Parents Please STOP! You and Your Child Are NOT a Special Snowflake

I love STFU Parents Blog http://www.stfuparentsblog.com/. I may have posted things as a parent in the past that are considered overshare  But honestly, nothing as bad as some of the things I’ve seen up there. Some of those posts, whether it’s crazy mommyjacking, or a picture of somebody’s hoohah wide open until you can look up the canal and see the baby’s living room, are just super insane.

Speaking of insane, I give you this link:

http://www.ksdk.com/news/world/article/380371/28/Starbucks-diaper-change-ends-with-call-to-police?sf12781216=1

Yeah. If you feel that this okay, I’d like to come to your house and poop at your dining room table. I swear I’ll be quick and clean it up right afterwards.

I’m so confused… do I eat here or go potty?

Because this is what these privileged parents did. They changed their child’s diaper in an eating/drinking area, had a hissy frackin fit when they were told to clean up. And then threw their coffee on the ground because the workers there were so rude!

I hate people.

Seriously, there is one thing I really can’t stand in the world, and that is privileged parents that think that their children are gods and should be allowed to do whatever they want, whenever they want. If little Bobby decides to come to your house and murder your cat “while playing” you shouldn’t be pissed. He’s just precocious!

This isn’t exactly that situation, but why do you think other restaurant goers want your baby’s potty particles all up in their nose and mouth? I don’t want to smell my own bathroom mess, let alone your child’s stanky Similac behind.

A friend asked the question if I was against breast-feeding in public too?

No. NO. Two VERY different things!

Feeding makes sense because guess what? You are in a restaurant! Everyone should eat. Whip out your giggles and feed your monster baby.

But, how does the saying go? You don’t sh** where you eat, and neither should your spawn.

My monster teen, when he was a little nuisance, had complete blowouts whenever he went in his diaper.  As a young parent I got peed and number 2’d on. Just think if I was the parents in the story above changing one of THOSE diapers in a public place where people are eating and drinking. Yeah, that turns my stomach too.

Take that changing pad back to the bathroom with no changing table and lay it on your lap in a stall, or lay your child on the floor or sink. Take your monster out to your car and change their diaper.  Do not make this an accidental scat or golden shower moment while I am sipping my latte.

And frack Starbucks for apologizing. You are just allowing these kind of idiots to continue to act this way.

Makes me wish that there was a law that you couldn’t have children unless you passed a common sense and common decency questionnaire. I swear, it would cut down on welfare lingerers. And parents that think children should be worshiped.

We need… Willy Wonka.

 

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The Girl Grows and Asks Questions; The Child I Gave Away

The Monster Teen was born when I myself was nothing more than a teenager. I was a geek screwed up in the head, learning to be tough (and ghetto) to act out against the horrible separation/divorce that my parents dragged me into the middle of. I’ve touched on my parent’s separation a lot, I know, but only because so much of that helped shape me to who I am today. Let’s move on.

I never wanted kids. When I was a child, I never played house where I was the housewife. When people tried to get me to play that role, I’d argue or asked to be the husband or child. When playing alone, I was always someone with an awesome career. Maybe a teacher, and actress, a spoken word performer. Whatever it was, there were no children involved. I think in the back of my mind I always believed that when a woman had a child, her life ended.

But I did get pregnant with the Monster Teen. My father, who pretty much had chosen career and friends over his family had long since moved a couple of states away. When he found out, he called me to say that I was a whore, a slut, who might as well have 4 more kids and get on welfare, because I was NEVER going to make anything out of myself.

Luckily for Baby Monster Teen and I, even though I am pro-choice, I couldn’t let the growing creature I carried be killed. To me, it wasn’t fair to snuff out his life just because I didn’t protect myself from pregnancy. So I let the baby monster be born. And he changed my life for the better. I know that I would’ve grown to be a much more selfish and self involved person if I hadn’t had him to raise. But then, fast forward 4 years, and I found myself again at another crossroads.

