensive, Master's-level program for an NP. Or I could, you know, get a job. In some field I've studied. Public Health or something.

I know people do it all the time. I'm just having trouble imagining how I could leave little Gumball. I imagine that with traffic and commuting, I would get to see her for about 2, maybe 3 hours a day. During which time I would have to feed, bathe, play, love and cuddle her. It just doesn't seem like enough time. Everyday she does something new. In the past week she's begun crawling and clapping her feet. I don't have the emotional strength to leave her yet, and imagining missing anything feels like a spear through my heart. Also, I want to make sure that she gets a maximum amount of love each day. How can I do that if we're not together? I really just don't know.

Advice

I took my troubles and sorrows to Facebook, and was comforted by the kind words of friends. Among other gems were the following:
- with a mom like you who needs a dad, you have two mother's days now, and
- Pretty Girl has so much going for her, people will be waiting in line to be her friend. Rejection will not be a word in her vocabulary!

Their kind words lifted my spirits quite a bit. And someone who I used to be close with during the summer of 1994 sent me a beautiful letter. He explained how his mom hadn't been there for him much during his life. His parents were divorced, and he said that his father never badmouthed his mom at all. When he was older, high school or college age, his father told him the following, "Your mother is very limited- she has trouble taking care of herself - she couldn't possibly take care of you too - she's just wasn't and isn't ABLE. She is not WELL." He wasn't talking about an illness or anything diagnosed. Just her personality. My friend went on to say that he did wish he had heard the following, "IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. He's just UNABLE to be here because he has his own stuff to work out. You are wonderful and amazing - it's his loss and has nothing to do with who you are. Anyone who actually knew you would definitely want to spend time with you." 

It did me a world of good to hear this. To get some idea of what I can say to Gumball, when the time comes. I know there are many successful and happy adult children of single moms, who didn't know their dads. I just don't know any of them. What is the magic combination of words to spare her the pain of rejection, and from making the same (poor) choices I've made?  It makes me think of Tina Fey's "Prayer for my Daughter." This part: "May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty." I just don't want my baby to start off her tender life with such a tremendous disadvantage.

Here is Tina Fey's letter: 
First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered,
May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half
And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the nearby subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock N’ Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes
And not have to wear high heels.
What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. 
Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long,
For Childhood is short — a Tiger Flower blooming
Magenta for one day –
And Adulthood is long and Dry-Humping in Cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever,
That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers
And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,
Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,
For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord,
That I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 a.m., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.
“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck.
“My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental note to call me. And she will forget.
But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
Amen.

http://www.parents.com/blogs/goodyblog/2011/05/tina-feys-a-mothers-prayer-for-her-daughter/

Father's Day

I don't want to be depressing, or to give the impression that I spend my days brooding and sulking. On the contrary. My days are spent laughing, smiling, and singing. I have songs for everything. Poor Gumball is destined for a life of musical theater. She'll expect songs at every turn. Poor thing. I have a special "wash your face" song, and another "clean your butt" song. Same tune. Like Twinkle Twinkle and Mary Had a Little Lamb. I didn't brood or sulk once today. Instead Gumball and I went to the pool. No brooding.

That said, when I'm not singing and laughing and rushing around, trying to entertain the baby and manage (poorly) my own life, I do start brooding.

Yesterday was rough. Father's Day. I will never regret meeting Gumball's dad. You know, because she's here as a result. I would endure him times 100, everyday, if she was the end result. But I did spend quite a bit of time yesterday beating myself up. How on earth could I have fallen in love with someone who would abandon their child? Walk out and not look back. What is wrong with me? And worse, how did I allow this to happen to my sweet girl? I was talking to a friend, and he said how he always wondered what was wrong with him- why his dad never had anything to do with him. I would endure every heartbreak and hardship in the world if I could prevent my baby from ever wondering what she did, or what is wrong with her- why she doesn't have a dad. Nothing is wrong with her, and she did nothing wrong. Neither did I. But making her understand that, and not doubt it, or herself, is another thing altogether. And even if I do succeed in making her world so full of love that she never misses her dad, I ache thinking that she might feel left out in school, or miss out on some experience her friends will have. I don't want my girl to miss out on anything, and I feel like a complete dumbass for starting her precious life at a disadvantage. When I think about her being disappointed or insecure, because of her dad, it just breaks me down.

So yeah, yesterday brought up a lot of feelings for me, and I'm still feeling pretty sad.

Finger Foods and Heartbreak

Older photo- totally unrelated to topic, but so sweet. 3+ months old.

