Spilling the beans...

I have been really back and forth about when is the right time to post this.  I have decided I am safe enough to post it now. 

I am barefoot and pregnant.  

I know you’re thinking, “Why the hell are you barefoot?”  Let me explain.  It is 140 degrees in this big, wonderful, beautiful house that we decided to buy when there was snow on the ground.  When we bought the house, we knew it didn’t come with air.  At first, being from Texas, I thought that was NUTS.  Later found out, in this area, that is very common.  The summers here just don’t get that hot, at least that was the lie the CT residents told us.  Truth be told?  It’s flippin’ hot.  My pup, who is a big girl, is a hot mess.  I went two weeks ago and got her shaved.  She is a short haired dog, but in the summer, with her dark hair, I didn’t want that extra inch to make her more miserable.  So I take her a few times during the summer to get her shaved.  This is what she does all day...

So, if the dog is this hot, imagine a pregnant woman.  Did I mention I am pregnant?

I am on my third surrogacy.  I found this amazing couple in Boston.  Actually, we found each other.  After the last surrogacy, I decided to do just one more.  Those of you that really know me, know I’ve said, “just one more time” about two surrogacies ago. I can’t help myself.  It is my reason for being.  It is why God put me here.  This is my gift.  I don’t feel that he led me to go door-to-door to witness.  I don’t feel that he led me to be a Sunday school teacher and teach children about God.  I DO feel as though he gave me a healthy body and healthy mind so that I was able to give the gift of life to deserving parents.  What qualifies them as deserving parents?  This is where it becomes EXTREMELY hard.  The first couple I met through an agency.  Both parents were doctors.  I was VERY young (20), and very naive.  Knowing they both had excellent jobs, I figured they would be good.  At least the baby would end up successful (or at least a good chance).  They transferred two embryo and both took.  I gave birth to a twin boy, and twin girl in October of 2001.  I get pictures once a year of the happy family of four.  I feel they were a wonderful choice.  My second surrogacy was a little different.  The Blond BFF came to me one day and said I have a couple for your next surrogacy.  She worked with the Dad and told me what a wonderful man he was.  She explained that the mom wasn’t able to carry because of her heart.  I agreed to meet them.  This surrogacy fell in my lap.  I wasn’t really in deep search, but if they were brought to me, who am I to say no?  I met this wonderful couple and immediately knew they would be wonderful parents.  These two parents were SO excited, that they came to EVERY appointment.  Another set of twins, this time girls.  There was no doubt at any point that these two baby girls weren’t going to be lucky.  This one was a little tougher.  It took three times.  The third time, they asked me if it would be okay if their pastor came and prayed with us before the transfer.  At this point, I was up for any extra help...or a direct line to the Big Guy.  We gathered together, shortly after deciding to transfer three embryo instead of two, held hands and prayed.  It was me, the mom and dad, the pastor, and Blond BFF (who made it all happen).  I felt different that round.  I knew that the struggles from the two previous tries, had been redirected to the Right Place.  I felt refocused and positive.  It worked.  I gave birth to these two sweet angels on June 21, 2010.  The birth couldn’t have gone better.  The mom was able to be in the room.  She stood at my feet as my mother held one leg, and Blond BFF held the other.  I pushed with all my might.  The only person I was interested in seeing?  That momma.  As the first baby girl came out, I watched her anxious mother grab her own face in utter amazement and joy.  THAT is why I do what I do.  That is a look that a person doesn’t forget.  That momma stood there and was the first person to lay eyes on and fall in love with that sweet baby.  Nothing feels better than to see wonderful people have what they have always wanted.  THAT is what I call SIMPLE.  

