I know that traditionally, the big announcement typically comes at around the time the miscarriage risk goes away...like, around 13 weeks or so. Well, in divine Nicolioso fashion, I have delayed to let the blog community in on the news. Don't worry, I will not become a mom who writes about barf or shitty diapers or anything, I mean...I do already have a nine year old and giving the Nick Jr. daily lineup isn't really my thang!
I would like to start a separate blog about being a mom, But I promise it will be relevant, non-cheesy advice for real people who have just happened to procreate. It seems like sometimes parents believe that they have to sacrifice some element of their intelligence in order to pass it to their offspring but I believe the contrary. I believe that we can only become smarter when dealing with these new-age super humans. They aren't like other people...they are scary.
So I guess that's it y'all...I am pregnant. Um, just do me a favor and don't tell my parents, they are really gonna be pissed that I haven't moved out yet AND plan on bringing in another tenant.
Just kidding.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Mommy dearest and her slow suicide.
Seeing as though I am not really what you would call punctual and orderly, I am finding it difficult to find the time or reason to write. I mean, it isn't as though I am hard at work, being nine months pregnant and unemployed. Sure, I am "nesting" a little bit here, but I have even lost my zeal to continue to clean a house that will never really be properly cared for as long as I continue to dwell with a woman who tallies her every movement yet rarely moves (and no, I am not talking about myself).
I know I shouldn't complain about someone whom my vices with include, her complaining, but I need to vent! I need to get this off of my chest somehow. I am not sure what the problem with my mother is, or why she refuses to acknowledge that there is one at all, but it has got to stop! My mother's name is Connie. I am not sure if telling you her name is inappropriate, but I don't want anyone to feel as though I am not aware that she is a genuine human being, with feelings and her own identity. All of my life she has made me suffer a certain inadequacy by referring to me as "You people" or "Kathy Bryant" (which is her late mother's name) instead of using my name or recognizing my individuality as a person which is something that I could not see myself doing to her or anyone. You see, her mother, Kathy, was not as nice to her as she would have liked. She constantly tells us about the ways in which her mother would degrade her, boss her around, make her feel like she was unimportant in regards to herself. She tells me that her mother was selfish and only cared for her own bottom line. She has all of these memories of her mother which have left deep scars in her life, yet, when she speaks to me she doesn't realize that she is leaving the same wounds on her own children. As a matter of fact, she vehemently denies it.
Lately, my mother has reached an all time low. She is worse than she has been in years, refusing to work or even leave the house, but never taking a break from her criticisms and self praise. She is significantly overweight and has been diagnosed with heart disease for some time now, and yet, I see her on a downward physical spiral that seems to parallel her emotional one. My father, who has been her loyal husband for thirty years, is numb at best by her behavior and is definitely on his way out the door. My little sister, who is nearly eighteen this December, rarely leaves the confines of her room which has become the only escape she has... Her only way of not completely losing hope that all people aren't like our mother. My daughter, Paizlee, is nine years old and truly loves her grandma although she too is now becoming aware of the strange manner in which she isn't like other people. She now notices that her grandmother doesn't use proper and normal greetings when she sees someone, or the way she will sit around all day long and argue that her doing the dishes means she did an aerobic activity. And as for me, as for the one whom she accuses of knowing her the least, I am ready to call it quits, leave her behind as my mother and get as far away as I can before she dies. But the thought of leaving my family behind to do so is nauseating and as I mentioned, I am nine months pregnant, that I can't bear to be so apathetic. I didn't even mention the affect she has had on our 26 year old brother, whom is the only one in our family which seemed to inherit her behavioral shortcomings, but that is another story in itself.
I wish that I could just reach out and say the right thing at exactly the right time and make her see that she has got to recognize these things. I wish I could convince her to get help or just to get out of the house and go for a walk. I wish that I could show her that we aren't fooled by her manner of "Slow suicide" in which she used food and lethargy to kill herself saying "I am ready to go anyway. I can't wait to get away from all of you assholes for good.". Her immediate family is no stranger to suicide attempts and successes, and this seems to be her way of doing it in a way which it wouldn't be her own wish or fault. She want to be able to say that she believes her brother should have known that he has a lot to live for while at the same time killing herself softly, one frozen pizza and angry statement at a time.
