Trust Issues

Grandma has invited the kids over for a visit next weekend. Mini Momma is running in a three mile race and Grandma thought it would be nice for the little ones to be there cheering her on. She asked to have the kids sleep over the night before the race. This is the same weekend I will most likely be driving an excruciating 6 hours (one way) to fetch Esperanza and her things to move her back home. I need to make up my mind about what to do with the kids, yet this decision feels very hard to me. I don’t want to be so far away from the little ones when they are visiting Grandma. Especially when my travel time depends on so many things out of my control. As the family therapist said, “It’s telling that you trust the 18 year old more than Grandma.” But, it’s true. Not only because of what happened in the not so distant past, but also from what seems like lack of structure and supervision, plus the sense that Grandma tries to cut me out of things, like developing relationships with siblings and whatnot. So, yeah, I do trust Primero to watch the kids when I’m not there versus sending them to Grandma’s. And, while I do think having the kiddos there is a nice gesture, in reality Love Bug will hate it and Chica Marie will most likely whine, a lot. I assume Grandma will take their older cousin along because it seems she spends a lot of time watching Love Bug. He likes her, so that’s a good thing, it’s just standing around watching a race really isn’t his thing. Chica Marie might be excited to go along, but her excitement will soon turn into annoyance when she is left sitting and watching others run. Unless she is given some form of screen entertainment, which I use so sparingly. It is effective in distracting the children, which is precisely the problem.  If the kids are sleeping over and their past sleep-overs are any indication, Mini Momma won’t be getting much sleep the night before her race. The girls are known to stay up watching movies on the iPad, making for some sleep-deprived girls. Love Bug is not given a nap when visiting, so he often returns grumpy as well.

 

As it stands right now, I told Grandma we might be away the weekend in question. I would honestly rather not spend the majority of the weekend stuck in a car with the two kids, so I would be hard pressed to bring them along. Due to some issues with Primero and his unwanted friend, I’m hesitant to leave him home alone, without the kids being there. He would be a better ride along buddy, but I think it’s a hard sell for him. Grandma demanded dates the little one’s might available and I told her, at the moment my life is kind of on pause because it depends on how my mom’s surgery goes on Thursday. I need to keep myself available to help her recuperate and keep fighting this awful disease. Grandma offered to take the kids, if need be, and I said thank you, but in my mind that would only stress me out more, so um no. It’s not going to happen. So, I still owe her some dates for the kids to visit because I don’t want there to be an issue, although I don’t know what could become of it since all the kids are now officially adopted. I wish things weren’t so strained between us, it would be nice if I could trust her, but it is what it is.  

It's a Small World Afterall

We have lived nearly four years in the same town as the little one’s mother and have never accidentally bumped into her. Until this past weekend, that is. I took the kids to the local Cinco de Mayo festival and we weren’t there long when we encountered a familiar face. Their mom confessed she was nervous about approaching us, which I can understand. The kids haven’t seen her since the summer of 2016. I had tried to connect with her a few times, but she changes her phone number so often, it’s hard to keep up. I snapped a few pictures of her with the kids, mostly for Chica Marie because she craves information about her mom. But, when I asked her how I could get them to her, she suggested I ask her mom. At one point, I thought she had flaked out on us, since she insisted on going to buy the kids a snack (Love Bug was hangry at the time and since he saw someone with an ice cream cone, he was demanding one), but we waited for what seemed to be a much longer time than it should take. We tried walking to the CVS to find her, only to see the CVS was closed. I really started worrying, thinking she left and now I needed to explain to the kids. But, just after I bought them shaved ice, she popped back up with a bag of goodies. She explained she had to walk 2 blocks to find a bodega to buy some goodies. Love Bug was mostly unfazed by seeing her, he doesn’t really have a memory of his mom. Chica Marie was soaking up the attention, having her mom hold her and dance with her. I thought Chica Marie might have a reaction after the whole exchange, but she didn’t seem phased by it all. One thing she seemed stuck on was when she kept calling her mom “Mommy V” instead of just saying mommy. I told her she could call her mom mommy and she thought that was strange. I explained to her it was fine to call us both mommy because we were both her mom’s and she seemed satisfied with that explanation. Love Bug, living in his own little world, was mostly just excited to have snacks.