While young/dumb/in deep depression and on my first tour in the military overseas, I made the same mistake again. Unprotected smexy times, because I forgot to refill my birth control. I swear I knew the moment it was done that I was pregnant again. And sure enough I was right.

I ranted and railed at myself. I prayed to God to change things, to let it be all in my head, to erase what was growing inside of me. I just could NOT do this again. There was not enough love in me to love another child. I knew instinctively that this was a girl child, and all I could think was that my personality was not caring enough to take care of such a soft sensitive creature (no matter that I was girl too). I saw my dreams crashing down. To be bogged down with the care of not just one child, but TWO. That through my faults I was becoming exactly what my father suggested! A whore no better than those aunts and cousins that sat with their legs open, asking for a handout.

I couldn’t do it, but again, I couldn’t destroy the life. And that is where my best friend came in.

We’ll call her Florida for these purposes. I’d met Florida only about a week after arriving to my base overseas. She was around the same age as me, new to the military, and geeky in her own way. Although we were of a similar age, her maturity level was higher than mine at the time (see last time’s post about trying to fit in) and she kind of took me in like a little sister. Coming from being the oldest and having a lot of responsibility in my immediate family, this was a breath of fresh air. Especially as I was going through a deep bout of depression with missing my son, missing home, and then, becoming pregnant again.

I went to her, in a borderline hysterical state of what to do about this pregnancy. And she had an answer that even today shocks me with the blessing it was for all those involved. You see, even though both Florida and I were baby 20 somethings, she wanted children. She was the exact opposite of me. She was proud to play the mamma when playing house. She wanted to have a career yes, but even that was to teach to young children. She wanted children right away, and the more the merrier. Her parents had her very late in life, so she wanted to have grandchildren before they passed away. But she wasn’t married. And she didn’t want to just get pregnant by a random person. And here I come with an answer to HER dilemma.

So that day, I sat there telling her my problem. That the dude had gone crazy, trying to force me to have an abortion.

“I can’t get an abortion, but I don’t, I can’t raise another child!”

She came to a decision.

“Let me adopt the baby.”

I laughed at her that day, shocked out of my depression. I was like yeah right, She could raise the baby, and since we were best friends I would get to know the child, and be in her life even though I couldn’t raise her myself.

“Exactly,” said Florida. She was serious. And I felt my heart lurch with so many emotions. Somehow, this blessing fell upon me and the Girl not yet born. We planned it out, right then and there, though I still didn’t really believe. We were leaving for our next assignments in a few months, and I would continue the pregnancy. When I got close, I would take leave and come to her base, so that she would see her child being born. She would raise her with the knowledge that I was her birth mother, that she had an older brother, that she was blessed with double the family of a normal child. That I would be her Godmother. We talked of how, if one day she wanted to come to me and stay with me, we would allow it to happen. That we would be open and honest with her and each other. A great plan that we both agreed on and thought was best.

Everyone else though, were against it.

I didn’t tell my mother I was pregnant until I was about 7 months pregnant, and already stationed back stateside in the Midwest  Even when I had first come back to the states I hid it, spending time with my son and family without letting them know the secret plan. When I told her, lord, she was so angry. She begged me to keep the child, to let her stay with her grandmother until I was ready to raise her myself. Hadn’t she taken my son while I was in my first enlistment, going through basic training, school and then overseas for a year?!

She didn’t understand. I saw my gut instinct future. That I did not have the same connection as I did with little MT. That if I kept her, there would be that underlying resentment of being saddled with a child I didn’t want. Why do that to a child when there was someone ready and willing to love her with all of their being as a mother should?

We argued right through the Girl’s birth and a year or so afterward. Before she was born, she’d told others in the family about my decision, and all of them had harsh judgment for me. My aunt and uncle on one side of the family who were childless, why didn’t I think of them? My Aunt on the other side of my family, who’d been trying for a child, why didn’t I think of her? My evil cousin and her mother spread rumors that Florida had brainwashed me and was my lover, that had to be why I was giving away my child. My command at my new unit tried to force me to keep the baby, saying that they would allow me to take my son back early, before I re-enlisted. I could move out of the barracks if I said I planned to keep the child.

