While the whole world sleeps...

Well not the whole world, just my world. My 3 A's are all bundled up in their beds taking a nap. I hope. It's quiet, so I assume they are actually going to nap this time. But they've been known to stuff towels under the door to muffle their maddness. Tricky Hobbits.

Big A made it back in one piece from DC. Didn't rain, sleet or snow up there, despite my evil incantations. But he did say that he had a horrible time (lie!) because he was worried about us. The days following Saturday ended up being uneventful. No hospital visits, no major melt downs, no tantrums. I was still worn out though. Again, I give it up to you single super mommas out there. Because I had no one to bitch to (that's usually Big A's job, to listen) I started to become numb. I felt on auto pilot emotionally. Every time he called I would rush to get off the phone because I didn't want to really ruin his trip with my bullshit.Yet, I found solace in blaming him for not being here to help me. It got me through my day. I channeled all my weakness into hate and was amazed at how much more energy I had to give to the A's when it was dinner time. Doesn't that sound ass backwards? I was energized by hate... I wonder if that's how it works with the women doing on their own...? By Sunday at midnight I was hatching plans in my head to be MIA on Monday when he arrived. I was going to leave my cellphone home and take the kids to the park, then their Dr's appt, then to the movies, then to lunch, then to Disneyland, then Mars and anything else that I could squeeze into the day to make it longer before we got home. I laid there Sunday on a pallet I made on my Mom's living room floor (we spent the night at her house) morphing all my hate into revenge plans. I wanted him to see what it felt like to be alone. I wanted him to see how important we are. How important I am. Yes, I know and knew that he was fully aware of our importance, but hate is illogical. Mostly, I wanted to avoid making eye contact with him because I wasn't sure if I'd love him the same when he came back. I wasn't sure if I could turn the numbness off. As if love could just turn off like that, right? Basically, I WAS TRIPPIN.

Scorpios are vengeful. We hurt deep for the slightest reasons and we bite back aiming for the throat. You step on my toe and I'll want to cut off your foot. I know this and I try desperately to not give into that feeling. Like I've said in a previous post, there's always a moment...as cliche as it sounds there's always that fork in the road.

Monday morning comes and the A's and I get breakfast to go and eat it at the park. Funny that by Monday I feel in complete control. I managed to get every little body dressed without a fight. Combed three heads of hair (mine included), got out of the house on time and even beat the heat so that breakfast at the play ground was actually enjoyable. I was proud of myself and felt ready to execute the "Make Him Pay" mission.

A little back story here before we continue.

..Oh damn A3 is talking in his crib. Let me try to hurry this up.

Sweat still fresh on our naked bodies. We're tangled in bed. This is previous to marriage, to babies, to even living together. More so, this was the first time we had even had sex. Yes..the conversation will sound strange to you because I haven't told you the back back back story about how we met. Or the forward forward story about how I moved from Boston to Baltimore to be with him only 1 month after this conversation. But one day I will...

Me: I want a baby.
Big A: A baby?
Me: A baby....with you.

I remember him pausing. His hands were behind his head. I was laying on his chest. This is a vivid memory. He was staring at the ceiling. His free hand was cradling me close.

Big A: Would you ever take my child away from me?
Me: Of course not, that's when I would need you most.
Big A: Okay then, let's do it.

And so began the year long hump-a-thon to make A1.

I tell this back story because you need to understand what I understood sitting at the playground watching A1 and A2 chase each other around the play structure, and while I watched A3 waddle through groups of 5 & 6 year olds who don't look down when they run. Big A lives for his kids. They are the reason he comes straight home from work. The butterflies in his stomach when he pulls around the corner. His children are his world. His main concern has always been "don't take my kids away from me"....and here I was ready to unleash the beast and disappear for a few hours in limbo unable to be reached on the day he just gets back into town from missing his kids for 4 days.

I knew this and still I decided to go along with my idea. After the park was the doctor's office to check on A3's breathing. If we got the all clear, we were headed out to do any and every thing I could think of. And so it was...we got the clear! It was almost 12:00PM, and Big A's plane was set to arrive at 12:40. I promised the girls we'd get milkshakes if they didn't tear down the exam room and they didn't so we were in the drive thru of Arby's to fulfill my bribe. Driving off, everyone was smiles. First stop was going to be the movies to watch Surf's Up (which I didn't like!) and stuff our bodies with popcorn and skittles.