That surrogacy went so great, I knew my time was running out on my age, and knew if I wanted to do it again, I had to be quick.  I created an email address, and posted an ad to a surrogacy classified website.  I created a new email because I KNEW I would be bombarded with tons of emails.  And I was.  At least 50 in the first week.  This is where it gets really hard.  In these emails they tell me how long they have been trying, and why they can’t carry on their own.  Each story is heartbreaking.  How do you choose?  This is where I start praying.  I knew God would find me the right couple.  In the meantime it was my job to weed through them.  I didn’t want to do it for a couple that wasn’t from (or born in) the United States because I didn’t want language to be a barrier in any way.  I also didn’t want to do it for someone that already had two or more kids.  No need to be greedy.  So after this, I get it narrowed down to two couples.  Then I get this email from a woman that just...I don’t know...reached me.  I felt an instant connection.  This is just something you know.  I knew that this would be the next couple.  The first time it worked.  I am actually pregnant with ONE baby this time.  Imagine that!  I don’t even know what it is like to give birth to one baby, it’s been so long!  The mom and dad are so excited!!  I am just under 12 weeks along.  My due date will be January 7th...we will see.  I have yet to have a baby that wasn’t born early. 

There.  I spilled the beans.  Barefoot and pregnant. 

Memory

So I have hit the age of 32.  Let me stop right there and give you a hint as to what this blog is about.  I had to text my mom and ask her how old I was.  My memory is Just. That. Bad.  

Years ago, I really thought my memory loss was abnormal and wanted to make sure I didn’t have a brain tumor or something crazy like that.  So I went to see my doctor.  This is how that conversation went:

Me: I think something is wrong.  I have the memory of a 86 year old Alzheimer's patient. 

Smirking Doctor: Really?

Me: Yes, I can’t remember anything.  

Smirking Doctor: Give me an example.  Like your name?  Or what year it is?

Me: No, like what I had for dinner last night. 

Smirking Doctor: Is it only short term stuff, or do you forget things that happened long ago?

Me: Ummm, I think a little of both. But my concern is short term.  Like what happened last week, or yesterday.

Smirking Doctor: Okay, I am going to ask you to remember three things.  **Side note, I can’t remember what those three things were, but I am giving you an example.** I want you to remember these three words: apple, cow, Thursday.

After giving me the three words, she continued to ask me other random questions.  She asked me who the President was, and what year it was, and asked about my family and what I was doing currently (job).  After ten minutes of chatting...

Smug Doctor: Okay, what were the three words I asked you to remember??

Me: Hugh?

Worried Doctor: I asked you to remember three words about ten minutes ago.  Do you remember what they were?

Me: Haha, just kidding.  Yeah, I remember...cat, dog, caterpillar.

Frightened Doctor: Darling, think really hard.  

Me: Man, you are too easy!!  Yes, let me think...apple, cow, Tuesday.     

Blood-draining-back-to-face Doctor: Okay, two out of three is passing.  So, I think you are okay.

Me: So no brain tumor?

Back-to-smirking Doctor: No, I think you are good.  Memory loss is just something that comes with age and the busyness of life.

Me: Can you write a note for my husband and say that it isn’t curable?  He keeps asking for dinner on the table and I keep forgetting, and I just want him to know that I really am forgetting and that it will never go away.

Laughing Doctor: Seriously?

Me: Seriously what, that I need the note or that I forget to put dinner on the table?  Wait, what are we talking about?  Just kidding, no, I guess I don’t need the note.

So I went home and told the Chief that there was nothing wrong with me.  He wasn’t convinced.  In the meantime, it has only gotten worse.  

Here is a text between me and Brunette BFF.

