Motherhood?

So S. and I have been considering the idea of having a child.

This would be an unimaginable change in life for me.

I am selfish. I resent people and things who wake me up. And I am 34. Not to mention the supraventricular tachycardia issues and prescription sleeping pills.

I am not sure I will be able to go through with this.

Also, I knew me when I was a child. I suspect my genes will be dominant. Can the world handle a mini me?

Example: I was about 6 years old. Old enough to know better, but that whole "good judgement" thing has never been my strong suit. My brother Jeremy and I were home alone one evening. If I was 6, Jeremy was 9. That means he was older and should have also known better, and possibly had better judgement. Back to the genetic thing though...my familys crazy was built to last y'all.

Anyway, we were home alone and apparently bored. And evil. The evil probably hasn't changed much. We lived with a wonderful dog named Brownie. She was well behaved, patient, and never caused problems. But she was afraid of the vacuum. Jeremy and I ran through the house with the vacuum. Around and around, with the terrified dog desparately trying to hide. One of us came up with the brilliant idea to flick the lights on and off. Great fun, until the fuse blew.

Mom and Dad came home to find two subdued children, no lights, and a trembling dog. Like any child confronted with the question of "What the hell did you do?", we developed amnesia and said "nothing".

Dad replaced the fuse and we were let off the hook. I think, on his behalf, that doing any detective work would probably just open a very large can of worms. I think it was a choice that Dad made to not investigate what truly happened.

Dad never really seemed intersted in being an active and involved parent. My father was the curator of a very large childrens museum, but avoided his own small children frequently. Most of the staff at the museum at my fathers level worked Monday through Friday. My father chose to work Tuesday through Saturday. That meant he only had to deal with his family on Sundays. On Mondays all the kids went back to school and Mom to work. I understand the ned to have time for yourself, but I also think that it shouldn't come at the cost of your family.

My mother was abusive and neglectful. It is hard to write that. It was hard to believe that. It took many years and many therapists to help me se that I am not a bad person, and I was not a bad child. I had bad parents. And don't tell me that "they did the best that they could", because that is not the case. Both of them are college educated, and neither were beaten in their childhood homes. Both of them worked as teachers in public schools and had training and experience in dealing with children.

I feel feral in a way. I know that things were different with Jeremy and with me. We are the youngest children in a family of five children. I think that maybe my parents tried more and harder with the first two. Less with the middle child. And not at all with me. I was left on my own, at home, for hours when I was five. I was allowed to, and encouraged to make my own breakfast. Including scrambling my own eggs over the gas stove in a heavy iron pan. I was responsible for pretty much all of my own care - bathing, dressing, grooming, entertainment. I was allowed to ram the neighborhood at will and at random for hours.

I realize that 150 years ago, it would have been common for small children to handle tasks that are now handled by adults. I do think that children need to learn things as they are able, and under a supervised atmosphere. Children should not be left to their own devices and not shown how to interact appropriately with the world.

I worry that I will have that sort of passive/ "I don't want to know" attitude with a child of my own. I worry that I will have a child that does those sort of things. I worry that I will be a bad parent, and that my child will choose not to speak to me for over 10 years, as I have.

Part of me really truly wants a daughter of my own, to raise and care for. To do a better job with than what I had. To teach and to love and to experience the world with. But I hold back because I am afraid I will not do a better job. That I will, in fact, do an even worse job and create another unhappy person.

I talked to my Nurse Practitioner about this. She is very smart and I respect her opinions on most things medical. She said that she came from a jacked up family, but that when it is your own family you can change the patterns. I hope she is right. If I do decide to have a child, I am going to fight as hard as I can to have the most happy and well adjusted child I can possibly create, because failure is not an option.

The Woo

Today I took Woo to the vet. A new vet.

He has been having issues with diarrhea for a while. I took him to another vet before, who I just did not like. I had been feeding him Science Diet prescription I/D, for about a year but he managed to have diarrhea. The bad vet told me that that food wasn't adequate nutrition, and changed him to Purina prescription diet. Woo did not eat it very well, continued to have diarrhea, and lost weight. He is the only cat I have ever had that was so picky about food. If he doesn't like it, he does not eat. No matter how hungry he gets.

I also took Biki to the same vet practice 3 times, and each time saw a different vet. So I decided to make a change.

A long time ago, I wokred for a VMD. I loved that job! Plus I got free vet care! So I am really picky about vets. The new vet today actually listened to me, asked valid questions about my baby, and gave me a script for a supplement. Sort of like a pro-biotic for cats. He said that some vets had reported it being successful in stimulating their appetites. He was right!

For the first time in like ever, The Woo was actually interested in food! He ate all the food I gave him! Usually he will nibble around the edges and pick at food, so this was amazing! Plus, this new vet is way cheaper than the last one. If needed, I would sell my kidney as a donor on the black market to pay for vet care. The little beasties mean so much to me. But I would rather not have it come to that, so I am happy to have found a vet I like and who will not need a sacrificial organ!

I had to list the name of my pet on the form. I put down Edgar, which IS his official name. But he never gets called that. When I found him, he was a stray. I posted notices everywhere online and called vets in the area. Nobody claimed him. I already had two cats, so I refused to name him, cause once you name them, they are yours. I managed to go for two months calling him 'Squishface' or 'FancyPants' before I realized that I wasn't going to find his previous owners.

Since he has a haughty Persian face, I decided he needed a grumpy old man kind of name, so he became Edgar. Which soon became Eddie. That led to Edissimo, which begat MoMo. Somewhere along the line, he became Dude. Then Dudearoo, then, and this is really sad, Dudeawoo. So while he may be named Edgar, he answers to Dude or Woo. And that boys and girls, is the saddest reason I should never have children.

