I Don’t Know Who My Father Is | The side of me I don’t know

I’m almost 30…

& I don’t know who my father is. I don’t have a name or a point in the right direction. No, my mother isn’t a deaf-mute, she’s not dead, her tongue wasn’t cut from her mouth, her hands still work fine; she just refuse to tell me anything about my father. All she can tell me is that he’s dead and even that can be a lie because she doesn’t have proof. That was proven eons ago.

My mother and I were never close, but she lived with my siblings and me on and off throughout my childhood. Not once did she sit me down and tell me who my father was. Not even in a drunken stupor would she say anything, now that I think about it. I say that because when that woman is drunk, she blurts any and everything out of her mouth. It must be heavily embedded in the back of her head, locked in a lock box that she herself don’t have the key to. It’s in the family bank where there are no customers. She’s the client, teller, and security. She’s not doing good at either of those jobs.

There’s a part of me out there I have no clue about.

& It’s driving me insane. I called my grandmother begging, hoping, crying and pleading; wishing she had more information that could help figure out who my father is. She is in the dark as much as I am. I believe her when she told me she tried for years to get her to open up about my father, she just clams up and pretend she didn’t hear her. How is that fair to the children she brought into this world? I didn’t lay down and have myself.

“I love you!”

That’s the furthest from the truth and I wish she would stop saying it. A mother would tell them who their father is whether they’re dead or not, whether she turned tricks and did drugs or not. As a responsible adult, it’s the right thing to do for the children she didn’t bother taking care of but benefitted from. She was able to pick and choose which children functions she would show up to. She never showed up to ANY of mine.

Now, I know there’s this angst with bitter black women who hate the person they lay down to make mistakes with, but to continue making more mistakes once that mistake is brought into this world isn’t fair and she knows it. Her selfishness and narcissism are clouding whatever good judgment she has left; if she ever had any. I’ve never seen anyone as careless, neglectful, and selfish as her.

She already told me she hated me and there’s not 1 single “I love you” that can prove otherwise because her actions are speaking volumes. I was better off aborted.

How?

How can she look at herself in the mirror to slap on makeup everyday liking the person staring back at her? How can she be so deep in her own emotions that she’s neglecting to see that she’s hurting the very same children she swears up and down she love? How can she foolishly lay down with someone that once she got up vowed to never speak of them ever again no matter how many people beg and plead for her to speak up? How can she not give a reasonable explanation to who my father is or what he looked like? How many people did she sleep with? How is any of this fair or reasonable to me?

At this point, there’s nothing she can say that will make me hate her any more than I already do. She did her dirt so she should own up to it and stop being a coward. I just want a name at least, but I’m not even deserving of that.

She is most likely going to take the truth to her grave.

There are people, family members I will probably never know because of my mother’s selfishness; because of her shitty past. I don’t know what possible health conditions my father had and the fact that he was dead around the time I was born meant he died young, depending on who he was and how old he was. What if I passed something on to my children? What if they need a detailed health history from both my “mom” and my dad? I know I did when I needed to do certain tests for my kids. I’m so fucking tired of having to put “N/A” in the father section when it comes to providing information about him. I would like to know about the other half of me and meet his family. What if he’s actually alive? What if I’ve seen my family members and didn’t even know? What about them? There’s a possibility that they could be looking for me. Then again, my “mom” was a prostitute and if she’s this tight-lipped about my father, it’s most likely she didn’t tell anyone.

I don’t care if she was molested, raped, abused, whatever I deserve answers! She can’t drink herself into a hole where no one can reach her. She had to have known that eventually, her kids will want to know. As smart as she is she’s stupid as hell. You can’t live with your kids, beat them, verbally abuse them, neglect them since before they were born, develop memories with them, be a part of their lives and not expect them to ask questions about who they are!

There’s a level of respect and she don’t deserve it because she doesn’t respect me enough to tell me anything about the other half of me. Which is why when granny tried to make me talk to her when she was coming over when I had moved in that last time I wasn’t having it. I’m not throwing away my principles for someone who don’t even care that their kids are in the dark about who they are. Fuck that and fuck her. Blood is thicker than water, yes, but it doesn’t mean shit if that blood is useless.