So here is the story.  I hop in the car to get a few errands run, simple right?  Let me remind you, very few things are simple for me.  So I hop in my handy jeep and set my navigation up to get me to Walmart.  Laugh all you want, I still don’t know my way around here.  So I am just about there before I realize I have left with my slippers on my feet.  These aren’t just any slippers.  These slippers can’t be passed off as kinda-shoes.  No, they are monkey slippers.  I’m wearing freaking monkey slippers.  There is no, “Hope no one will notice”.  Whatever.  At least I don’t know anyone here.  So I head into the Walmart, where I assume I will probably fit right in.  I think a total of three people commented on my slippers.  The sad part, and the reason for this blog, is after I am there for a good 20 minutes, I have forgotten that I am wearing slippers.  I am looking for my toothpaste in an isle, when a little girl from across the flippin‘ store, screeched, “Mommy!!  Lookie at her feet!!”  I look up to see where she is pointing, then quickly look behind me so that I can see the lady’s weird feet.  Then I realize I am the culprit.  OMG, I am going to end up in one of those stupid emails about the idiots that shop at Walmart.  I quickly snatch up my toothpaste and get away from the gleeful child, that might I add, isn’t even wearing stupid shoes.  I pay, and head out to the car.  As I am pushing my cart over to my vehicle, which takes me four minutes to find because of course I have forgotten where I parked it, I realize my parking lights are on in the back.  As I get closer I realize...I.  Left.  The.  Car.  Running.  Chief, I know gasoline doesn’t grow on trees.  What can I say, I am a lost cause.  Unfortunately, this isn’t the first time I have made this mistake.  Here is the deal, the new cars don’t require keys to start them, well they require them to be with you...for me they are in the bottom of my purse.  So when I get in, I push a little button that gets me going, then when I am done, I push that same little button to stop the car.  Simple right?  Haha...are you getting the drift now?  At this point I threw up my hands, and unloaded my stuff and got in.  I immediately grabbed my phone which led to the Brunette BFF text.  Sometimes you just need to tell someone how you are losing your mind.  It makes everything feel a little more real.  Don’t worry, she sends me very similar texts.  We have the same problem.  We always joke about when we are old, and our husbands are gone, we are going to open up a Bed-N-Breakfast in Florida.  Then we always joke about how we will serve breakfast throughout the day because we will both have forgotten that we already served it.  

This is just one incidence.  I have put milk in the pantry, and cereal in the fridge.  I have put the Chief’s underwear in my drawer and his in mine.  Sadly, he caught the mistake before he put them on.  That would have been one AWESOME blog post.  I have eaten meal after meal because I have forgotten that I already ate, and on the other end, I have skipped meals because I have forgotten to eat.  These are very minor, but I am giving them to you because I have forgotten all the other big ones.  Hell, by them time I am done with this blog I will have forgotten I posted it.  So if you see another posting about my memory, you will know why.

This is my life.  I am forgetful.  I’m sorry Chief.  Sometimes I forget you have told me something and chances are you will have to repeat yourself.  You already know this though.  Oh, and by the way...I don’t really forget to put dinner on the table, I just simply don’t want to cook.  Love you, Babe.  

  

Spring Break Part Two

So the rest of our spring break was spent just as productively as the first day.  Another thing I have wanted to do is build a fire pit.  We have this huge back yard, and tons of fire wood, but no fire pit.  So I decided that Little Man and I were going to build one.  The Chief, a little hesitant, decided not to fight it, and just let me have my way, again.  

So you think it is easy building a fire pit?  Maybe in Texas where under the grass lays dirt.  But in Connecticut?  Under the grass is rock...with maybe a tablespoon of dirt.  So this ended up being quite the task.  A four hour chore, turned into a three day chore.  I started off with a shovel.  I knew that we needed to dig a hole to start with (yes, yes, I did my research).  So digging a hole is one of the hardest things I have ever done.  If you don’t remember my “rock” blog, go back and read about how rocky this state is.  There were rocks the size of my head under the soil.  NUTS.  Made digging a hole REALLY freaking hard.  

While digging this hole, I was sending texts to a new friend that I made.  She had already made a fire pit and had experience.  She was telling me how wide, how deep and step by step what I needed to do.  So I send her this picture.  

This is how our conversation goes:

Me: Is this hole wide enough?  The rocks are freaking killing me!

Her: LOL. Is that silver shovel a snow shovel?

Me: OMG! It IS a snow shovel!  I was trying to use it until Little Man informed me I had the wrong shovel.

Her: LMAO! Oh my god, U are such a girl! Only thing they use that shovel for in Texas, is shoveling shit! LMAO!

Me: Very funny.

Her: LOL.  You need a pik ax.  The first problem is the shovels.  Can’t dig a hole with a shit shovel and a midget shovel.  Were you going to hire little people?  Why didn’t u buy a big shovel????  LOL.  

Me: LOL.  We r rookies, thats why!!

