july 29

it’s a humid, gorgeous morning at battery park today. the vendors are just setting up and i’m already making life altering parenting decisions, or at least thinking about them. i strike a conversation with a girl from the staff; in 20 seconds we both find out we have sons. when you have kids, it's pretty much the first thing that ever pops out your mouth. i’m instantly comfortable now and feel that new york is not going to swallow me alive. we both bore children right? motherhood, the great equalizer.

30 min ago I dropped off tween at camp. i was supposed to hang out with him for 20 minutes until he left for the art colony, and he flat out dissed me, unabashedly dismissed me, and displayed a self confidence that wasn’t there before. he coolly said “bye mom,” gave me that squint of the eye underneath all that hair that means “you’re embarrassing me, scat,” and turned to his new friends.

he was so poised too. now that I think of it, he’s been so poised, so cool and neutral. new yorkers treat children like adults, and nik has been apt at playing the part. i’ve been wrestling with the idea that he doesn’t need me, and that dad fills my void. there’s nothing to wrestle with now. he’s just not that into me. the truth is, he’s self sufficient, exactly like how i’ve brought him up to be. never allowed to hide under my skirt, always made to self stimulate and his is a new world order, and times are a changing my friends. like on husband, new york looks damn good on him. my boy, or shall I say tween. yes i’ve been required to stop using the word boy and instead replace it with tween, preteen is acceptable too.

motherhood is full of hard choices, and being here alone i face my demons. There’s no one but myself to judge my thoughts. In a split second, I saw how comfortable in his skin he is here. his ADHD subdued, his ticks normalized, because the city has more ADD than nik could ever have. He wants to belong here, and i’m contemplating the idea that i should allow him to start fresh and make his own decision. i’ve raised an independent thinker, a mature little boy, so why is it so hard at this juncture to let him go?

the answer is as simple as it is complicated. i adore him, and want what’s best for him. that doesnt necesarily make it best for me. it appears to my untrained eye, that being here in this pulsating, indescribable place makes him happy, and more importantly self-confident. his self-torture has given way to passion, and passion usually lead to happiness. what would have become of me if I had been allowed to follow my dreams as a kid? i guess i’ll never know, but what i do know is that i won't limit my son, clip his wings. after all, why the hell did i teach him how to fly ?

price of perfection

yesterday they, were suspicions, maybe paranoia. today my worst fears have been confirmed. it happened during a stroll in park slope. i’m obsolete. the men don’t need me anymore. they can clean, cook, wash, entertain themselves, etc. unreal. i've been with them 3 days and it seems that in a month they have jumped out of reality and into their own private utopia.

my mothering them is over; it's both unnecessary and rejected. in my hand i hold my carcass, deflated. these feelings and the city keep me constantly aroused, introspective. i want to enjoy it but i cant. i want to, but every hidden corner begs me to think, to self-indulge. it’s a way to take care of myself, if not in body, although I am walking a lot, but at least in spirit.

straight out of a telenovela, i feel betrayal. i have poured myself into these beings, both father and son, only to be alienated from them. i'm insecure, cracking under pressure, my person shattered, scattered, even tattered onto the debris of the city. there it goes, so passive aggressive, swept by the department of sanitation, by the wonderful transsexual who sweeps her corner of the park incessantly in black patent leather heels and white faux silk stalking. i’ve seen her every day. she’s undeterred, sweeping and sweeping but the dirt never stops. tourist pass by and throw trash right at her feet, she’s never rude she just smiles and sweeps in onto her ladle thingy. it’s her job. just ike being a mom is my job. and it's as endless and thankless as sweeping the city.

july 28

this small little thing is ruining my relaxation. i’m finding it impossible to penetrate the new bonded formed between nik and his dad. they have both grown up and away from me this past month and formed their own little culture. can’t tell where one begins and one ends. nik. my mommy charms are not working on him like they do for the baby. i can’t just make him laugh out of thin air anymore.