Then the moment hit me, before even leaving the parking lot. I am about to hurt the person who I promised to never hurt. This action could cause a permanent riff between us. This "mission" could be the one doesn't end, like Iraq. <-- that was a forced analogy, I apologize. But yeah, I always said I would rather myself hurt than to every see him hurt. And I never wanted to be that baby momma who withheld her kids as ransom to get back at the father for not doing what she wanted.

So..we ended up driving to the airport. We were there when he walked out behind the security blockade. I swear I saw him well up at the sight of us. He wasn't expecting us to be there. He had his car in the overnight parking garage, so he thought he'd just see us at home. He told me later that he had hoped we'd be there. I later told him what I was going to do....because that's who we are. Open and honest about even the ugly shit.

Everything I felt, every ill feeling I harbored, melted the minute I saw him walk down the stairs. He was not this horrible absentee father who left me to take care of everything on my own over the weekend. He was the man I married. The man I fell in love with in one conversation 7 years ago. He was the father I wish I had. The man who just went on a well deserved mini vacation. Again, I was trippin. I watched the girls run up to him screaming "Daddy!", A3 tried to run but ended up falling, pushing himself back up and walking up to Big A's leg with his arms stretched upwards. Big A knelled down and had three kids wrapped around him, taking up all his space. What a beautiful sight it was. A father and his children. We were all together again and suddenly in a flash everything was right.

There's always a moment. And I'm glad I chose the kids over my selfishness because we ended up having an incredible day at the movies with Big A.

Of course I want to write something to all the mothers out there who are using children as pawns to teach their fathers' a lesson...of course I wanna plead with you to make it right and make it work somehow for the babies because they don't know nor are they interested in what YOUR issue is with him. Of course, I want to tell you that every child deserves the right to decide for themselves whether they want their father in their lives or not...they deserve the right to see and judge their fathers under their own circumstances and not with your eyes and words and your experience. Of course I want to say all that...but I know it doesn't make a difference to hear it...and sometimes there are other circumstances. But..if you can...think beyond that moment. And think beyond the hurt.

Message!

Hahaha.

You must know that I am a knows-it-all and will try to give everyone advice. You don't gotta adhere to it..just hear me out.

Update: A3 went back to sleep and the girls have come out twice already, with non-sleeping eyes, to ask if its "morning time yet"...I predict that I have about 3 more minutes of me time. Whatever shall I do with myself?

marriage is overrated.

A1 is a sponge & I know that everyone's child is a sponge, but allow me to think that my child is the most sponge-est just for the sake of this blog. It helps with the flow of thoughts...thanks.

"You let them watch that?" she says. She being one of my childless friends. That being Harry Potter baby-sitting the A-team.

Me: What are they supposed to watch?
No-Kid: I don't know...like Little Mermaid or something.
Me: Today they decided to watch Harry Potter.
No-Kid: Oh.

That was not an "Ok, I understand" Oh...but more of an "I'll be a better parent than you one day" Oh. The difference was loud and clear. I wasn't mad at all. In fact, I wanted to laugh. But more than that, I wanted to fast forward life and then laugh. I wanted to record the conversation, fill some sperm in a turkey baster, jab it up her Oh and then play the tape at her baby's 3rd birthday party. You know...nothing too evil or extreme. Just something to prove a point.

So...how does this tie into the hype around marriage and A1 being a sponge?

Everyone is dressed except me, as usual. And I've discovered that the best way to get ready without having to kiss a boo-boo or break up a fight or re-do someone's hair or find a new shirt for someone who has spilled juice all over themselves....is by putting in a dvd.

Wait a second, I'm getting ahead of myself and the story won't make sense in this order.

A1: Mommy, I love Andre.
Me: Does he love you?
A1: I don't know yet because he keeps running away from me.
Me: Do you think his running away from you means he doesn't love you?
A1: He won't know I'm his true love until he kisses me.

I don't flinch. Why? Because flinching means something is bad and bad quickly turns to taboo and taboo morphs into "that must be a good thing Mommy is trying to keep from me". I have nerves of steel dealing with this kids now. Flinch and its over. I'd be a cold beast at poker I bet.

Me: Does that make you sad?
A1: Yes because if he doesn't kiss me i won't find my true love.
Me: Why do you need a true love?
A1: Because I want to get married.
Me: Do you know what happens with marriage?
A1: You love each other and kiss each other.
Me: *I start to rethink kissing Big A in front of the kids now* Okay...but you know what else happens? You can't be selfish anymore. You can't decide to do whatever YOU want because you have to always consider the other person's feelings as well.
A1: Okay *I can tell that part just went over her head..*
Me: For example, what if Andre doesn't like going swimming? But you want to always go swimming and he gets mad because he doesn't like for you to always leave him home. Are you going to stop swimming for him?