Okay.  So maybe I didn’t do THAT much research.  How was I supposed to know that there was a certain shovel to dig holes with?  A shovel is a shovel...or so I thought.  

So, three days and an almost broken finger later, we were done.  And it looks AWESOME.  

Stupid Car Racing

Memorial weekend: Racing weekend

So the Chief LOVES to watch this stuff.  Me?  I use this time wisely by taking a nap.  Before I headed off for the nap, I caught a little excitement on the screen.  The only reason to watch Nascar or any car racing is for the accidents.  It is the train wreck that you just can’t turn away from.  This didn’t start off that way.  

I am watching the screen and watch driver Mike Conway come into the pits.  Then I see something horrific.  He crashes into his crew!  Knocks one guy so hard that he flies over the hood and lands on the front wing of the car.  This was the Indy 500, so those cars are a little different from the Nascar cars.  These cars have wings on the front of them.  

Indy Car:

NASCAR Car:

Something about the way the air rolls over...or under...or through, whatever, there is a good reason for the way they build these things.  Back to the pit stop.  He comes zooming into the pit stop and takes out half his crew (okay, TWO of them...but when we are talking like seven guys total, TWO is almost half!).  I turn to the Chief and say, “Does he get fined for that?”  He informs me, calmly as if is no big deal, no, he just has to take a slow lap.  There is actually certain lingo for this, but I can’t remember what it is.  Basically, it means he has to take a lap in the slow lane (which means his punishment doesn’t fit the damn crime).  Shocked, I asked if that was seriously the only repercussion for running into his crew.  

Are you hearing this?  The guy HITS crew members, and he only gets a pee-pee slap?  He could have KILLED them!  He doesn’t get fined, he doesn’t get taken out of the race, he only has to take a slow lap so he loses a couple spots in the lineup!  

Can you see that in real life?  You hit a pedestrian with your car and the cop says, “Hey dude, just take a lap around the block slowly...it’s all good.”  Are you freaking kidding me?  

Hours later (seven to be exact), I was sitting on the couch with the Chief.  

I turn to him, “I have been thinking.”

“Oh no.”

“I’m being serious.  I have been thinking about that guy that hit his crew with the car.  That is TOTALLY wrong that he doesn’t get in big trouble for that!”

“Why?  It was an accident, it happens, that is why they wear helmets.”

“Helmets don’t protect their legs!  He could have paralyzed that guy, and he doesn’t even get in trouble!!  He didn’t even lean out the window and say, ‘Sorry, Dude!‘  That poor guy didn’t do anything wrong, he only came to work!”

“He didn’t do anything wrong?  Because he couldn’t stay away from the buffet line, his fat ass ending up breaking the front left wing off the car which cost the driver the race!”

Yes, Yes...you read that correctly.  

When the driver hit the guy, he flew over the hood and landed on the wing, which broke it.  After the quick pit stop, the driver headed back out and had an immediate accident.

So guess what?  The car people might not have given a punishment that fit the crime, but guess who did?  The one who controls all.  

The Jack Wagon, already over the fact he almost killed someone, immediately went back out on the track and had an accident that knocked him out of the race.  Serves him right.  THAT punishment fit the crime.  

****Now, I am FUMING mad!!  I go to post the video on this blog of him running into his crew and it is no longer viewable for the audience!  They took the video down!  They have videos of the accident that followed it, but no more videos of him practically killing his crew!  GRRRRR!!  I guess that is there way of showing the only important part of the day is that he lost, not that he almost killed half his pit crew!****

Stupid car racing.  Stupid dangerous sport.  Stupid Mike Conway.  

            

Spring Break Part 1

So this is a bit old, but I will write about it anyway.  Over spring break, the little man and I attacked some much needed chores around the house that I have been itching to do.  