this month, I’ve let down my guard. i am no longer cool. i knew he would be different after his trip, i just didn’t know it would be so hard. at least the house is divided into two camps, for now. in ten years i’m gonna be the minority again. in my experience, mommying boys is amazing and intense and then it tapers off. i knew when i planned it, suggested it, and executed it that sending my son away was going to have an impact, consequences, and that quite possibly they could wound me. but it’s good pain. the first step in a long staircase of letting go.

innocent moments like the first day of pre-k, or that first lost tooth are gone. nik has transitioned to the hormone years, leaving baby and me in shit up to our elbows. i'll still be useful; we'll still be close, but he's ridin’ that wave i've been talking about, prepared to make his little mind think on his own, explore his creativity, ideas. after all, that's what i wanted, right?

so many things about being a mom end up biting you in the ass, in a good way. no matter how much you prepare, it always takes you by surprise. and now, I find myself, launching one and letting go of the other.

ready set go

i'm sitting at the pbi terminal on my way to meet my son again. in kid time, a month can be a life altering eternity, especially if said kid has been commuting between sayrville (fastfact: home of bon jovi), brooklyn and manhattan. i cant imagine fair nik's reaction upon returning to florida; i heard he's adjusted to inner city pressure quite well. he just told told me he's walking around williamsburg "williamsburger is my favorite restaurant mom,"taking in the grittiness gentrified, while i wait to get on a plane surrounded by the accents that will stay with me for the next ten days.

for this poorly planned trip i only have one objective. i want to go to bed and wake up everyday next to one P to tha D. oh that hubby of mine; being geographically apart has made us better partners, better parents and better friends.

the annoying girl next to me is singing high school musical (fastfact:overproduced disney bs); she's animated, annoying, and a little to old to be behaving like this. she looks 18. "oooh my gawd, take a pichure wit my iphone! at the airport! in palm beach!" which incidentally is the most vanilla airport i've ever come across. it could be worse; i could be sitting in miami.

shit! we are boarding and there is an unusual number of kids on the flight. every single one of them travelling with a nintendo and loaded with sugary snacks. what are their parents thinking?! what happened to fucking books!?aren't these kids the ones suppossed to save print?

but back to nik, the one who started it all, the crazy journey. if someone would have told me that i would scratch the surface, find myself, through motherhood, i would have spit.

blerg! bitch still singing! if i strangle her, will i be arrested or will i be a hero? maybe they would insist i ride on the pilots' lap. maybe he looks like don draper!

again, momsville, focus. i was nikless for weeks and have hardly missed him. i was able to love on baby A like never before, without the jealous eyes of the older child peering through doorways, watching my moves, counting my kisses, comparing. i've been able to whisper secrets, sing original songs, take early walks on the beach and float away in the wave-less ocean. all of this in the company of my current number one fan. soon enough he'll be doubting me like nik, second guessing, hanging on to dad's every word and i will become second best.

they just called me. i'm ready to meet the sprite, to kiss the freckle on the tip of his nose and run my hands through his greasy hair. and for the next couple of days we'll enjoy life as it was, the three of us, nostalgic, silently wishing that the bambino were among us.

lil' andes benedict had his first taste of discipline last night. he was not amused, and neither was i. like any scorpio baby he was up and around waaaaay past the time most 8-month olds go nite-nite. and i allow it, to some extent. it's great that he learns to socialize with my friends. nik did, and he's ok, so far.

we were at his tia's house; he loves her. he also loves merrymaking, puppy bashing, party-time. while we say "viva la revolucion," he shouts "viva la fiesta." so thrashing around the living room he broke a flower pot. mortified i picked him up and said very sternly ENOUGH! NO MAS!A DORMIR! time to go to bed. and he yelped and cried and like that he went to sleep. oh cholito social creature, what we will i do with you? and you with us? don't you know you've been born into a family of tortured, introverted outsiders? i swear i sent the memo!

