So basement Bobby and I were talking yesterday, and he saw a documentary about babies. Apparently they use their cute little gummy smiles to ensure their security. As we all know, human babies require a longer period of time for development and more nurturing than babies of other species. Seemingly unrelated, the human baby is the only species that can smile. This is, apparently, so that when the parent sees that little smile, they forget about all the work that goes in to caring for those little guys and just want to continue to nurture and care for them.
My mind flashes back to one of my many sleepless nights in the beginning. I remember hearing Jackson crying on the baby monitor and thinking how much it sucked. But as soon as I saw his little face calm down, look in my eyes and smile at me, I wasn't tired, irritated, frustrated, or hopeless. I was just so happy to have him in my arms, feel is skin, and smell his baby breath. That sneaky bastard.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Debby Downer Does Dallas
****SPOLIER**** This entry had nothing to do with Dallas.
Hello the Bold and the Bloggiful,
I haven't written in a while--not due to to lack of important events in my life, depression, or laziness. I've actually had writers block. I didn't realize that happened to writers of such whimsy as a blog, but alas, it has. So here's what's going on in my life:
1) I opened my medical billing business (woo hoo)
2) I went on another teaching job interview and did not get the job, again
3) I had a pregnancy scare (Not pregnant, thank you sweet little 8 pound baby Jesus in a manger)
4) I went to a pentacostal church (where apparently they talk in tongues, run around, yell at you for not being a zealot, and make your baby cry). After two an a half hours, I finally got out of the srvice. Not because it was over; rather because I realized I was missing football.
5) My little man is now pulling himself up and standing more than he's sitting. Every time I go in his room and he's standing in his bed, I get a feeling I'm in one of those Paranormal Activities movies.
6) And finally I've realized I cannot trust my father alone with my son.
He was "watching" Jackson while I was getting ready for my interview, when I noticed Jackson playing on the coffee table. For most families, this would not be a big deal. But we have a special coffee table. The top is just a sheet of glass beckoning young children to knock their teeth out on it, and there are sheets of metal forming the legs. This is in fact the coffee table of death. I'm pretty sure my husband got it at the "Death to Babies and Small Children" section at Rooms To Go. And my father was letting my very wobbly son pull himself up on the coffee table and play in and around it.
Fast forward to me one my way to my interview, I get a call, and as soon as I pick up I hear my son crying. "Would you like to tell me what the f*** I'm supposed to do?!" Now this is not the first time my father has watched my son. And this is not the first time that my father has refused to listen to any guidance I give him. For example, my son is happily playing in the floor with his toys. My dad scoops him up and forces him to sit in his lap and suffocates him with a snuggle. Well meaning, but all this kid wants to do is crawl and play. I try to tell my dad this and he shouts at me, "I want to hug my grandson! I'll snuggle him if I want to!" Meanwhile, my son is crying out of frustration. Then my father hands a fussy baby to me that was just fine playing on the floor and says, "Here! He's such a mama's boy. He wants him mommy." No, actually he wants to crawl and play. And probably wouldn't mind if you shaved a bit more often and toned down the cologne. So when I got this call I knew my father had been totally oblivious to any cues that my son gave him, forced Jackson to submit to his will, and was then baffled that Jackson didn't want to go along with it.
Then shit got real. I came home and my father left without saying anything to me. A few hours later basement Bobby came up and gave me the run down of what really went down. Apparently he heard my father yelling at my son, "G**d*** it Jackson, shut the f** up!" and then when my brother came up stairs to hep, my father bitched about how I've spoiled Jackson and he's not watching him until I get my shit together. I would like to take this opportunity to say my dad ASKED to babysit. I never ask him to babysit; I usually ask my in-laws. When he finds out, he then gives me a guilt trip about how I love them more than him.
So this is what I learned from this experience: F*** guilt trips, f*** not hurting my father's feelings; my son is my first priority. I have been the target for my father's severe anxiety and anger issues and I made it through and got over it, but I will be damned if he uses my son as a target.
The End.
Hello the Bold and the Bloggiful,
I haven't written in a while--not due to to lack of important events in my life, depression, or laziness. I've actually had writers block. I didn't realize that happened to writers of such whimsy as a blog, but alas, it has. So here's what's going on in my life:
1) I opened my medical billing business (woo hoo)
2) I went on another teaching job interview and did not get the job, again
3) I had a pregnancy scare (Not pregnant, thank you sweet little 8 pound baby Jesus in a manger)
4) I went to a pentacostal church (where apparently they talk in tongues, run around, yell at you for not being a zealot, and make your baby cry). After two an a half hours, I finally got out of the srvice. Not because it was over; rather because I realized I was missing football.
5) My little man is now pulling himself up and standing more than he's sitting. Every time I go in his room and he's standing in his bed, I get a feeling I'm in one of those Paranormal Activities movies.
6) And finally I've realized I cannot trust my father alone with my son.
He was "watching" Jackson while I was getting ready for my interview, when I noticed Jackson playing on the coffee table. For most families, this would not be a big deal. But we have a special coffee table. The top is just a sheet of glass beckoning young children to knock their teeth out on it, and there are sheets of metal forming the legs. This is in fact the coffee table of death. I'm pretty sure my husband got it at the "Death to Babies and Small Children" section at Rooms To Go. And my father was letting my very wobbly son pull himself up on the coffee table and play in and around it.
Fast forward to me one my way to my interview, I get a call, and as soon as I pick up I hear my son crying. "Would you like to tell me what the f*** I'm supposed to do?!" Now this is not the first time my father has watched my son. And this is not the first time that my father has refused to listen to any guidance I give him. For example, my son is happily playing in the floor with his toys. My dad scoops him up and forces him to sit in his lap and suffocates him with a snuggle. Well meaning, but all this kid wants to do is crawl and play. I try to tell my dad this and he shouts at me, "I want to hug my grandson! I'll snuggle him if I want to!" Meanwhile, my son is crying out of frustration. Then my father hands a fussy baby to me that was just fine playing on the floor and says, "Here! He's such a mama's boy. He wants him mommy." No, actually he wants to crawl and play. And probably wouldn't mind if you shaved a bit more often and toned down the cologne. So when I got this call I knew my father had been totally oblivious to any cues that my son gave him, forced Jackson to submit to his will, and was then baffled that Jackson didn't want to go along with it.
Then shit got real. I came home and my father left without saying anything to me. A few hours later basement Bobby came up and gave me the run down of what really went down. Apparently he heard my father yelling at my son, "G**d*** it Jackson, shut the f** up!" and then when my brother came up stairs to hep, my father bitched about how I've spoiled Jackson and he's not watching him until I get my shit together. I would like to take this opportunity to say my dad ASKED to babysit. I never ask him to babysit; I usually ask my in-laws. When he finds out, he then gives me a guilt trip about how I love them more than him.
So this is what I learned from this experience: F*** guilt trips, f*** not hurting my father's feelings; my son is my first priority. I have been the target for my father's severe anxiety and anger issues and I made it through and got over it, but I will be damned if he uses my son as a target.
The End.
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