One of the reasons the Chief loved this house so much is because of the garage space it has.  We have a large three car garage, and a good sized shed.  I don’t care either way about how much space we have for our vehicles, or the lawn mower, but whatever...sometimes it’s better to let the guy be the guy.  So back to the shed.  It’s a convenient place to store all the lawn crap, golf clubs, and anything else we feel like throwing in there.  I only had one problem with it.  The color.  We move into this pretty house that is brown with white trimming, it looks so elegant.  Then the shed.  Is ugly red.  It doesn’t match the house, it doesn’t match anything.  It just sits there and sticks out like a sore thumb.  Over the year, I have mentioned to the Chief how I would like to paint it.  Over and over again I would get the same, “No, it’s fine” response.  Secretly, I think he was afraid if I went near it, I would somehow damage it.  How you damage an ugly, red shed, I will never understand...what could I do?  Make it uglier?  As we were approaching spring break, I mentioned it again (because what better way to get my way then to bug him to death?).  “I sure would love to paint that shed so it matches the house.”  

“If it shuts you up, then paint it.”  

At first his words didn’t sink in, because I was so used to the same rejection comment.  Once it registered, I didn’t say anything else about it.  I didn’t want him to change his mind.  I had the approval, and that was all I needed to FINALLY do what I wanted to do.  

First day of spring break, the Chief drives off to work, and without delay, I grab the Little Man and take off for Home Depot.  I bought the paint, and headed back.  It was 10AM when we started our project.  I knew it needed to be done before the Chief got home.  So we got to work.  Let me stop and say how grateful I am to have a child that can actually help with things like this.  We worked from 10AM until 6:30PM.  You know how many coats it took to cover up that nasty red?  About two too many.  After all that time and hard work, I couldn’t wait for the Chief to see it.  We waited outside knowing he would come up the long driveway and it would be the first thing he would see (it’s at the top of our driveway).  I see his truck coming down the street and hold my breath.  He slowly comes up the driveway and turns into the garage.  I open his door and realize he isn’t going to make this easy for me.  The Chief isn’t an easy guy to read at times.  He opens his back door to get out his laptop bag...still no reaction.  Exasperated, I finally say, “WELL?”

“Well, what?”  

“Seriously?”

Then I see the quick look that every woman has seen before, only with the Chief it is very brief.  The look I am talking about is the one where they know there is something they were supposed to notice but didn’t.  His eyes flicker to my hair, then down my body trying desperately to find out what “new” thing he is supposed to notice.  

“THE SHED, YOU JACK WAGON!”

As relief fills his face, he swings around and says, “Hugh!  Looks good, Babe.”  

That’s it.  That’s all I get.  I’ll take it.  In the meantime, I will be more proud of the fact the Little Man and I did something very productive on the first day of our spring break vacation.    

Before:

After:

Okay Okay.  Enough harassment.  I have been really busy.  Really.  

It all started with a phone call on April 18th.  The temp agency called me to tell me I have been requested for a long term sub job for the rest of the year.  I of course accepted, excited for the wonderful opportunity and much needed stability.  Then she told me the story behind my position.  The teacher had a heart attack and died.  In.  The.  Classroom.  Despite what local news reports said, the students are the ones who found him.  This teacher dropped them off at Art, then went back to the class.  When he never went back to pick them up, the art teacher sent them back to the classroom.  They walked in and their teacher was dead on the floor.  Imagine my shock.  Now image the shock of 23 nine year olds.  I am not walking into a happy situation.  I am walking into a classroom with 23 traumatized children.  

I put on my big girl panties and headed into the classroom.  The principal introduces me and tells the kids I will be taking over for the rest of the year.  The whole day, there are teachers, counselors, and parents hovering outside of the door waiting on a breakdown from students.  None happened.  I was blown away at their resilience.  The teacher had died the day before, and these kids were more interested in me then grieving over the loss of their teacher that had been with them for the previous seven months.

All that aside, I have walked into a disaster.  As brilliant as the man was, he was an unorganized disaster.  There wasn’t a single file on any of the 23 students.  He had stacks of papers in drawers.  There were no files set up.  There were no lesson plans.  There was nothing to tell me where he left off or what he already covered.  Understandable though, it isn’t like he knew he wasn’t going to be finishing the school year.  Regardless, you would think I would have support of the other teachers.  Nope.  None of them co-plan, therefore no one knows what the other is doing.  Excellent.  Within two weeks, I had my label maker (courtesy of the Brunette BFF) and my files, and I had organized the hell out of that classroom.  Other teachers have been shocked at how fast and how awesome the class looks.  Not to mention, I feel like I can breath again.  Oh wait.  Just kidding.