i'm very relaxed with the children. until i'm not. the yin and the yang of parenting. i'm not a hypocrite. i practice what i preach. it's simple. breaking flowerpots, not good, so baby is not allowed to get away with it. we cant correct the child if we carry on in the same way. we are their real, live examples, forever teaching, forever setting patterns.

on that same token, if i eat in bed, then lets have a picnic, if i leave a trail of shoes all over the house, well...its shoefest09. so i try try try from the moment i wake up to be exemplary. little eyes are watching my every move, hanging on to every word. it's a lot of pressure. i'm medicated, i mean dedicated.

i'm very big into prevention, after all, family patterns are hard to break. i spent my life doing this. i grew up with a strange, if not disconnected crew that made us, well, very unfamiliar with our parents. they were loving dictators, but dictators nonetheless. the children were one thing and the parents another. we were the ecuadorian von traps, los vontrapos.

my experience has shaped my approach family culture; for us we've chosen a democracy, with a dash of totalitarianism. we is a big word in our house. so is share. even though mom is the voice, issues get discussed and voted on. we are raising each other, growing and learning together. we don't talk down to the children. after all, they'll be the ones choosing our nursing homes.

in this environment personal growth is encouraged; independent thinking is key. sharing those thoughts is supported, applauded, but on the the inside we will forever look after each other, to each other we belong, unless one of the boys starts to pay my mortgage, or gets married then i'm toast.

go (mother) figure

as far as learning how to be a mom, i was mostly self taught as well as self aware. my natural curiosity and inquisitiveness, plus sheer stupidity and blind will, can be credited for my ever growing maternal philosophy. i'm learning everyday, mistakes and all.

although my mother is a good person, she was quite lacking in many ways. i used to be very critical of the duchess' parental skills, but no more. it's not fair.

growing up, i was lucky to have strong women around who became unintentional pillars for who i am. my aunts, grandma, family friends, my best friends' mothers, coworkers, etc. are all alive and well inside me, all united with one common thread: independence. those unintentional fairy godmothers gifted me with idiosyncrasies that i keep in the cavernous compartments of my personality, and in turn pass on to my brood.

my love of literature, for example, i got from S, who i still remember in all her glory. she was the first person who treated me like an adult. now a shadow of what she once was, this literature teacher, a scholar if i may, would lend me her precious childhood books by the boxload. i was flattered that she would trust me something so precious. the 12 year old inside me stills shrieks with delight.

my mother was oblivious to these bonds while my dad watched from his altar in his office, relieved. mom wasn't very interested in the thoughts, soul or intellectual life of any of her children, much less her eldest teenage daughter. i myself would have at least been jealous(!)
S took over where my mother lacked. she recognized in me what the duchess overlooked. why? i don't know. i do know she really loved my family, and she enjoyed connecting with me on a scholastic level.

during the years that she was my confidant and friend, her paramount attribute was her willingness to blatantly educate me, or at least encourage my innate interest in literature. only my father had attempted this inconceivable deed before. imagine! a parent actually teaching their child!

another powerful influence was my maternal grandma MN. she was great. a pioneer, there are really no words, as she deserves a post, a blog or book even dedicated to her. a lifetime educator, she graced me with her attention. I still ask myself what would she do in a situation or even say things like "if MN was alive..."

my paternal aunts were so loving, physically embracing me every time i saw them. my mother was distant, so they satisfied that role with syrupy sweetness. sunday afternoons were a latino love fest of unpopular spanish ballads, yogur y pan de yuca, and driving 'round the malecon in a fiat uno. shotgun forever! my secret lullabies for the boys i stole from them.

from all the rest i learned organization, elegance, certain values. i payed attention to their faults even more than to their attributes and to this day remember them when i catch glimpses of those in me. i am every mother i ever met, every woman.

