It has been a good weekend. Yesterday me and the kid went to my friends house for a little Halloween get-together. It’s the one time of year that the kid lets me put makeup on her and do something to her hair. So, that’s always super exciting.
The time is flying by so quickly. Seven and a half years and she will be off to college. Five and a half years and she will be driving. I have already spent more time raising her than she has left under my wing. And it has flown by.
So we went and did that and then we came home and changed, wiped our makeup off and cooked dinner together.
And then today went my boyfriend took us to the state fair. He spent the majority of his money on making sure the kid had a good time. He and I are going to go back later this week – just us – so that we can walk around and look at stuff and eat a bunch of shit food and look at things and people.
Every time I do things with the kid it makes me sad to continuously realize and wonder why my mom didn’t do these things with me and my brother. It is seriously such a joy to be able to spend the time with her, to watch how happy she is to have the opportunities to go and do fun things. Why did my mom choose to stay in bed doped up instead of taking me and my brother to a friends house so that we could play?
I’m supposed to meet my coworker on Thursday for dinner. I had forgotten that my schedule with the kid was a little different this week and that her dad and step-mom don’t get her until Friday. I mentioned it to my grams while fixing dinner tonight and she said “We’ll be here when she get’s home. Go have dinner.” and it’s just like ….. no. If Julie is going to be here, I’m not going to be out and about doing things without her. I was like that when she was first born and I was 19 and running the roads while her dad or my mom or my step-dad kept her overnight. I haven’t been that kind of mother in nine years. If she’s here, she’s with me. Unless I run to the store or something and she doesn’t want to go then she hangs out with my grams for thirty minutes.
When I went downstairs tonight to borrow the kids laptop (imagine that, she has her own laptop and I don’t. just like she has a flat screen TV in her room with cable and I don’t have that in my bedroom) … and I asked her if she wanted to go with me Thursday night to eat dinner with my old coworker. She said yeah, and that was that.
I’m not a perfect mother, and God knows I’ve done my share of messed up things in regard to how she was raised in the beginning – but for what it’s worth and what her memory can recollect, I’ve done a pretty damn good job with her. I often feel bad that I hate playing board games, and I never played barbie’s with her, and we gave up years ago trying to learn how to ride a bike with no training wheels because she got pissed and I got pissed and then we sold the bike. But, for what it’s worth, I’m there for her. I’m always here when she needs me. As long as I have a breath in my body, I always will be.
Because I remember so long ago watching my mother dump me off with whomever while she went out and partied all night long. I remember laying in some strange persons bed with the creepy sounds of the neighborhood, missing her and wishing that I were at home in my own bed with my mom in the house. And I remember that she would come pick me up – almost reluctantly – the next day only to go home and throw herself in the bed while I fixed my own food and went outside until dark to play with my friends. Or if that wasn’t bad enough, I’d have to get up in the mornings at eight years old and feed and change and play with my one year old brother while she slept off whatever drug-induced coma she had herself in.
Do you know how difficult it is to raise a baby when you’re a child? Do you know the agony of your mom going to “take a nap” and yelling at you because you don’t want to watch your infant brother all day? You just want to go outside and be with your friends. She is the reason I never wanted to have children. I have spent my entire life petrified that I would be just like her. I have spent the same amount of time resenting most children because it makes me have some PTSD relapse of feeling trapped with no way out or no way to live my life without the constant screaming and wailing of a small child. The first year of Julie’s life, I sat there and looked at her and felt like an eight year old raising a baby all over again. I knew exactly what to do, the motions I had to go through to make sure she was healthy and taken care of – and all the while I was looking out of the front door, wishing I could go outside and play.
My mother fucked me up. She really did a number on me.
And I look at my kid and I wonder how in the hell my mom could ever feel the way she did about me and my brother. I wonder how she could neglect us and do drugs in front of us and live with horrible men who did horrible things to her and me and my brother. I wonder what level of selfishness one must achieve to be able to blindly neglect their children and still be able to sleep at night. I can’t imagine ever doing that to my kid.
I just really wish I had her sometimes to be there for me. One day she’s going to be dead and I will either find out or I won’t, but either way I won’t go to her funeral because she died to me a long time ago. And even after she’s gone, I will miss her then, too. I will always miss her; I have memories of her that are good, even though those memories are followed up with a reason that they were good, which usually turns them into bad memories. She could be your best friend as long as you were divulging your darkest secrets. But six months later she used them against you and told everyone, and added on some embellishments that put you in the absolute worst light.
I think that she is a big reason I turn to men and am so dependent on them. Since the age of 15 I have never been single longer than a couple of months. Ever. For 14 years I have been with someone. My first boyfriend was named Andy (a different one) and we were together for almost eight months. My second boyfriend was named Randy and we were together for eight months. Then came my baby daddy, we were together a little over two years, married for eight months or so and then we went our separate ways. I dated a pretty kick ass guy named Ricky for a few months but he wasn’t ready for all of the things that came with being a parent and having a ton of responsibility. Immediately after him I ended up with Chesley for three years. Once he got done smacking me around and cheating on me I briefly dated a guy named Tim (not Andy’s brother), then he flew back to California to go home and I was with Rick for four years. After he cheated on me multiple times, I kicked his ass to the curb and Andy (not first boyfriend Andy) and I were together for a year. Now, Charlie and I are headed in the year long direction. My recurring theme here is the cheating thing because I don’t think anybody can really be happy with me long-term. I represent stability, which most people find appealing, though no much else. I find it ironic because all I’ve ever looked for is for someone to love me unconditionally so that I may finally have that stability I’ve been looking for my entire life. But the only way that can happen is if someone is devoted to me and not out fucking around or thinking about fucking around.
The more time that passes, it seems like the harder that is to accomplish. If I knew then what I know now …..