Archive for March, 2007
Maybe some information is better left for husbands, best friends and therapists’ offices. But, if you know me (even from the blogging world) you know I can’t help myself. I have a problem with keeping secrets or feeling like I’m the only one who feels the way I do. So I put it out there; lay it bare and then reap the reprecussions later. A blog is a dangerous place for some people; some writers parents read their blogs or co-workers read or husbands feel uncomfortable etc. Me? The most that’s happened is my blog was tried to be used against me once in a deposition.
But even if none of this is true for you, it just may not be the safest thing to put your innermost thoughts out for people to judge, but again, if you’re anything like me, you crave that connection with other human beings who “get it” that you’ll do almost anything and admit to almost anything to hear an “oh yeah, me too” above the chorus of “you feel like that? You must be a horrible mother.”
Let me backtrack a little. I recently had been feeling depressed. Like a balloon filled with more and more air that even the slightest bit more would surely shatter it into a million little balloon pieces. A lot of circumstances were contributing to this feeling. One was trying to start writing my book. It always brings out the self critic in me, the feeling of being a fraud who has nothing new to say about parenting etc. but bigger than this is something I want to share with my readers. It’s a big part of parenting I didn’t know I’d be in for. The part where all the past hurts from your first family start to take over your current parenting and threaten to turn you into a crockpot of emotion that is constantly simmering and threatening to boil over.
I am currently not in contact with any of my parents. But no worries about them reading this, they have no interest. I always swore to myself that I would keep that part of my life private in a Meg Ryan sort of way but minus the huge lips. To be fair, and because I’m 40 and have had a shit load of therapy, my mother did her best, and I do have happy memories of her. I remember the taste of her lipstick when she was going out for the night, I remember her reading me my favorite books over and over, but another thing I’ve been left with is a legacy of narcissism that is so severe it colors over everything. I mostly remember a feeling of longing. Longing for my mother in a way that was so strong I don’t know if anything can fill it up and God knows I’ve tried. But, here’s where it needs to stop. It affects my interaction with my beautiful baby girl. It actually makes it harder to parent because I’m constantly judging my own parenting, watching as if from outside myself, to make positively sure that she feels safe and loved. Here’s the problem, she does feel safe and loved and is thriving and chatting up a storm and knows who her family is without a doubt and as far as I can tell, feels no sad longing and will never .
But I am not thriving.
I used to think it was just because parenting is such hard work. And it is. Let’s face it, life will never be as we knew it. But I finally am coming to realize that I am not my mother. Far far from it. And I will not make the same mistakes and leave my child alone in the world to fend for herself EVER. And even if I put her in daycare a few days a week or God forbid had some fulltime help for awhile, it would not make me HER. I’m not going to bash my parents on a public blog but let’s just say there is very good reason we are not in contact, and that’s hard for me EVERY DAY. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve tried limited contact just for my daughter, I’ve tried to work things out but she’s not intersted.
Everytime, I’m there for my baby, everytime she has a boo boo or a nightmare and needs me to hold her, there’s a little girl inside me that still grieves for her own mommy. And that’s when I realize, it’s simply not about me anymore. All I can do is the best I can for my child, which may not be perfect all the time and know that with love and attention, she will have the resiliance to be her own strong, beautiful person. And maybe that doesn’t take the all consuming neurotic attention that’s in my head. Maybe, just maybe, parenting is hard but I’m making it a little harder and I can let go a tiny bit. Baby steps.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on March 31, 2007 3:43 pm
1. drink an entire cup of coffee without forgetting where I put it while changing a diaper or finding a Dora video.
2. Read US Weekly not just on the toilet.
3. Go to a mall not just to browse the Disney Store for an hour and half.
4. Not obsess about Life Insurance and wonder why being “anxious” puts you in a whole other “morgage your house” eligibility bracket. Aren’t all new parents anxious?
6. Retain mental acuity past 8:30 p.m.
7. Know where all my expensive jewelry is.
8. Not get way too excited at a stupid 20% off coupon at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
9. Wear my hair in a style other than the ponytail. At this point I’d probably wear a fucking ponytail to the Oscars.
10. Play Tupac really really loud.
11. Smoke pot once in awhile.
12. Lay on the couch all day when I’m sick without my husband saying, “so are you too sick to make her dinner?”
13. Sleep until 11.
14. Judge other parents for their clearly out of control toddlers.
15. Go to Barnes and Noble without heading straight for the kids section.
16. Save my prayers for things more important than that my daughter take a nap that day.
17. Be blissfully unaware that a horrible place called Gymboree existed.
18. Pay my bills on time.
19. Get hit on by a hot guy every once in while.
20. Long for baby like my whole being depended on it.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on March 29, 2007 9:28 pm
I don’t want to be crass. Okay, sure I do. Who am I kidding. If you could see inside my soul, you’d be amazed at the beautiful singer/songwriters I adore, the Lifetime movies that leave me sobbing (even on Zoloft), the way I restrain myself from thinking judgemental thought of other women I see at Office Depot who cut in line in front of older women because they’re “in a hurry.” Yes, I try. But sometimes one can’t help but be crass in an attempt to connect with other moms. Now, all you hippies out there, you can just disregard this email but for the rest of you — can you relate to my 70’s retrobush that’s starting to happen?
Oh, I try. I do. I go and get my Brazilian but it seems to happen less and less often and then in between I have to shave and then it just seems easier to shave (not to mention cheaper). But, God, I love the feeling of being all freshly waxed all around the parts that we can’t see but know they are hairy. I love the secret sexiness I feel. Better than a pedicure, more decadent than a Snackwell cookie binge, and usually leading to that all elusive sex. Partly because I feel good and party because my feeling good leads to making others feel good.