i'm so deep into this motherhood thing, and all it does is make me more self analytical. i obsess over the children for hours on end. my evenings are spent thinking about nik and how he's doing, how he's growing, and what influence i have in his life. with my kids i'm all about building relationships, but more than anything teaching; i'm helping them become independent thinkers, and work on being a refuge for when they inevitably become outsiders. i want them to ride the wave instead of dipping their foot in the puddle, and i will do this inspired by all the amazing mothers i've met along the way.

no more feelgoodery, bring in the clowns

i've been a mother for so long, that i find it hard to solve problems any other way. let me explain. if someone has an issue and or problem, i mother them, i take care of her/him/them and i call it a day. i've even been known to wipe people's faces off with spit and a t-shirt, even if they complain of a headache.


i love to cook for others, cuddle with family and close friends, and am always the one that gets called in for emergencies, especially those involving shit. "you're a mom, you know what to do." because being a mommy magically makes me able to deal with a variety of issues concerning feces, right?

its strange how my relationship with motherhood, other mothers, and yes that mother of all mothers, the duchess herself, has shaped my personality over the years. my life as been full of very unconventional relationships with unconventional women, most importantly my grandmother who i lived with for two years. she was an incredible woman with as many faults as she had virtues, yet she was respected and adored by many. in guayaquil she marked a generation and left her pawprint on what american society means to people in ecuador.

it was her that probably inspired me to "adopt" my sisters one by one. i know she would have. after my parents divorce the only way i thought to repair the situation was to be a mother. they needed me and wanted them to need me. i wanted to build a new and improved family with my girls. i was obviously delusional. we fight, we love, we disrespect, but above all we share our lives. without each other we would be nothing, but together we are a family.

staycation

been in the MIA for th last 24 hours. what a horrible place that is yet quite relaxing. more details later.

growing pains

my baby is crying downstairs. he's teething. there is nothing i can do now. i took him to the pool, visited his very nice babyfriend, let him play with a pit bull and walked him around el cid on a sling. in all my efforts to tire him up so that i can get some restful, if not uninterrupted sleep, i have exhausted myself into a smoky oblivion. this is how i roll.

the scene at the pool today was straight out of raising victor vargas. a dozen latin youths played a game of "el bobo" in while some random adult "cousins" started brought the beer and the boombox. latinos always have primos, and in their abscence there is always a tio or two.

sticking out like a sore thumb was my childhood friend F, in a very revealing suit flaunting her post baby body.our kids clung to her, their eyes' like shooting stars darting side to side bewildered by the immigrant accents, the spanglish sounds, the splashing water and the smell of chlorine. V and A, two plump little sponges, that i was happy to watch from under the shade. My good friend F, a better man that i, stuck with the rugrats in the (sess)pool.

these fuckers are exhausting. kids. we spend our day trying to entertain them and in the process end up feeling like a hot mess. but you're kinda in haze the whole time because you love them. i remember the duchess and her headaches. as a matter of fact, when i was little all the adults had headaches. half the time i though they were faking. i thought "surely no one can live in such pain".

i have them now, although i try to power through them without help. they sneak in one me anyway. they start with my jaw locking usually preceded by some thought of next's years uniforms and tomorrows baby food preparation. then then they hit the cheek muscles and it's all downhill from there. that pain behind my right eye. ouch. its a growing pain. or rather a growing up pain.

un poco dramatico

self acceptance has always been the hardest part about being a young mom. for the past ten years i have found myself making excuses to the general public in regards to becoming a mom at 20. mostly because in america i have been met with disapproval. as a matter of fact a good friend of mine (gringa of course) told me very nicely "you did it all wrong" just a few days ago, and that is not the only time i've heard that. i was the only person at my college with a 5 year old, so i interminably had to explain myself to my peers every time they found out. "no i am not an unwed mother, and no i never considered an abortion, and yes i have to pick him up after class."