She doesn't have an answer so I see this as the Achilles heel of the conversation...

Me: You know what is even better than finding your true love?
A1: What?
Me: Finding your true passion.
A1: *Again, over her head*
Me: Besides Andre, what else do you love?
A1: Mommy and Daddy and A2 and sometimes A3 when he's not hitting me in the face
Me: Okay, but what else do you love? Is there anything you love doing?

She thinks. I'm ready to go in for the kill and start hacking away at all this Disney princess bullshit that attacks the psyche of every little girl. The true loves, the happy ever afters, the singing crab/mouse/birds and the fairy godmothers (never the real mothers!).

A1: I like building houses with my blocks. But A3 always knocks them down.
Me: Do you know that when you grow up you could build houses that A3 can't knock down?
A1: I can?
Me: Yep but you've got to go to college first to learn how to do it,
A1: And then what?
Me: Then you can build your dream house, as big or as small as you'd like it to be.
A1: I'm gonna build a big pink house for me with 55 rooms. What kind of house do you want me to build for you?
Me: Anything you build for me I'll love.

She runs off to her room to get her blocks. And I make a point of not complaining about her spreading the blocks all over the living room. She's not making a mess.....she's building a dream.

Back to the previous story.

I need to get ready & its A1's turn to pick the dvd. She doesn't bring Little Mermaid or Cinderilla or Beauty and the Beast. She brings Harry Potter because she likes how he's going to school to learn about magic.

I explain none of this to No-Kid McClueless, I just make a mental note to buy her future daughter a Disney box set......and wait.

I'm patient.

I love your breasts, Mommy.

A2 stands proudly when these words come out of her mouth with clarity. She has a lisp and gets irate when she has to repeat her words. Luckily for me I understood her the first go round. Typically though, she's a loving child who lives to give compliments. And generally speaking, I love to receive them..

Here's the "but"....

When my darling, ever caring, wonderfully thoughtful daughter presents me with her gracious appreciation...she is no where near my breasts. In fact, I am standing up and she is standing in front of me (barely 36 inches tall) with her tiny little hands jiggling my....stomach.

Ugh.

The c-section pouch, the couch. I could rent this space to two or three NICU preemies should they ever run out of isolettes at Huntsville Hospital. Maybe I should patent that idea. I'll brainstorm on that later.

Back to me, the couch and A2.

For a moment, I'm stunned. Hurt actually. I've been working out four days a week. I've been "thinking thin", counting calories and even making plea bargains with the universe (ala "The Secret"). I've lost weight damn it, that's what I kept thinking while looking down at her grinning face. She's waiting for me to respond. I want to scream something foul in the kitchen. Curse out the cookies, fist fight the java chip ice cream cartons, talk shit about the chicken nuggets mother and had a girlscout been close I might have snatched off her badges in this fit of rage. But there was just me & A2. And, she's not a girlscout yet.

I take a moment.

I'm raising daughters. I have to remind myself of that fact when I look in the mirror in the morning sans shirt (and bra) or when I step on the scale and feel overwhelmed by motherhood. I can not go racing through the house wailing "Oh My God, I'm FAT!" ...though I imagine there's some sort of therapy in that notion. I can't cry or cringe at the sight of my reflection. The zig zag pattern of stretch marks, the love/hate handles, the after effect of breast feeding, the "couch". These are not scars from a war, but the accolades from birthing the scientist who cures cancer or the future ambassador who unifies the world. This "couch" is the pillow A1-A3 lay upon when they are sick. These love/hate handles are the cushion for little heads to lean against for a sense of security. These now sagging breasts are evidence that I am a real life super hero. And these stretch marks..well those are a post-it notes from beyond telling me that a mother of 3 should not be wearing belly shirts out in public.

Sometimes, you've gotta check yourself.

How will I be able to teach the A's to love themselves entirely, slight flaws and all, if I'm brushing my teeth in the dark to avoid the mirror. Which, I've tried before and ended up with a mouthful of prescription diaper rash cream.

There's always that moment...the second you have before responding. The space in time where you decide to either freak the hell out or ride the wave. And, since I've always thought it would be cool to learn to surf I simply responding by saying:

"That's Mommy's belly, silly"

And again, with all the clarity in the world, she turns to me and says..

"I love your belly too, Mommy"


I can only hope she grows to love her own as well.