I shouldn’t have to pay for something mom could tell me for free

I have to possibly find a test that can maybe, kind of, possibly give me at least a clue. If I can get that, I’d be happy. The problem is, the test cost too much for my budget, so that may be a while. In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with my mother telling me. She just doesn’t want to because she’s the victim in all of this. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about her problems. She doesn’t give a fuck about me.

I’m done giving her chance after chance to be an adult. I’m too old for this and she’s way too old for this. No amount of alcohol is going to change the past so she needs to put on her big girl panties and deal with it, because if I find out through other means, she’ll never hear from me again; which is what she most likely wants.

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25 Realizations of Raising A Little Person

This first year of being a mom has been a long one and from another person’s standpoint it’ll only get worse before it get’s better. They’re little people with a lot of attitude but they love the people who take care of them to death. They’ll drive you nuts but it’ll be your turn for payback soon enough…

The chance to snuggle your child is almost impossible. Ever tried snuggling a 12 month old while they’re awake? Yea, been there done that – won’t do it again. I have to wait till my son is conked out for the day to get my snuggles. I used to be able to kiss the bridge of his nose and hold him close. Now, I can’t even get ¼th of a snuggle without him wiggling, screaming, and pulling my hair.
Soon, you will no longer kiss them adorable little feet. I say this because they’ll eventually have an odor and unless you like foot odor on your lips, then by all means, kiss away.
They’ll want what you got all the time. I thought not being able to eat without my son staring me down until I gave him my food came later. Boy was I proved wrong today. I was eating a Hot Pocket when Adam dropped everything he was doing, crawled up to me and tugged on my shirt whining until I gave him what I had. He bullied me out of half of my Hot Pocket.
They will siphon all of your energy. When they are 2-4 months, you get to sit back and relax; watch them drool on themselves and squirm around on their bellies. You pretty much don’t have to move until it’s time to change, feed and burp them, and put them to bed. 6 months and up? Oh no. They want all of your energy and they will take it from you whether you think they can or not.
People will ask you questions you don’t want to answer. “Is he walking yet?”, “How old is he?”, “How tall is his dad?”, “How old are you?” You don’t want to answer these questions but you have to be nice to the old coot standing in line behind you at CVS.
When you think you’ve baby-proofed enough, they find ways to prove you wrong. It’s hard baby-proofing as it is but when they find ways to get into drawers you thought you secured, or you think they’re not tall enough to reach on top of your desk? Well…
Those slaps start to REALLY hurt. I mean REALLY hurt because they usually have a solid object in their hands or their hand is the size of a toddler’s foot. When they get that coördination right and they in that mood to swing at you, watch out! Then again, my son looks like he can palm a basketball. So imagine that plus not realizing the force and damage that little hand can do and you may want to sign him up for boxing lessons.
Pulling hair gets worse as they get older. The little tugs my son used to give my hair has turned into full-fledged yank and snatches. Mind as well start calling me patches because I lose a handful of hair a day.
Objectionable things some parents do in public with their children jump out at you like a tornado in a trailer park. Ever see a 3-year-old get out of a stroller, walk to the ice cream truck, pick his choice of sugar-on-a-stick, pay, get his change and then walk back to said stroller, and then watch his mom push him down the street like everything is fine as rain? I’ve seen this millions of times before I had kids, didn’t really bother me then; now it does.
You get more excited about the gift you got your child more than your child does. My 12-month-old doesn’t give a damn about the hunk of over-priced plastic I just bought him. If it lights up and keeps his attention for more than 5 seconds he’s fine. I however, simply cannot wait to see the reaction my son have when I hand him his over-priced hunk of plastic. He rains on my parade…every time.
They’re good at mind games. Ever pick up something your child threw on the floor just to have you pick it up again, just so they can throw it back down? It’s a never-ending cycle that I don’t realize I’m in until the 20th time I’ve picked up said object and handed it to him. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs — but don’t take it away then he cries, and cries, and cries. So I hand said object back to him and don’t pick it up when he throws it on the floor and he throws a tantrum. It’s do or die with this guy.