 

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Parenting is Hard

Primero and I had a disagreement with one of his friends staying at our house and popping up when no one was home. I was adamant about the friend leaving and Primero was just as adamant about the young man staying. We squared off, each taking a corner. I tried to be reasonable, I have the kid a choice. He could re-enroll in high school (he recently dropped out), enroll in a GED class (I gave him the information about two programs), or get a job. I made it very clear that sitting on my couch and playing video games all day every day was not a life style choice I was supporting. I gave him two weeks, setting a firm date. Week one went by and he did nothing, made no visible effort. As week two was ending I asked him about how his job search had been going, giving him the information again about the GED program. The day his time was up, he messaged me stating he was expecting a call about a job in two days. I guess he thought I would give him more time. But, I was firm, this was not ok with me not to mention the fact that having him home and on the TV/PlayStation all day long was really driving my electric bill through the roof. This in addition to an extra mouth to feed and whatnot. So, he left. Except he didn’t. Primero was letting him come back to the house behind my back. And *DING* we are knock-down, drag-out fighting. No holds bar. I tried to remain calm, tried to remain reasonable, tried to get Primero to see reason. He was so angry, spitting angry. And so he spit at me the harshest things, the things he knew would cut me to the quick, deep and painful. I tried telling myself he didn’t mean it, he was just angry. But, I physically feel the pain from his tongue lashing. My soul hurts from him telling me we don’t have a mother-son bond, demanding I stop calling him my son because he wasn’t my son anymore. He threatened to leave, to walk out and not come back. I reigned myself to his absence. I don’t know what changed his mind, but thankfully he decided to meet me at home after work to talk about everything. There was still a lot of anger, but it seems we are over the hump at the moment. I still worry the next shoe will drop when I tell him I don’t want his friend back over for a long, long time. Parenting is so hard!

Mother's Day PTSD

My mother is scheduled to have her major surgery on May 10^th. This date would have been my tenth wedding anniversary, in a life where my husband wasn’t a cheating jerk. But, if you are living in the U.S. and not under a very large rock, you happen to know May the tenth is awfully close to the dreaded Mother’s Day celebration. Ugh! Every year I think, “I’m going to get through Mother’s Day gracefully” and every year I’m the total opposite. This year, I feel like I have Mother’s Day PTSD, especially after last year’s ordeal. I would gladly eschew the entire holiday, except that is not an option with my mom/family. Usually I just grin and bear it, then sob later when I’m alone. It has never occurred to my family to do anything for me, since my children are young and I don’t have a husband. I think my sister got me a card once. This year, because my mother will be in the hospital, I feel like I am free to do whatever I want. What I would really, really like to do is go away. Go anywhere but home. Go and forget that it’s the dreaded day. Go and just reconnect with the kids, somewhere without cell service and social media interruptions. Alas, this is not possible, but a girl can hope can’t she? If I had the equipment, I’d take the wee one’s camping (there’s no way on this earth Primero would go camping. I don’t even think he’d be down for glamping). I still feel the obligation to visit my mom and take her some flowers. I’m sure it would hurt her feelings if I didn’t do a little something. My sister had talked about visiting for Mother’s Day weekend, but I don’t know if she will now that my mom will be recuperating. For me, just realizing that this date is fast approaching is making me feel anxious and depressed. I’m dreading it, wishing it was already over. Intellectually, I know I should do something for myself, practice some self-care, but this feeling of impending disaster makes it hard for me to think clearly and logically. I wish I had a fairy godmother who could wave a magic wand and amazing things would appear. But, I’m not Cinderella and magic isn’t real (sorry Harry Potter fans), so I will have to decide to find a way to celebrate myself or get out my blinders and totally ignore the day.

Know Better, Do Better

I posted the following on Facebook, just gently pointing out how I felt,

"I wasn’t going to say anything, I was going to keep quiet, keep it to myself. But, in light of National Infertility Awareness Week #flipthescript, I’m going to try to voice something, hoping to not offend anyone. You see, I think when we know better we can do better and so I’m putting this out there, hoping we can develop some traditions that celebrate non-traditional ways of becoming a parent and creating a family. Where I work, we like to celebrate things. We have a chocolate fest/contest on Valentine’s Day, we recently hosted an international food day and we celebrate one another when happy things happen, like people retiring, getting promotions and having babies. In the past 6 months or so, there have been 3 baby showers at work. Now, I have personal issues when it comes to baby showers, so I don't attend because ugly crying is frowned upon at such occasions of joy. Still, I support celebrating a mom-to-be and her pending little one. I think it's a lovely thing to celebrate to shower the new momma and baby with necessities and adorable baby clothes. Two weeks ago I also became a mom, although I had no swollen tummy to show for it. Still, it was a happy thing, an official addition to our family. Sadly, it went wholly uncelebrated at work, barring a few hearty congratulations. Perhaps, the adoption wasn't very well known, since there were no outward signs of the impending addition to my family. So, I get it. There aren't any traditions regarding adoption like there are for biological children. But, maybe shouldn't there be? Is my motherhood less than because I don't have stretch marks and a birthing war story? Are my children less deserving of celebration (please note, I'm not trying to get things. A simple card would have made my day) because they didn't grow inside of me? Couldn't the finalization of our adoption be "showered" just like an impending baby? My point to all of this is to get you to think. In the fertile world there is tradition to celebrate adding to your family. Why shouldn't adoptive families have the same recognition? So, if you know a parent or parents-to-be waiting for that day when they officially become family, find a way to make them feel special, just like you would for a biological family. Because we all deserve our happiness to be celebrated."

