Pure Hell: A Guide to Toddler Torture

Last weekend was all about how my husband and I could torture our little boy. We started with taking him to our local amusement park. Because it claims to have 'Fun for All.'

Although the park does not have the latest and greatest thrill rides, it is a quaint place where every child who has grown up around this region is guaranteed to make fond first memories. How dare we try to make first memories with our child? Especially at the place where his Mommy and his Grandfather worked their first jobs. I was unaware this type of behavior is forbidden in toddler world. What to do next since we are at a fun place? Well, if you are even remotely familiar with Camden Park it is a must-do to eat the local fare known as the "Pronto Pup." So with anxious hearts and stomachs, we purchased our son's first Pronto Pup. He snubbed his nose at it and decided the Larabar we had brought with us was a much better option than a deep fried corn dog. Yes, in theory he is right. But this was supposed to be a treat.

Can you imagine the torture of being offered a rare fair treat? How dare we do such a thing? The final act of torture to culminate our first family adventure to the local fun place was something absolutely horrendous. Since we were scared to leave him on a kiddie ride because he has no fear and severe separation anxiety, we....ohhh, I can't even type it. Hanging my head in shame at this very moment. We took him on a carousel ride where I could hold him. 

You read this correctly. We took him on a ride. Not a ride where you throw your kid on and get adorable pictures. Because we knew if we did this he would barrel back to us with all his strength and put others and himself in danger. 

As we climbed on the carousel. I chose a cream colored horse and attached the safety belt around him. He begins what we call 'meltdown mode.' His next great move is to hurl his body weight off the horse directly to me with the death grip on my shirt. As I look around, I notice an empty bench on the carousel and decide that may be a better place to enjoy his first ride. I unbuckle his safety belt and begin to move towards the empty bench. A bell rings signaling fun is about to begin. There isn't enough time to make it to the bench before the carnival music begins and we go spinning round for what felt like forever. I immediately grab the bar attached to our chosen smiling horse and bear hugged my son. Other children laughed and posed for cute carousel pictures. Mine screamed, round and round we went with a red faced waling toddler.

We were done with fun for all after this. So on the next day, I followed the horrific event known as an amusement park with something equally as traumatic. He was treated to his first haircut. Here he also screamed while throwing his body weight around, except this experience had more snot involved. And did you know the phrase 'spitting mad' is not just a phrase? If my child is angry enough, he spits. First time parent learns yet another lesson. So here you have it, your very own guide to toddler torture. Amusement park, deep fried food, a carousel ride, and one hair cut is all it takes to thoroughly piss off a toddler.

Corsets Laced with Hope Strings

Perfection is the goal. To present ourselves as golden rays beaming happiness. It's not always so. I can redefine beauty in the terms of motherhood, but I still play another role. The role which began almost 12 years prior.

He didn't have a ring and we had only been dating for 8 months. I was crying and an emotional Pisces can break through the thickest Scorpion skin. He had never felt such an emotional attachment combined with fireworks every where else. And he knew, we both knew from the beginning. I called him my 'kismet.' I didn't know at the time when I rejected the first proposal it would be seven years later before I heard those words again.

 And it wasn't perfect. It has been one of the briar patches in our relationship. He told me to pick a ring off the internet, keep it under a grand, and I did. He tried to take me to the museum to make it some kind of a real thing, but the roads were icy and too steep. It was a week before Christmas and I already knew the proposal was coming. It was either coming, or I was on my way out the door. I had waited long enough. So we headed back to our little apartment on this particular not special evening and he asked me to marry him. I asked him to get down on one knee because it was proper.

I hate telling this story because it hurts. He robbed himself of the excitement for not going out to find a ring on his own and doing the surprise proposal instead of the forced one. And I sold myself short. As I look at this unbearably hard lesson, I also look around where we are five years later. Despite a bad engagement story, we have created a beautiful home and filled it with the most precious toddler in the world (I know I am being bias on this because that toddler is ours, but he is pretty damn cute.) 

Beauty is felt on the inside as I play the role of mother. However as a wife, I struggle. I struggle to want to be sexy. To feel sexy. To broadcast any sort of sex appeal into my relationship. I keep hearing these words pour out of my mouth "I am only a mother now." 

Throughout the maternity leave, I told myself it would pass. It was postpartum depression and once I returned to work, and started putting makeup on in the mornings again that these feelings would pass. It didn't pass. It is almost two years later and it hasn't passed. When my son was four months old, I dyed my hair pink in some hopes to reclaim a bit of femininity.

Picture taken by Tammylynn's Photography

But it was just pink hair. It didn't spark me into wanting to get all dressed up. It didn't make feel more womanly. It was just pink hair. 

Looking back, the roles changed. And I am adaptable. I was a girlfriend who became a fiancee. Then I transitioned into a wife and finally a mother. And I stopped caring about any role I had once my son arrived. I want him to have the best childhood. And that is my main care. As my husband robbed himself of engagement excitement, I know I am robbing myself of the experience to be a wife and a mother. Women can be both. Once upon a time I was lady who loved corsets, thigh high black boots, and hours spent on my sexy makeup look. I don't know where that lady went. I don't know when one has a child if that lady dies. But I can't find her. And I really am not looking too hard for her either. I'm too tired to look. 