Based on how your child react to strangers will leave strangers open to tell you how good (or bad) you’re raising your child. My son smiles at everyone, almost at any given time. When he smiles at people they say, “Oh and he smiles!” They then look at me and say, “You are doing a good job raising your son!” So, if he didn’t smile at you and clap his hands, would you have told me I was doing a bad job at raising my son?
You become immune to changing diapers. They come in all shapes, textures, smells, and sizes but it phases you none whatsoever. It’ll be while before I’m done changing diapers but before I know it, he’ll be potty-trained and I get to say goodbye to diapers. Forever; or until I need them.
Catching vomit in your hand and think nothing of it. This is up there next to changing diapers on my not-so-ew meter. I realized after the first time my son barfed up a good piece of his meal on me and my desk that, it’s not so bad. It could have been worse. He could have been getting his diaper changed and in the middle of doing so, took a large crap that lands directly on my lap and I would have been fine with it. Yes ladies and gentlemen, it took flight and the last destination was indeed …my lap.
Your patience gets tested in every way possible. When they get to that age where they think they’re big and grown enough to do what they want, they test your patience. My son tests mine every single day. It’s amazing because he don’t realize that he’s trying my patience and I have a feeling he likes seeing mommy on the brink of pulling her own hair out. Like just now. He disconnected me from the internet leaving me believing I didn’t pay it this month. I’m checking my network connection, scratching my head wondering what could be the issue. He’s standing over there with my network cable in his hand staring at me smiling. He’s diabolical.
Sometimes age appropriate toys aren’t good enough. They want to play with your phone and computer and throw your things around the room like toys, as well.
You can walk around naked no more. After a certain age, you don’t want to desensitize your child with your unmentionables. I didn’t realize this until my ex-husband mentioned it to me. I love walking around in the nude. Now I’ll have to wait until my son moves out. A little part of me is dead on the inside because of that fact. 1 year down, 20 to go.
Your life is built around their schedule. It becomes even truer when they start school. I know this all too well help raising my siblings.
You may end up with a few bruises or a loose tooth if you don’t watch out. If you have one of those children who throws their weight around and by weight, I mean that big old cranium on top of their shoulders then you may want to get out of dodge if you haven’t already. Head-butting hurts you more than it hurts them.
They’re little noise machines. It keeps my son occupied when I have things to do. If he want to scream or bang on a pot and I got school work to finish, then he can bang and scream until he pass out from exhaustion. There’s a pitch though that I didn’t think existed in a little person.
When you’re not used to your child not being around, you kind of lose your mind. I realized this when the first time my son’s dad came and picked Adam up. I was watching a television show and I cut it down thinking, “Oh wait, my son is the next room sleeping, let me cut this down so I don’t wake him up”. Then I realized, he wasn’t here so I blasted my television as loud as possible; then I realized I have neighbors and cut it down just a smidget. I was able to get naked, go to sleep, take a walk. I almost forgot what it felt like to not have a child hanging off my hip.
They’re little con artists. My reasoning? Let me tell you. My son and I were at Burger King. I placed my order and was waiting to get my order. All the women behind the counter was swooning over my son. Calling him handsome, cute and chubby. He smiled and talked to them the best way he could. Why did they give him a free slushie? Where was my free slushie? Who do I have to con to get my free slushie?
They get away with murder! They get away with so many things until they’re old enough to know better. There have been times where I’ve said, “If you were older, slapping me with a sippy cup would have gotten you sent to the corner”.
They don’t care. They will go after what they want, when they want. If they don’t like you or if they don’t want you touching them, you will find out the hard way. That’s up there with getting away with murder.
They’ll be out of your hair before you know it. They’ll be grown, working, starting their own families and only showing up during the holidays. So I’m going to enjoy my rascal for as long and as much as I can.

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Extreme Separation Anxiety

I’ve witnessed separation anxiety in an infant before. She wasn’t mine but she thought I was hers.