what a novel and exotic concept! the truth is, in most cultures mothers are young; i find the reason to be that most cultures are family not self or money centered. it's having your first kid after you've become partner at your law firm at 39 which is the oddity. 80% of my childhood friends have at least 3 kids. 100% of them are college educated upper middle class gals, and about 60% have very active careers and social lives. now i do understand that in less developed countries there are'nt many reproductive choices, and a woman who becomes prego has to make it to term whether she wants it or not, but essentially there is always a big support group of other females around to help out. pregnancy is neither fetishized nor stigmatized. its just a part of everyone's life. it's not a deal breaker, or a moneymaker, its just a part of being and sometimes a part of becoming accepted. i know, i know, again with it takes a village, but for me it is not an adage. it's a way a of life and the way i was raised. i had at least six other adults (male and female) very involved in my upbringing other than my parents, and so do my kids.

i was talking to my very pregnant american cousin and she mentioned that she coveted what i have. after all my kids have 3 aunts within 2 miles to choose from, plus a godmother, and recently even my brother flew in from cali to help me out. i'm lucky; at least three times a week one of the "girls" as my son calls them will spend time with us. if i ever need to go somewhere alone i always have someone to turn to.sometimes i have to beg a little, grovel, but they never say no. they're the reason i'm crazy and the reason i'm not. its not a freebie though; i cook for them, i clean up after them, drive them around. it comes with the territory. our family is not limited to those i birthed myself.

now i realize that this post is totes apologetic in addition to laced with catholic guilt. at 30, i'm finally ok motherhood being part of my identity. it only took 8 months of self denial to make me understand. i've always been very stubborn. with N i was somewhat able to compartmentalize my life in order to avoid being judged. i guess i wasn't too young to juggle the responsibilities of motherhood, but i was too young to handle the criticism. i wanted people to see me for myself, not be dismissed as just another mom. i got away with it at least 50% of the time. now being a mom is who i am. who i love to be. no separate agendas.

a woman with no common sense

i watched the movie party girl recently, and if you ignore the cheesy happy ending, it was quite relevant. i did it during an extended lunch. i left work and never returned. there go 4 hours of sick leave. like all celebrities, i blamed it on exhaustion. sleep deprivation has a way of catching up to me quickly these days. after the movie i took a guilt-nap, which is defined as lying in a bed sleepy enough to doze away but too tired and guilty to actually rest.

many times i find myself fantasizing (between yawns) about uppers, both legal and illegal, to help me through the days (daze?) of semi-permanent single motherhood. not to worry. it never goes anywhere. it couldn't. i'm too tired to do anything i'm not required. recently it's my personal appearance that suffers the most, along with any other avenue of personal growth, like books or a clean bellybutton. i'm not bitter. i know it's temporary. in another five years, i might be mine again. my consolation prize is hoping that my vampire children MIGHT have nothing to tell their shrinks. i've spent so many years blaming my parents that i'll consider myself successful if i've raised sons that are are grateful and happy to be a part of our family culture.

every once in a while i play hooky, make time for myself during a busy day, or just leave the fone on the floor in pieces after it's inadvertently slipped off my jello gloves. if my two kids are safe, i can't be bothered to bend down. if i don't play, they pay. once my son asked me why i spent so much alone time. my answer was simple: which mommy do you like better? relaxo-mom beats the one with the lists and neuroses every time. and its not that i'm an absentee parent, i just place a higher value on the quality of the time i spend with them vs the amount. i am a working mother after all, and my time for them is entirely for them; only dad can interrupt.