And it wasn’t just on my side. Florida had friends and family members saying that I was going to change my mind, or take the girl away once they’d had a couple of years together. That I had to want something else out of the deal.

But the day came to give birth. And Florida was right there, the first to hold her newborn. I signed the papers for adoption right then and there. And even when my mother called a couple of hours later saying that she would NEVER let me have my son back until I took back custody of the Girl, well even that conversation (that made me have a screaming incoherent anxiety attack) did not change my mind or heart on the choice (My mother apologized for her outrageous threats after I threatened for her to NEVER meet her other grandchild, and my mother and I repaired our relationship over the next couple of years). There was no guilt. No feeling in my heart that I had done wrong. I loved the girl unconditionally, but she was not my child. That mother/daughter connection forged itself between Florida and the Girl as soon as they touched.

And so years past. The Girl gets older. And at 10 she starts to asks questions. She is trying to find her place in the world. Is her family her family? Is her mother her mother? Do the boys Florida had later on after she married count on the same level as brothers like my son? I knew the day would come, but I thought I had more years. She asks about her biological sperm donor. I tell her his name and wait for more. Is she going to ask why she’s never met him? Do I tell her I cut off all contact when he threatened my life, demanding that I have an abortion or give him the child? That he got drunk and appeared in my room somehow while I was sleeping, threatening me until I had some male friends threaten HIS life? Do I tell her it came down to letting him believe that the Girl might not be his, letting him believe what he’d already accused me of, sleeping around on him while we were dating, just to keep him from stalking and harassing me?

One day I will have to tell this to the gentle soul that looks like the spitting image of me. She may grow to hate me for the things I did, the decisions I made. She looks up to me now as like a cool aunt kind of person, a person she wants to emulate. And it hurts my now older and humbler heart. Even after the years have passed I still believe I did the right thing. I gave her what I could. And hopefully, as she grows, and ask more questions, and understands, and gains deeper knowledge on life, love and the universe… Maybe then, she’ll still look at my heart and soul, and understand.

Fun With Side Effects! Yay!

I would probably be a bad mother if I continue to giggle as my son has the skin crawlies/twitches from his new ADHD medicine right? I guess I’ll try to keep the snorts to a minimum, but he he’s jerking around and looking like he got a bad batch of something. Luckily between laughter I was able to tell him he wasn’t crazy and it was a side effect I’d seen in children before.

It happened Thursday (about a week of him taking the meds). He’s sitting at the table, playing and online game while I relax on the couch, doped up for my back. I glance over at him as he twitches, shakes it off, then twitches again.

Me: what the heck is wrong with you?

Monster Teen: I’ve been feeling like something was crawling on me all day! But there’s… Nothing. *twitch, twitch*

Me: *pause as I think, lightbulb!, stands up and points at him* oh snap! Stephen Mtyzplizk!

Monster Teen: whaaaa?

Let me explain. Once upon a time before I joined the military, I spent a little more than a year as a pre-school teacher. If the pay had been better I might have never left, although I always wanted to join the military. Anyways, during that year I was pretty much a teacher for the 4/5-year-old class, those that would go on to Kindergarten next year. A class of 24, and there’s only on person’s name I remember: Stephen Mtzylpltzik (the name has been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent). Stephen, from his mother account, had severe ADHD. I’m not so sure about that. I just know in my 17/18-year-old mind, I thought he might truly be the Anti-Christ.

Stephen would come in screaming and crying and trying to run away everyday. He’d yell at everyone, saying he hated them. Even his mother. He’d grab the edges of the front door and scream as his mother tried to remove his fingers and we tried to pull him in and close our security door. We’d try to distract him as we got him into class. Usually that would only end in bribing with chocolate chip cookies (mother approved).