There was a time before I had kids where when I would be around someone else kids and I don’t pay them no mind, they would try their hardest to get my attention. Anyone ever notice how persistent children are? Nah, me either. I could be sitting in a doctor’s office, minding my business when a wild jigglypuff appears! Nah, I kid — it’s just a kid who wants to climb up my pant leg and sit on my lap and grab my chin with their gums, no issue there. Kids have always seem drawn to me — I’m a complete stranger to them. Anyway, let me get to the point of this blog before I bore you to death.

It’s a time every infant go through what experts call ‘separation anxiety’. What the experts didn’t do is give it a scale; from mild to extreme. My son has extreme separation anxiety and it makes my heart sad, makes me feel bad for leaving and going anywhere without him. It makes me want to kiss him until he stops screaming “mama” and falling out (speaking of that, one day he’s going to do that and it’s going to hurt). This little dude watches everything mommy does. When mommy puts on her clothes and gets ready to go someplace, it’s like the calm before the storm. When I grab my shoes he gets worried. When I put on my sweater, his eyes start moving back and forth. When I grab my coat he starts moaning. When I reach for the keys, he’s kicking his feet while opening and closing hands. As soon as I close the door…”mama, mama, mama, mama”. It’s been bought to my attention that the mama’s doesn’t stop until he hear me coming in the house or he tires himself out.

When he wakes up and I’m sitting there looking at him, he starts crying this “why did you leave me?!” cry and he doesn’t stop this cry until he’s in my arms yanking off my glasses and trying to gum me to death.

What I need to do is to be ready. I need to find out how long this ordeal will last. Longer than terrible two’s? Longer than teething? I don’t think my face can take anymore of his gum attacks — with drool twice as lethal. I love my son but I hope all of this don’t make him into a mommy’s boy.

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The Breast-feeding Nazis

For lack of a better word…

Yes, the “I’m so anti-formula because breastfeeding was so easy for me. Those that say is hard haven’t tried hard enough” Nazi’s. Let me just say, comments like that only reinforce the “breastfeeding Nazi” myth which actually does turn people off from breastfeeding. The truth is that there are many reasons that formula is necessary and formula savesbabies lives. It is not there for lazy moms. That’s right,formula feeding your child does not make you a lazy mother. Not feeding your child makes you a neglectful mom. So whether it’s breast of formula, you’re doing the right thing.

You know, this breastfeeding stick these anti-formula Nazi’s have up their behinds is pretty cruel and unnecessary. Okay, breastfeeding was easy for you, big whoop. You tried and tried and tried although it was hard at first, you kept to your guns. You didn’t have any complications with your milk coming through. Your baby just latched on and had a good time. You didn’t have to see not one lactation consultant on many occasions because you were born to breastfeed. Now you can walk around and say, “I breastfed all of my children, everyone should do it and stop making excuses to why you’re giving your baby that poison stuff that come in the cans”. Listen when you say stuff like that, it’s obvious you’re looking for a cookie for your achievement…here take it…now sit down and be quiet, you sound ridiculous. Formula isn’t poison but your rhetoric is. You are not doing any favors for the breastfeeding nor the formula movement. You’re making the mothers who have breast cancer, AIDS, and any other disease that keeps them from breastfeeding feel worse than they already do.

It’s not up to you or anyone else to stick your nose up at people who formula fed their babies. I’m formula feeding and I’m not ashamed of it either. My son came into this world a big and healthy baby, he’s even bigger and even healthier now. He didn’t turn into a demon, or started foaming at the mouth when I feed him formula. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried for the first two months of his life to breastfeed. Nothing and I mean absolutely nothing worked. Pumped, compressed, massaged, everything. My milk just wouldn’t come down. Which is why I’m so touchy about this topic.

To say formula is the easy way out is the most redundant thing to say to a new mom. Especially to those who tried their best to breastfeed their babies. I struggled so hard to breastfeed my son and so often there is a feeling that we can’t talk about breastfeeding struggles because we might scare the mothers away from doing it and I hate that sentiment. I am a stronger believer of ‘do what is best for your child regardless of what anyone else have to say’, and I do just that. My son is good, the pediatricians says he’s fine and that’s all that matters.

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