I spend my days attempting to do things so opposite in the spectrum of parenting in order to provide one on one activities and attention for each kid. sometimes i win, and sometimes we all loose. the juggling, the pseudo-scheduling, the things that will perpetually go wrong: its enough to kill any childless. it's why we go all efexor on ourselves trying to raise model citizens, not to mention the pressure we sign up for under the guise of re-living the glory days and undoing the mistakes of our parents.

in order to succeed or remain competitive, parents (and all people for that matter) are expected to be in a million places at a time, taking on a variety of roles. If we are not raising our kids, we are thinking about it. having childless friends makes it easier. its nice to have a clean kid-free zone to relax in, a refuge. they in turn get nieces and nephews they don't truthfully have see at christmas, or any holiday for that matter. surrounding oneself with the childless is refreshing. no diaper talk, no need to point out the perverts in the neighborhood, just good old fashioned boring adult conversations over wine, peppered with some inevitable whining that falls on deaf ears, which is revitalizing. sometimes i even get to feel superior. and empathy is not all you need. all it takes is a friend to overlook my baby momma drama in order to gain a lick of outside perspective and go home happy to a messy apartment and mystery-stained sheets. good nite.

from FL w. love

querido patrick
te pongo al dia de la vida del chiquitito. tienes q ver como se rie esta criatura. a veces pienso q le duele la carita pq rie con todo musculo y toda fuerza. hoy subiamos, el debajo mi brazo estilo saco, yo cojeando y el perro saltando. el gordito no podia contener su estado de frenesi. apenas podia respirar. esta muestra de fieldad del animal le parecio a el gesto mas diabolicamente comico y lo hizo estallar en carcajadas. se reia como un gigante y, olvidandose q a ninguna madre se le cae un hijo, me clavaba las unas para q no lo deje escapar.
no solo es animado sino tambien feliz y saludable. le crece todo menos la nariz. es sigue siendo un boton. por lo general vamos a la playa, jugamos en el parque y escuchamos musica. los dos estamos color melcocha, lo cual nos hace ver a los mas parecidos. por lo general esta de buen humor pero se frustra cuando no puede ser independiente.
yo, ya no solo soy cocinera, babero, y payaso, sino q conforme crece tu chiki cada dia, tambien me he convertido en su chofer. q poco cerebral es esta etapa de su desarrollo. yo creo q es porque es la mas fisicamente agotadora. no me queda un segundo para intelectualizar algo q para mi se ha vuelto puramente instincto. no tengo manos, lo q tengo son dos guantes rellenos de gelatina q agito por la casa tratando de levantar objetos.
si el bebe tiene hambre, pues a comer; que si esta cagado, lo cambio; que se rio de mi mueca?, pues sigo llenandome de arrugas; esta sucio, lo bano; vomito, a cambiar la sabanas. en general estos sucesos siguen un horario continuo, pero es cuando estos eventos me sorprenden en el super o en la ducha que se vuelven mas memorables.

more background info

the early years of parenthood with N were a breeze.the stork knows what kids he delivers to what parents. you gotta trust that someone upstairs is watching out for you, or you got nothing.
little N was long and healthy, but most importantly, to all my ecuadorian and argentinian extended family, very fair. mom-in-law was not sold on the murky caramel hair color, but chamomile was suggested to my deaf ears in order to lighten the locks.
for 21 i presume i had some sense because i overlooked their comments whether positive or negative.he was like a bk whopper, i had to have him my way.
very ignorant, but resourceful, i stood in line for my free (and very expensive) formula at the wic agency, applied to all possible state health benefits and fought for scholarships to the local best early learning center. i was (and still am) very willful and have a desire to always give it my all. quickly i learned to give N all i could within my means, even if i had to let go of any sense of shame and decency i still carried over from my ridiculous upbringing.
ardently observing and learning from other parents as well as my own, were my primary saving graces. i had the good sense early on to look at my own parents and compartmentalize what was ok and what wasn't. i've spent incredible amounts of energy separating myself from the duchess (mom) and i have almost succeeded. if she was the world's worse mom, i would achieve or die trying to be her polar opposite.
N started talking in full sentences, at age 4.ever the late bloomer he received much love. i'm blessed with 3 sisters and a mother, all crazy in that latin way that makes any baby obsessed american look tame. they did all that unnecessary shopping, disney visiting and mall strolling that i rejected. the toys, the sugar, the pokemon, all came from them. to me the most valuable thing i can offer my kids is time. in south america time is abundant, so material things are equivalent to love.
it wasn't clear why i immediately rebuffed those things, but now that i have a better sense i do. just give me a wide open space two bottles of water and I'm happy. i intend to pass this on to my kids as well.