I was worried it might offend or upset someone, because I'm friends with various co-workers on Facebook. I was pleasantly surprised when I got positive responses, thanking me for helping them to see things differently. And, two co-workers went together and got us a card and gift card to a local mini-golf and ice cream place. Apparently, they have a friend who is in the process of becoming a foster-adoptive family and what I said resonated with them. They never thought to recognize adoption in a similar vein to a biological child. As they said, it wasn't on their radar. So, I'm glad I didn't hold back, I'm glad I posted something even though I felt uncertain and worried. I'm glad that there are two more people in the world who "get it" in a way they didn't before. As I said, if you know better you can do better. Kudos to them!

No Adoption Celebration

Apparently, where I work no pregnant belly equals no celebration. No card. No balloon. Just a nice verbal, “Congrats” from a few people and back to business as usual. Do you know what this means to a mom like me? How under-valued it makes me feel? How dismissive of my family and my children who were not formed inside of me? By not acknowledging my family, by not celebrating the adoption of my children, my fellow co-workers have basically just told me adoption is not supported in our workplace. I’m not going to lie, it hurts. I really held out hope there would be some form of fanfare, but I don’t even get a fan. Just, nothing. Crickets.

 

Our daycare kindly gifted us two balloons and a card all the staff signed, which made me teary-eyed. The Family Based therapists gifted us a very generous gift card to a local restaurant/arcade, which we used the day of the adoption. Their kindness was very validating and welcomed. These weren’t extravagant gestures, but they were very appreciated because it acknowledged and celebrated our non-traditional family. I’m the kind of person who tries to give others the benefit of the doubt, I try to give reason and explain why someone might do something other than them just being a shitty person. So, I tell myself that my co-workers aren’t heartless anti-adoption folks, they just don’t have a built-in tradition to celebrate adoption, like they have for women birthing babies. I could adopt my children and never have anyone know I’ve done it. I don’t have the evidence of a protruding belly and months away from work to out me. But, really I waited to post this for over two weeks because I honestly thought they might do something, a card or an email or a balloon or an announcement in a staff meeting – something! I understand there are more unknowns in adoption, given our adoption almost didn’t happen with a lot of last minute craziness, but even after the fact – bupkis. Sadly, my official entrance into motherhood for the two little ones was not revered as the three women who were showered with food and gifts, their swollen belly’s admired, their fertility flaunted for all to see. Is it any wonder I hate baby showers?

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

A Baby in Your Tummy

One of the daycare teachers in Love Bug’s classroom is expecting. I’m sure it’s something that has been explained to the kids, in an age-appropriate way. Love Bug has never said anything about it but he has been doing this thing lately where he asks to “be a baby in your tummy” and then he crawls under my shirt and cuddles there for a little while before coming back out. He insists he was once a baby in my tummy, even when I explain to him that he wasn’t. Chica Marie has also made comments about being a baby in my tummy and I know she knows that it isn’t true. Love Bug seems to have baby fever at the moment. He loves looking at the pictures of himself when he was a baby but he also likes seeing Esperanza’s friends baby and the few pictures we have seen of his brand new nephew. He likes playing with baby dolls, calling them his babies. Sometimes, he shoves the baby doll under my shirt to be a baby in my tummy. Most of the time I look at it as just a stepping stone in childhood development, his understanding of familial roles and how families are formed. But, sometimes it’s a gut-punch because not only did Love Bug not grow in my tummy, no baby ever has and (most likely) no baby ever will. On a few occasions I’ve gotten tears in my eyes when Love Bug lifts my shirt to be my baby. It’s hard to imagine Love Bug not being my son, our bond is very strong and he’s such a momma’s boy, but the reality is that he was someone else’s baby before he was mine. Sometimes I try to envision what Love Bug might have been like, had he been my biological son and not had to deal with so many things at such a tender age, but then he wouldn’t be my Love Bug, he would be someone else. Even though I hated seeing him struggle, those obstacles made him stubbornly strong as well as loving and funny. And, at the end of the day, Love Bug is my baby - from my tummy or not.