Now that my little Gumball is almost 10 months old, I'm trying to encourage her to eat more finger foods. By "finger foods" I mean something other than mush. Gumball loves her mush. But someday, I hope she'll be able to eat real food. She still gags and barfs if something goes down the wrong way, but she is very excited about the little nuggets of food I give her. Since the mushes, both store bought and homemade, are somewhat sweet, she seems especially excited about salty (well, not sweet) finger foods.

The finger foods I've given her are usually soft and mushy. The foods she prefers are:
- Cheese
- Chicken
- Scrambled eggs
- Garbanzo beans
- Hummus
- Orange slices

She's also had, and tolerates:
- Steamed (well done) asparagus
- Creamed spinach
- Beef (hamburger and tiny pieces of steak)
- Kiwi
- Sweet potato
- Puffs
- Baby Mum Mums

Scrambled eggs are her favorite, I think, and mine. She eats about 1/2 an egg before getting bored, and wanting mush. 

We're still at the point where I have to put each piece of food into her mouth, but maybe someday she'll feed herself. The baby is not very food-motivated, which is something I entirely don't understand. How can a portly food-lover like myself have an infant who doesn't ever seem to want to eat. Rat baby's friend, L, is a champion eater. Today he grabbed some scrambled eggs in his little fist and tried to feed my sweetie. It was adorable, and really touching because he loves food so much. He's such an adorable and sweet kid.

8+ months old

Loves her Nana MUCH more than Baby Mum Mums

In other news, I got a text from Gumball's dad yesterday. He said, "I'm sorry that I wasn't a better husband. I take some small comfort in knowing that you are better off without me." This is the fourth or fifth text I've received from him since he left. I'll never answer him. He has never asked about the baby. That's all I hear. No questions about her. As far as I'm concerned, his words are meaningless. He is obviously broken. The baby and I deserve so much more. I still miss the person I thought I knew, who I thought would be with me forever. But this guy, who left my house and moved in with his ex-wife (you know, the classy and intelligent chick who got a tattoo two years ago on her back- that says "PROPERTY OF Ex-boyfriend's name,") I don't know him. I miss his kids so, so badly. I almost can't think about them, because it hurts so much still. I do hope my girl gets to know her two brothers. They're still some of the nicest, sweetest kids I've known. I'll never do anything to stand in the way of her having a relationship with her dad. So far, he hasn't shown any interest in her, which cripples me, but maybe someday. I will put my hate, confusion, heartbreak and anger aside, if he ever decides to be a dad to Gumball. If he continues his trajectory, I will fill her life with so much love and happiness, she'll never know what she's missing. All I want is for her to be happy.

Exhausted (Yet Proud)

So, I admit, I have a 15 hour a week nanny. Sometimes, if I need it, she stays an hour or two more. I've now figured out how to shower with the baby, but honestly, as cute as she is, splashing away in the tub, I really don't love family showers. I need 15 hours of help a week so I can shower alone, cook, clean, pay bills, go to the grocery store... you know? Fun things like that. But not having the anxiety about leaving the baby happily playing in her room to race downstairs and grab dirty towels to wash? Or whatever? That's why I have a nanny. I get to worry a little less when she's here. It's a tremendous relief. Sometimes, she even does some household chores- like cleaning the kitty litter or folding laundry or washing the sippy cups. I detest washing sippy cups. One thing about living without any other adults is that no matter what it is, I am responsible for it. So when someone else washes the sippies, or cleans the kitty litter, it is a huge relief. Better than a party.

This week, my nanny, T, has been sick. Its been a terrible week for her. Not going to lie, not having any help has been rough on me too. 9 days without a break. That's not entirely true. I went to my mom's house, and while she was holding Gumball, I fell asleep on the sofa. Needless to say, this week Gumball's sleep has gone right down the toilet. Literally. She has started pooping herself awake. I feel sorry for her, but also sorry for me. No help, and multiple night wakings. Just like when she was a little, itty, bitty baby!

It's also been a rough week for a whole other reason. Gumball's dad has had some (more) good fortune. He needed paperwork from me, to buy a house, and all I wanted to do was say, "no. Fuck you. I'm not giving you anything." Because he has not had one moment of sadness or inconvenience or sleeplessness. His daughter doesn't even know what dad means. But since we're not divorced yet, I was too afraid that he would retaliate if I didn't get him the paperwork. Retaliate through the baby. Try to take her from me. And to me she is the most important thing in the world. More important than my pride, or revenge, or sleep. So I cried and got him the paperwork. I feel sad, and somewhat defeated, but at the same time, I got though it. A hard week, with no help, a night-pooping babe, and lots of sorrow and regrets. Thank god its Monday tomorrow and T feels better so I will get some help.