more self analisis: looking into the past

as i'm met today with a wide and varied list of problems and issues to resolve, non of which i have any remote experience with, i have been plagued with my typical pseudo analytical thoughts. these are the thoughts of a generation of self-analysts, the gen that blames parents, shrinks, prozac. i'm a half-bred imbecile, who's desperately fishing for someone to blame.

just as i had thought i was finished living my youth, knowing everything that i needed to know i became involved in a serious relationship at a young age. i was still in high school and like my flat chest, my creativity had not even began to burgeon much less peak.

i was about to go away to college when i shifted the pendulum against myself. having been accepted at my top school, a small private college, the harvard of florida they called it, i decided, maybe out of fear or ignorance, that patrick was the answer to all my questions. he wasn't. to him i was perfect and that was enough

at the time though all i could think was "why do i have to go away to find myself, to involve myself in this entire college process when the answer to it all was right in front of me with stars in his eyes. why, i could even bypass my entire twenties and just jump into married bliss immediately! how lucky! and, boy,with a man like him i don't even need to be engaged!"

so seeing myself through patrick's eyes was enough for a poor little girl from ecuador. he loved me. i was livable. i was worthy.

i agree, that at 18 i had no self esteem, or self awareness, but i also think that p was the first if not the only person at the time who accepted me as i was. i never fit into any mold, but i did fit right into his 25 year old arms. always taller than the ecuadorian shrimps, I had a knack for letting people know exactly how i felt making me unpopular with boys. as a teenager i was their buddy. "gosh gabs it's so fun hanging out with you. it's like you're not even a girl" i hear over and over again sprinkled on occasion with "you're so funny/mean."

and just as cluelessly as i dove into marriage, i walked the plank onto motherhood. how patrick allowed this i am not sure. the only logical explanation is that he was just as stupid as me.

my son was born under the guise of russian royalty. nikolas alexander read his birth certificate, and percocet read my prescription note. (this was the begining of my slow dance with prescription pills) we went home to my grandmother's where a house full of latin mammas awaited impatiently. i sat in bed as they poked and prodded my scars, my tissues, my nipples. upon examining my nursing bra gilded breasts my mom declared i was not built for breastfeeding. what did she know. all five of her kids were bottle fed. my husband was nowhere to be seen and i was able to sleep peacefully while my mother stayed for a month. the day she left i cried. i had been very ill the entire time and felt i hadn't bonded with the baby. that was my first mommy WTF moment. it suddenly became brutally real. no matter how old i was (21) how much college experience i had (none) how much money i made (zero) or how much i wanted (didn't) this baby.