And so I'm back. Without a trace.

I may be a little depressed. I think it is all situational, so I am just keeping an eye on things and not actively seeking to do anything about it. I am not oversleeping, as I am prone to do when really depressed, and I am keeping tabs on other thoughts and behaviors, and I think I can ride this out.

I keep thinking of things I could blog about, but I don't. So now I will. Totally random thoughts.

1. Is there anyone out there who is actually still buying premium gas? Seriously, regular is $4, who can afford the $4.50 and up stuff?

2. Why do the biggest most horrible spiders come into MY house? The worlds largest spider, and no I am not exaggerating, was killed in my kitchen mere hours ago. I am still creeped out. It was like a rogue extra from "Arachnophobia" had taken up residence here. I do have a bug phobia - diagnosed by a licensed professional - but I am not kidding when I tell you the fucker was 3 inches long. That was just the body. Good news, the spider was sprayed with (bad news) insect killer, and slithered to the floor. Then it got squooshed with a shoe. Not one of mine. Good news. The the shoe was placed on a chair. Bad news.

See the thing about phobias is, they are, by definition, not rational. I think it is perfectly rational for both the shoe and the chair that touched the shoe that touched the spider to be thrown out or Freecycled. Owner of the said shoe disagrees, and may have mumbled something about "ridiculous" while leaving the scene of the spidercide.

This is not the first or last time this is going to happen. A long time ago, when I lived in PA, there was a megalegger on the wall. Thats a centipede for those of you not in the know. I was very brave and smashed it with a cardboard box. I remember swinging at it, eyes closed, and yelping. So then the bug was dead, but the corpse remained on the wall. I had to ask a friend to come over to remove it. Friend arrived, cleaned bug bits off the wall with proffered paper towels, and placed the towels and bug bits into a trash bag. Friend then washed hands, per my frantic instructions, and then reached for the paper towels, picking the roll up by the center. I told him that he would now need to take the paper towels with him or throw them out, because his hands, that touched the paper towels that touched the dead megalegger, had now touched my roll of towels, and they were now tainted. I can see how this might seem extreme. I really can. But bugs and all things bug related horrify me. Remember those old screen savers, the ones where different bugs would crawl across the screen? Yeah. I couldn't handle those.

3. Why do little children instinctively kick my chairs? And why do their parents do nothing?

Number three is slightly less bad than number 2, and I will explain. Last February, I flew to Florida for a nice relaxing vacation. 1st flight, from Indy to Tennessee, I get seated in front of a 3 year old monster named Shayla, and her stupefying ineffective mother, name unknown. Every other word out of SI Moms mouth was Shayla. As in "Shayla, sit." "Shayla, let's be good now." "Shayla, look out the windows." "Shayla, do you want some juice?" Shayla Shayla Shayla. We hadn't even taken off yet and I knew this wasn't going to be good. Minutes into the flight and precious Shayla is kicking my chair. SI Mom noticed, and started with a litany of Shaylas. Included were requests for her to be good for mommy, remember how we promised to behave now, if you behave you get a toy.

OK, so I don't have children, but I know this much. If you have a child and you ask them a question, you are giving them the opportunity to disagree. So don't be surprised when they do. So when you ask your precious darling Shayla wouldn't she like to take a nap now, and she says no, it seems ridiculous to try and force the kid to sleep against her stated will.

Anyway, I told my seatmate that if the kid behind me kicked my seat again, I was going to tell her the truth about Santa Claus. Luckily Shaylas father overheard me, and maybe I purposely said it louder than necessary, but dad stepped in and gave the child something to occupy her rotten self for the rest of the flight.

So today, I went to see Hancock. Not going to spoil it for anyone, but I would save your money for a netflix rental of it when it comes out. Halfway through the movie, there is kicking and thumping on my chair. I let it go the first 10 minutes or so, which is breaking all bounds of my patience. Then I said that the brat behind me better quit kicking my chair. Kicking stops for 5 minutes, then is resumed. This is in a brand new theater, with big aisles, and plenty of room. Plus, it is a child behind me, so it isn't just a long legged individual fighting to get comfortable.

So I turned around and faced the little dick in training. I gave it the death stare and said "would you please stop kicking my chair" in a semi threatening voice. The evil seed looked at me sullenly, and full of resentment. The kid was seated with other children, no responsible adult in sight, the dick in training was maybe 8 or 9. The kicking was only occasional after that, but there was snorting and giggling involved. And then I did a bad thing.

After the movie let out, everyone rushed into the hallway. Damian (I am guessing at the name) was alone, near the wall. I walked by, on my way to the ladies room, and I brushed into him (the person I was with said I hip checked him. Whatever). I looked at him, made eye contact and offered a breezy "Sorry!" and kept on walking. And I got another vicious stare in return. Yeah, he was a child, but a rotten one, so I don't feel bad. And also? Where were the parents? They were seated in another section of the theater (same movie) and they were all together after I got out of the restroom. My first guess would be that the kid is so miserable that his own parents didn't even want to acknowledge him in public.

I fully realize that I clearly do not have the patience to raise a child(ren) of my own anytime soon. When a 32 year old gets into a virtual pissing war with a 8 year old, that doesn't bode well for either one. And I suppose any responsible, good parent reading this may be offended. But you know what? If this little future dicks parents had been doing a better job, or hey, maybe not letting the child sit unattended, none of this would have happened. And next time, I am sitting in the very last row at the movies.

I am a total fan of Liam Kyle Sullivan. And if you haven't seen the newest Kelly video "Booty Call", I suggest you head on over to YouTube and check it out, betch.