Those of you that really know me, know there is a bit of Type A/OCDness to me (minus my warranty drawer).  I like order, ESPECIALLY in a place of work.  I need order, I need a plan, I need cleanliness.  I de-germed my classroom with my bottle of bleach (hidden from the school since “go-green” has forbidden any good cleaning products).  I scrubbed the desks, chairs, and any other surface I could get my little hands on.  The kids were shocked at how white their desks could get.  Okay aside from this end of the classroom we have the other, more terrifying end.  

Lesson planning.

All of my training, observation, and student teaching was for Middle School English/Language Arts.  I am certified 4-8th grade.  These are 4th graders.  Now I am thrown into a position that I teach: English, Reading, Math, Science, Social Studies, Geography, and any other subject you choose to throw in there.  Let me remind you, the reason I passed my college math with flying colors is because the Chief was sitting next to me when I did all the work.  Let me also remind you that I found out two years ago that Alaska wasn’t an island.  Now. You. Want. Me. To. Teach. Math. AND. Geography.  Excellent.  Maybe, I am not ready for this.  Believe it or not, I love it.  I love it so much.  I have never been so excited to get up and go to work every day.

One of the reasons my focus was on Middle School, is because that is what I wanted to teach.  I didn’t want to be with 4th and 5th graders.  I thought they were too needy.  I knew they were still touchy-feely and I had no desire to be a babysitter.  I went to school to teach, and in my mind I could only do that with pre-teens.  Or so I thought.  I LOVE my kids.  I love greeting their happy little faces every morning.  I love it when they run up to me and wrap their little arms around me.  As I hug them back I remind myself that it may be the only hug they get all day.  I am in a poverty stricken area.  100% (not an exaggeration) of the students are on FREE lunch plans.  Seventy percent of my students are African American and the other 29 percent are Hispanic.  I have one Caucasian student in my class.  These kids have my hearts in their hands.  They have so much love to give.  What was I thinking when I said forth grade would just be babysitting?  In no way am I babysitting!  These kids have to be taught!  And when they don’t get it, they come in before and after school.  I am teaching.  I am FINALLY doing what I worked so hard to be able to do.  And I love it.  I freaking love it.  I love everything about it.  I love spending a week teaching them to add and subtract fractions with unlike denominators.  Then I LOVE seeing that all but two of them passed the test with flying colors.  I love seeing their little faces when they see that I have taped their tests to the board for the whole class to see.  They are proud of themselves and they are so happy to see how proud I am.  I had 6-8 students in my class every morning before school, doing tutoring.  These kids wanted to understand.  They have never had their work taped to the board.  They have never had that silly little sticker attached to their “A”.  One student told me that the last teacher never let them come in before and after school for help.  She also told me they never got stickers.  

I love my job.  I love my kids.  I love each and every one of their precious little faces.  I couldn’t be happier.  Or busier.  

Forgive me, I have finally started to breath again and get a hold of this teaching thing.  I will try to blog more, in the meantime know that my time is going to something more important.   :)  

Little Man

Some people think that life starts when you are born, or even before that, when a heart starts beating in the womb.  For me, my life started when I got pregnant with my Little Man.  

This is the Brunette BFF with my newborn Little Man

Little Man turned thirteen this past month.  When I stop and think about it, it is so hard for me to grasp this concept.  I have had this person in my life for 13 years.  My child.  My baby.  My only baby.  When I hear this song, I think of him.    