Stephen would also take his dose of Ritalin that morning at the daycare. Why his mother didn’t give it to him at home, I don’t know. I do remember it being chew-able and apparently nasty flavored because he needed juice and another cookie to get the taste out of his mouth. And then he would begin to act like a normal child… For a couple of hours anyway. But boy oh boy would the side effects start to kick in.

He didn’t want to eat lunch. No appetite. And he couldn’t take a nap. He’d sit there on his mat rocking back and forth, picking scabs. Stephen would pick at his skin until his nose, scalp, and arms bled. And after nap time, when it was outside, or indoor play time, well that’s when he really lost his teacups. Stephen hallucinated. And it wasn’t anything pretty. He saw bugs… What he called buggies, everywhere. His scratching went up a level, he’d start to twitch like a crackhead missing a dose, and he’d mumble under his breath about the buggies. Before you feel sorry for him, around this time of day he also became an extra from Children of the Corn. He’d push, pinch, hit, trip, make cry all the other students he could whenever the teacher’s eyes weren’t directly on him. And I will admit that after trying the nice tactic of moving him gently away and softly trying to tell him that we don’t hurt our friends… well one day I finally lost MY teacups dealing with him. To be fair, this was after a week of writing incident reports, him cutting out 666 and pasting it as his artwork one day, and getting injured trying to keep him under control. I began to use his hallucinations against him. I told him I could make the buggies appear if he didn’t behave. And once I told him that, they didn’t actually “appear” to him unless I told him they were there when he was terrorizing another child. The power of suggestion for the muthafrackin win!

Anyway, I really expect to see Stephen Mtzyplzk as a Senator or serial killer one day. As for my monster teen, I explained that all to him, and said that his twitches were probably normal as he got used to his meds, but to tell his doc about it at his next appointment. Of course my son said I’m evil for how I treated Stephen, but how should you treat a real life demon child in your class? Monster Teen luckily only has the one side effect. If he starts drawing 666 though, this test of ADHD medicine is at its end!

You sound like a tuba farting in the bathroom… and Ninja Airlines

Seriously it just happened

Monster Teen decided to use the upstairs bathroom just a while ago, and it (the odious back-blast from his badonk) shook the first floor of our apartment.

Since Monster Teen is almost off his “Super Grounding Z” (patent pending), we’ve been slightly having fun with each other. Which means we get to have cool convos with each other again. Yay! My son was actually reading my poetry and giving his own interpretation for each. Which is cool, because since he plans to be the best percussionist EVAR, and write his own songs for his fantasy band, if my writing skills did some slimy leaking into his genetics – well I’m ecstatic!

Of course, then we had to go weird and think up Ninja Airlines.

So here was how it started. So I was talking about how chilly it’s getting and him needing some long johns. But I called them ninja pajamas. I call them ninja pajamas because the military issues long johns. and at one point they were black and silky. And they had little thumb-hooks. So cool. And so, if you were just running around in your long johns for spits n giggles, you’d feel all ninja-like.

Ahem. Anyway, so I’m explaining that all to the Monster T because he asked why I called them ninja PJs. And then he pointed out that our long johns are now tan-colored. So I explained that it’s for desert ninjas.

Monster Teen: But why would ninjas be in the desert?

Me: Ninjas are needed everywhere, and need to be able to blend.

M.T.: But how we they get there?

Me (with complete sincerity): Ninja Airlines, of course.

M.T. (pretending to be an airline attendant): Welcome to Ninja Airlines… I’m not sure if you are actually here, so I hope you enjoy your flight.

Me: Please remember that there is no jutsu while the plane is in the air. Only before take-off and after landing.

M.T.: No summons allowed in the seats. Yes, I know that they aren’t really pets and can talk and have awesome powers, but they must be left in pet carriers.

Me: Please no trying to jump out of the plane to run at ninja speed through the trees. We are NOT turning around to pick you back up.