But, damn, longer and longer I go between a waxing. It starts to feel so intimate that I dread it like I dread the gynocologist. But at least with the Gyno they know exactly what they’re doing. At the nail salon I go to, we’re dealing with a curtain, hot wax and a woman who doesn’t speak the greatest English in the world. She does understand that word “AAAAAAH, that hurt.” But it doesn’t seem to phase her.
I love the feeling though when I’m leaving and it’s done! Not to have to be repeated for at least a month. Okay three weeks but I’m Russian. Yet, I don’t go back. Why? Don’t I care anymore?
Is this why I’ve actually gone to bed after being at the gym that day without showering? Is this what my hygiene’s come to?
File this under Overshare.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on March 26, 2007 7:09 pm
My daughter has learned the immense and powerful glory of the mixed message. Sometimes I’ll ask her, “Can we run out to the drug store so mommy can go get her long overdue prescription for Klonopin? It’s right there down the street at the drug store. Good feelings are minutes away. Please don’t cry or have a meltdown and ruin my play for a peaceful night.”
Crying ensues. “Want to stay home. Watch Delego (this is how she pronouces Diego. She knows how to say it right but she knows even better what suckers we are at her purposeful to be cute mispronounciation). She wins. But not for long. It ain’t over by a long shot.
What if we found a fun toy at the CVS. “Something with Dora on it?” she asks plaintively? Oh, game on. “um, of course, am I dumb? Absofuckinglutely with Dora on it.” I left out the word fucking. But it was in my mind. yeah, I’m a mom. I still swear in my head. Why don’t you sue me if you don’t like it. Call Child Services and let them know I only breast fed for 4 weeks while you’re at it.
So, to the drugstore we managed to go. Immediately E found some bubbles with Dora on them and she was all set. Until she found the cheesy necklace that came with a mirror that’s not really a mirror, it just has that tin foil type shit that disquises itself as a mirror. I decided she didn’t need that, until she was old enough to do lines of coke from it in a detached but cool way in the club bathroom with her best friend Britney Spears. At which point we’d immediately have her arrested! Tough love!
But I did buy her an 8 pack of Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers which totally made her day. It doesn’t take much. As opposed to her mother.
She also tried on all the old peoples glasses on display in the store and looked pretty darn cute in the Woody Allen pair. If Woody bought glasses at CVS which I seriously doubt.
Anyway, E came home the proud receipiant of Dora bubbles and lip gloss. Is there a better day for a two year old? I don’t think so.
I came home with a prescription for Klonopin. Is there a better night for a 40 year old? I don’t think so.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on March 22, 2007 5:12 am
Okay, maybe some do have fake boobs, but I’ve had just about all I can stand of the Real Housewives of Orange County. Just about. Obviously, if they make another season I’ll watch every episode cause dem bitches is Krazy! First of all, let’s start with Lauri : her breasts belong out in the solar system not on a human body. And besides the fact that she’s making a clusterfuck out of her family, she’s one of those “ring girls.” You know the ones; they prance around after getting engaged sticking their hand into anyone’s face that comes within a forty mile radius waiting for the requisite “OH. MY. GOD! It’s gorgeous!” so that they can demure, “Really, it’s only seven carats.” I hate this type of woman. I realize she makes it clear that she’s into money from the outset but it doesn’t stop my repulsion. I can’t bear the fake way she acts with her juvenile delinquent son either. Poor Josh is pushed out of the family so that she can be with her Meth Lab house owning boyfriend, George. Josh gets what’s going on but Lauri has to constantly be disingenuous “I really want the whole family together now but Josh needs to be in his structured environment. If they’d let him out I’d love to take him to Hawaii with everyone else but, alas, his structured environment.
Jo: I don’t know who’s worse – Jo or Slade, the gay blade. This is one of the fakest relationships on reality tv. She’s using him for the money even though she clearly can’t stand him, and he is using her to make a better soap opera acting reel. Have you seen some of his crazy Blue Mountain card moments? “Jo, I love you so much that I must let you go. I need to let your beautiful heart be free – to whore it up in Los Angeles while I try my damndest to screw porn stars here in the OC.” They are both disgusting and highly watchable. Oh, and Jo singing has to be the saddest thing ever. She’s actually worse than Sanjaya which is nearly impossible to manage. Another thing I don’t like is when women use a fake baby voice. Jo does this constantly. “I’m sowwy, swade. I wuv you sooo much.” You’re also 30. Jesus.
Vicki: One of the lesser evils on the show. She’s like the girl that was on the outside of the popular clique in high school who would do anything to fit in. If the Heathers hate you, she hates you more. If gauchos and a stacked perm are in style, she’s eighth in line to get them even if it makes her look crazier than she already looks. Her only saving grace is that her grown daughter seems kind of normal.
Tammi: Do all their names end in i? Hmm…at first glance you’d think Tammi was the normal one. And her ex-bf Duff almost seems puppy doggish. But then, take a look at her two grown daughters. One of them looks like she works in George’s meth lab, even though she recently broke up with her boyfriend who was raising giant pitbulls and the other one has the most orange tan I’ve ever seen. She’s either using fake tanner from the eighties or she’s jaundiced. Plus, the orange one might be less intelligent than anyone on the show – which is saying A LOT. Also, you know that Tammi’s ex husband is now married to a Thai child mail order bride right? I’m telling you, these are screwed up people.
Jeana: I almost like her except that her son, Shane is screwed up. She’s definitely not with her husband even though she claims they’re still together. I spend most of her screentime trying to reconcile the way she looks now with the way she looked in the ZZ Top video years ago. It just can’t be the same person.
Okay, I’m tired now. But I can hardly wait for the reunion show!
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on March 17, 2007 8:25 pm