I feel as thought this post is really opening up something inside of me that I have never allowed myself to acknowledge. I feel as though I want to tell the whole story. The story of a mother who could never be a mother and how I have learned from it. The story of a daughter who is still baffled by the manner in which people have the ability to treat one another. The way people can say one thing and mean another, or swear that they are upright when they are crawling on the ground. A story which would help me explore what exactly I need to do to get up from that very position... and how to be okay with my mother choosing to stay there the rest of her life. What do I do? Where do I begin?
I know I shouldn't complain about someone whom my vices with include, her complaining, but I need to vent! I need to get this off of my chest somehow. I am not sure what the problem with my mother is, or why she refuses to acknowledge that there is one at all, but it has got to stop! My mother's name is Connie. I am not sure if telling you her name is inappropriate, but I don't want anyone to feel as though I am not aware that she is a genuine human being, with feelings and her own identity. All of my life she has made me suffer a certain inadequacy by referring to me as "You people" or "Kathy Bryant" (which is her late mother's name) instead of using my name or recognizing my individuality as a person which is something that I could not see myself doing to her or anyone. You see, her mother, Kathy, was not as nice to her as she would have liked. She constantly tells us about the ways in which her mother would degrade her, boss her around, make her feel like she was unimportant in regards to herself. She tells me that her mother was selfish and only cared for her own bottom line. She has all of these memories of her mother which have left deep scars in her life, yet, when she speaks to me she doesn't realize that she is leaving the same wounds on her own children. As a matter of fact, she vehemently denies it.
Lately, my mother has reached an all time low. She is worse than she has been in years, refusing to work or even leave the house, but never taking a break from her criticisms and self praise. She is significantly overweight and has been diagnosed with heart disease for some time now, and yet, I see her on a downward physical spiral that seems to parallel her emotional one. My father, who has been her loyal husband for thirty years, is numb at best by her behavior and is definitely on his way out the door. My little sister, who is nearly eighteen this December, rarely leaves the confines of her room which has become the only escape she has... Her only way of not completely losing hope that all people aren't like our mother. My daughter, Paizlee, is nine years old and truly loves her grandma although she too is now becoming aware of the strange manner in which she isn't like other people. She now notices that her grandmother doesn't use proper and normal greetings when she sees someone, or the way she will sit around all day long and argue that her doing the dishes means she did an aerobic activity. And as for me, as for the one whom she accuses of knowing her the least, I am ready to call it quits, leave her behind as my mother and get as far away as I can before she dies. But the thought of leaving my family behind to do so is nauseating and as I mentioned, I am nine months pregnant, that I can't bear to be so apathetic. I didn't even mention the affect she has had on our 26 year old brother, whom is the only one in our family which seemed to inherit her behavioral shortcomings, but that is another story in itself.
I wish that I could just reach out and say the right thing at exactly the right time and make her see that she has got to recognize these things. I wish I could convince her to get help or just to get out of the house and go for a walk. I wish that I could show her that we aren't fooled by her manner of "Slow suicide" in which she used food and lethargy to kill herself saying "I am ready to go anyway. I can't wait to get away from all of you assholes for good.". Her immediate family is no stranger to suicide attempts and successes, and this seems to be her way of doing it in a way which it wouldn't be her own wish or fault. She want to be able to say that she believes her brother should have known that he has a lot to live for while at the same time killing herself softly, one frozen pizza and angry statement at a time.
I feel as thought this post is really opening up something inside of me that I have never allowed myself to acknowledge. I feel as though I want to tell the whole story. The story of a mother who could never be a mother and how I have learned from it. The story of a daughter who is still baffled by the manner in which people have the ability to treat one another. The way people can say one thing and mean another, or swear that they are upright when they are crawling on the ground. A story which would help me explore what exactly I need to do to get up from that very position... and how to be okay with my mother choosing to stay there the rest of her life. What do I do? Where do I begin?
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