Monster Teen: And please, do not try to hypnotize the pilot. We may crash.

I love my spawn. Giggle-snort.

😀

God is an alien and put alien babies under my skin – Rare medical condition woes

God is frackin with my debut of becoming a Vampire Ninja Kitty

I really think that God looked at my life, saw it was too easy 10 something years ago, and decided to press a button “just to see what happens”. Some people just want to watch the world burn, but God wants to see if he can drive you as insane as I believe he is.

So today was my birthday. Instead of enjoying that I had 2 huge problemos: my monster teen’s meeting with juvenile services, and a rare disease that showed up in my life about 10 years ago.

For the MT: he received some hours of community service and an essay for punishment. I told him he should be thanking the crazy man upstairs because that would’ve been waaaay worse. The rare disease though, I can blame no one but God and the faulty body he gave me.

Hidradenitis Suppurativa. Sounds weird and foreign and disgusting. Weird it is. Disgusting… Well, you google that and see some pictures and tell me what YOU think. Don’t worry, I’ll wait for the dry heaves. We good? Ok.

For those not brave, pffft, HS is a weird disease that doctors still are trying to figure out. You get cysts, or abscesses, in folds of your skin that are painful and start to swell. They can be the size of a dime, or the size of a baseball. There’s no tried and true treatment for it, as I’ve been on almost every antibiotic known to the US. Stress, heat, and weight can play a factor. I get these bundles of hell every couple of months. Sometimes a flare can be just a small knot under my arm, or behind my ear. Other times I may have 4 all in the creases of my groin. Seriously… There’s no telling how many doctors around the world that have seen my giggles and bits.

I don’t have as bad a case as others. Many friends of mine that I’ve met through support groups have it so bad that they’ve had multiple skin grafts from the skin getting thin after flares have ravaged an area. I was close to it at one point, about to lose half of a lip – not on my face. Luckily the skin thickened to where it stopped tearing constantly.

The problem as a whole is the new doctors who seem to lose their sh*t… Excuse me… Seem to lose their knowledge of how things work when an HS sufferer comes in. I was told to bathe more today. Dude, I take at least 2 showers a day. I’m sitting in the frackin bathtub right now as I write! HS is not a hygiene issue! I was treated today like I was overreacting to a needle going into the area between my front bits and my back bits. I dare any of you to be calm cool and collected when getting first a needle shoved in there, and then, because lidocaine NEVER numbs the whole area, feel as your skin there is cut open. And then packed with gauze so it can heal from the inside of. Oh, and that gauze that was stuffed into that gaping hole in your skin, it has to be changed daily. I’ve had this happen so many times that I’ve lost count. And let’s not talk about the idiot nurse who talked of removing this cyst being a cure. Chick, this disease is like Freddy and Jason, it ALWAYS comes back.

Of course, other than the docs and a few close friends, you don’t want to talk about a medical condition like this. Its embarrassing! It’s also embarrassing to limp around and people constantly asking you what’s wrong while you’re just trying to keep from “rubbing the wrong way”. Its depressing, to know that this disease may never end. That at times, when you have a significant other, you can’t be intimate with them because either you’re oozing or just in pain.

But you deal. Because for some reason God wants to frack with you. And even through the pain and tears, you know you are strong. Heck, I’m going into work tomorrow bright and early. I just may stand up all day.

My son is lucky that he’s one of the few children I actually like…

Conversation with my teenager:

Monster Teen: Argh! My back hurts so bad!

Me: Lay on the floor and I’ll crack your back.

Monster Teen: How are you going to do that! Isn’t that dangerous?

Me: Monster Teen, how can cracking your back be dangerous?

Monster Teen: Couldn’t that give you scoliosis or something?

O_o

Me: Boy, I’m about to slap the “special moment” out of you.

*Monster Teen has his own theme song. Whenever he says or does something so absurd like the conversation above I sing “Speciaaaaal… Momeeeeents… dodo-dodo-dodo”*