cliches are cliches for a reason

if your twenties are now your thirties, then am i really twenty (!?) it sure feels like it as i have nothing fully figured out. although i go to an office everyday and perform a job that i somewhat enjoy, i have no clear career goals. I have a husband, but at the moment he's been banished miles away, and i have a 9 year old and a baby. oh and a foreclosure and many unpaid bills and angry creditors.
contrary to popular belief, none of the above make me a full fledged adult. if anything i'm a work in progress.
my dad told me once when he was watching me with my son that i was never going to fully be a grownup, and that statement floats into the veranda and saturates the peonies in my head ever so often.when i do catch a whiff , i smile because i don't ever want to loose the inquisitiveness and relentless pursuit that makes me a teenager at heart. my curiosity will never be satiated, nor will my hunger to learn.
i'm always open and willing; i always jump before i look. i break the law, and wake up late and choose between work flip flops and weekend ones.
i make my own rules and follow the tried and true ones. i'm a stickler for no nonsense tradition and against any kind of modern fetishism.i make breakfast for diner and champagne sorbetto for desert.
i've grown up with my nikolas and he's turned out just perfect so far. his neurotic, silent little soul has been my labor of love, and he's been gone now for 10 days and i miss him. he's my buddy, my pal. he needed the break from me too; i am quite intense. too much sometimes for a boy. boys need their fathers. we belonged to each other for 10 years and i cant help but feel he's slipping away some. my partner in crime, smart enough to know that i was just trying my best and savvy enough to know and be ok with the fact that his mom is not the norm. i'm not stupid, i can tell he's relieved to go over and spend the night with friends with older, more settled parents. he thrives in the deliberate, cozy feel of their homes, their kitchen tables, the full fridges, the nintendo wiis, the jello pudding.
I cannot offer him any of this. i wont. when he makes his own money he can decide what kind of household he runs. until then i'll spend my mommy time writing scholarship letters for art camps, downloading indie rock music for mix Cd's, and making sure i'm there picking him up myself from every activity. i don't like carpools and i don't like groupthink.
in this economy he no longer does very much and the days of theater, swim lessons, tennis and small sided soccer are over. the arts remain because that's intrinsic to the soul and i can always justify eating spaghetti and canned tuna for creative pursuits. call me small minded. after all i'm, just a kid myself.

i took 8 month old andes to the beach at 8am today, after i woke up with a massive stress headache, the kind that remind me that although i'm an independent thinker, i still suffer mainstream pain. Nothing but total relaxation would to cure me, and that became obvious to me quickly. i'd fallen asleep in the middle of an anxiety attack the night before, because (not very intelligently i admit) of a brain rush of negative ideas as i was winding down last night.
i couldn't stop thinking abut how fat i look and how i had to buy xl panties these week. how its hard to cut my own toenails still because of the post-post-post pregnancy pooch. you see i still look and feel 7 months pregnant. i'm not exaggerating. the proof is in the maternity swimsuit i had to wear to the beach.
up until i gave birth i was obsessed with not gaining an ounce over 30 lbs and i succeeded, thanks to a lot of exercise and self care. i was sure i would continue on a healthy path, but i didn't going to the other extreme and gaining 40 lbs.
other than my self hatred, i was also doubtful. i count not stop thing what i am doing here in florida, alone, while husband has pretty much permanently moved to you new jersey to take a job in brooklyn, a place that oddly enough has brought the best in him along with job satisfaction and self respect in a short amount of time.
and so i find myself, at 8am in palm beach, with my towel near the shore and my sling across the waist. i wear the swim ways canopy baby floating device as a hat and prepare to go into the cold refreshing water with the baby. mi chiquitito. that cool burst on my body relaxes the muscles one by one until i dive in slowly and it the cold water slaps my forehead.
mother and baby float pleasantly. i love it when andes isn't in control. he finally finds something he can have some reverence to when we are in the ocean. on land he has an army of people watching over him. it takes a village they say, and they were right.
i'm lucky in that way. i have a collection of souls that have been charmed (and rightfully so) by my children, whether it be by blood or by fate.
i try to picture myself living in brooklyn, new jersey, manhattan, long island and i cant; its impossible for me to live without my constant headache, my main stressors, my cross to bear: my 3 girls. they, along with the friends i get to see rarely, are my safety net. i can count on them to keep my head straight and help raise my kids. not to mention pick up eggs and babysit enough times a week for me to take out a fifth mortgage. plus they shower them with more love than any overworked, under dressed, sleep deprived army of moms ever could or would for that matter.
but that doesn't change my obsession. i think about them all the time. their likes, dislikes, abilities, shortcomings, college opportunities, tv programing and many many many others things too fruity to mention.
but i am deep, deeply committed no matter what to raise them. preferably with a village and on organic produce. but all i can do is the best i can, to the best of my abilities and with the education i have recieveved at the time i make life altering decisions. because they deserve better than what i had, and a pillar of motherhood. and if i die trying then i died fighting a good battle, after an upstream swim, or don draper in the trenches.