"Brighter Than The Sun"

Stop me on the corner

I swear you hit me like a vision

I, I, I wasn't expecting

But who am I to tell fate where it's supposed to go with it

Don't you blink you might miss it

See we got a right to just love it or leave it

You find it and keep it

Cause it ain't every day you get the chance to say

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky

Shining how we want, brighter than the sun

I've never seen it, I found this love, I'm gonna feed it

You better believe, I'm gonna treat it better than anything I've ever had

Cause you're so damn beautiful

Read it, it's signed and delivered let's seal it

Boy we go together like peanuts and paydays and Marley and reggae

And everybody needs to get a chance to say

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky

Shining how we want, brighter than the sun

Everything is like a white out, cause we shika-shika a shine down

Even when the, when the light's out but I can see you glow

Got my head up in the rafters, got me happy ever after

Never felt this way before, ain't felt this way before

I swear you hit me like a vision

I, I, I wasn't expecting

But who am I to tell fate where it's supposed to go?

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky

Shining how we want, brighter than the sun, yeah

Oho, yeah, oho

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, we could be the stars, falling from the sky

Shining how we want, brighter than the sun, yeah

Brighter than the sun.

Brighter than the sun.

Brighter than the sun.

Oho, yeah, oho

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

Oh, this is how it starts, lightning strikes the heart

It goes off like a gun, brighter than the sun

This song hits so close to my heart in so many ways.  He hit me like a vision.  I wasn’t expecting him.  But who am I to tell fate where its supposed to go?  I was 18 years old when I got pregnant.  It is safe to say he wasn’t planned.  I was young and I was scared.  When I gave birth to him, I looked at his little face and knew at that moment he was my world.  I knew my life was different.  My life had meant nothing until that point.  After 48 hours of unforgiving labor, I held that tiny little man in my arms and knew I would do anything for him.  He WAS so damn beautiful.  He was mine and I was his.  He became my everything.  This is how it started.  Lightning striked my heart that very moment.  I wanted nothing more than to keep him close to me and safe.  I never felt ownership over anything before.  I was still a child myself.  Until he came along...

His one-year picture

This is the Blond BFF with the Little Man and his personality.

Beautiful Face

All Mine

Love this picture.  It is like he has a secret.

When he was less than a week old, friends of his biological father came over.  A woman, that brought her two young children.  I nervously handed over my life to her outstretched hands.  I sat and watched her ohhhh and awwww over my treasure.  I also watched her small children peer over his little face reaching their dirty little hands out and touching him.  I couldn’t take it.  I went back to my bedroom, went into my closet, sat down on the floor and cried.  My mother (who happened to also be visiting at the same time), came in and asked what was wrong.  I frantically told her that they had their dirty little hands all over my baby.  I wanted nothing more than to put a bubble around him and keep him safe from every germ and every stranger.  My mom, the strong woman she is, marched out into the living room, told the woman it was time to go, and starting putting her children’s shoes on their feet.  THAT is a woman that protects her child, in turn she taught me to protect mine.  

I haven’t made the best decisions with him.  I am the first to say I have made MANY mistakes.  I think every parent has.  Maybe I have made more, maybe I have made less.  

One of the biggest mistakes I made was doubting my ability to be a good mother.  I thought I was doing a terrible job, and decided to give his birth father a chance at raising him.  This was three months of his life that I didn’t have him.  I had him every other weekend, but that was it.  The tables had turned.  Until I got a phone call early one morning.  A phone call that no mother wants to receive.  My life quickly came tumbling down.  Now I KNEW I had failed.  I had made a potentially deathly decision on behalf of my child, my life.  The Chief and I, made a three hour drive in 2.5 hours.  I picked up my Little Man, I gathered everything he owned and grabbed him to my chest.  I could have lost my child.  I was lucky.  God had his hands around my Little Man that day, protecting him.  At that moment I knew I would NEVER let him go again.  My selfish decision could have costed me my sanity.  I have still made mistakes, none thankfully, as dangerous as letting him out of my life temporarily.  

This Little Man is such an amazing kid.  He is no longer my tiny baby.  He is a teenager.  He is witty, he picks that up from the Chief.  He is smart, he gets that from me.  But most of all, he has this beauty that radiates from his face.  He is such a delightful kid, inside and out.  I am so lucky that on that day, 13 years ago, he hit me like a vision. Brighter than the sun.  I can’t wait to see what an amazing man he turns out to be.  I love you, Little Man.