We have a running joke in our house. "Poker sounds awesome on Tuesday." Because before the baby came, we played poker with our friends almost every Friday for over ten years. And on Tuesdays we are excited about having friends over and playing. Then Friday comes, and we are exhausted. And staying up till 1 or 2 a.m. is like running a marathon after you smoked a pack of cigarettes. There just isn't enough breath. We are the same way about going out to dinner. It sounds great on Tuesday. But on a Friday night where a grandparent watches the little one overnight, we want to be lazy. We indulge ourselves in relaxation. 

People will say "you always have to work at your relationship." And I know this is true. I work a full time job along with writing articles, short stories, and this blog; I don't want anymore work. I've worked since I was 15. I know how to work but I don't know how to be someone that I don't want to be. 

Sexy isn't in my vocabulary right now. And I make no apologies for that. As with my engagement, in five years a lot of things change. A Pisces always has one thing, we always retain hope. Maybe one day a glimmer of the old me will return, maybe she won't. For now, this lady is perfectly fine in her white stained tank top and plaid pajama pants with her corsets locked away in a closet.   

Two Questions One Answer

A few years ago I asked a question. What is two girls one cup? If you don't know what it is, don't go looking. JUST DON'T DO IT. My ears were assaulted by the answer. My mind is still haunted in the fact that two fame whores would go to such an extent and post such filth on the internet. I am aware there is probably far worse done before their stint with shit. And it has probably been followed with even more shittier shit. Sometimes, there is an answer. The answer I wish to have been told is "it's none of your business." But they put it on the internet and everyone was talking so I made it my business when I asked the awful question.

 Lately there isn't much filth I let filter in. I don't seek it either. But I am confronted by questions where the simple answer is "it's none of your business." Two questions have affronted my modesty. Strangers find it okay to ask these questions. It is not okay. 

1. Did you breast or bottle feed? Wait a second, let me look at something. 

Oh, those fun bags are still attached to me. Who knew?! Yes, I had a child and what I chose to do with my breasts are my business. Simple answer, "it's none of your business." No, you can't shame me because we chose a bottle. In fact, some women are never given the choice and I am one of those. So let me shame you for asking a personal question.  Because the simple answer is "it's none of your business." Now if you happen to stumble upon me being all "There Will Be Blood" like and giving my son a whiskey bottle, then yes, please society ask personal questions. 

 This scene is screaming to ask personal questions. Wonder if he breast or bottle fed? 

The second question I am hearing more and more of every day because my son is at a certain age where strangers in the grocery store deem it appropriate to ask. 

2. Are you planning to have another baby or when are you planning to have another one? It's really the same damn question either way. The "misfit" in me wants to answer like this:

"Well I have this app on my phone that tracks my ovulation so let me just pull it out and track my handy dandy menstrual cycle and I will let you know when my husband and I plan on doing the deed. Give me a minute to pull the app up. Damn phone takes forever. By the way, I am Pisces and my husband is a Scorpio. You should totally Google how great our chemistry is. It's probably the best EVER!" 

The truth and the honest answer is I got fixed. I can't have anymore kids. I wasn't supposed to get pregnant and carry the cute little bundle of joy people are suddenly ignoring. They ignore him only because they are so interested in when I will breed my next cutie patootie. 

And the last time I checked, people usually make babies by:

Being intimate. Yes, I know there are other ways to conceive but it is a private matter. It is not something I want to discuss openly with strangers in the grocery store. The answer to this question is the same as the answer before, "it's none of your business." So let me shame you again for asking a personal question and you will hear the answer. "No, I have one kidney and would like to be there when my son grows up so I have decided to not have anymore children. God has blessed me with one miracle."

Sometimes it is small talk. I am guilty of asking the second question and the minute the words puked out of my mouth, I wished they could be returned. In much the same fashion when I asked a few years about those disgusting two girls. There was only one answer I wished to have heard "it's none of your business." Because the truth is I didn't want to hear the real answer.   

Beautiful Redefined

Girl things used to be a staple. The love of high heels, the meticulous routine to smell good, or an afternoon spent playing with hairstyles; it is all a part of my past now. My shoes have changed. A staple to my former wardrobe consisted of shoes that were high and glittery. Any chance to rock a pair of high heels were eagerly grabbed, strapped on, and a night ensued where I always hoped to not twist an ankle.

Photo taken by Tammylynn's Photography

I still own these shoes plus several more, but I don't wear them. After pregnancy, I became more comfortable and at ease in shoes like these. These are my so called mom shoes. Vans slip ons, Nike running shoes, and I LOVE TOMS. Toms are better than any pair of slippers I have ever owned and I will rock them to work, the store, or pretty much anywhere.

No these are not the stylish golden shoes I used to wear. These shoes have no heels. They are a comfort selection and I can put them on in under 2 seconds and they ensure I don't drop the toddler when carrying him. I am knocking on wood at this moment because I know these shoes have no guarantee against my own clumsiness. 

I've tried to wear a pair of heels since having my son. It lasted only two hours before my feet rebelled in tremendous pain, I could barely walk in them. As a girl, it felt like I was fifteen again trying to learn to walk in my homecoming dance shoes for the first time. 

Another habit has also changed in girl world. I rarely use these products anymore. 

Don't get me wrong, I still love to smell pretty. Somewhere I just stopped taking the time to use the body wash followed by the body lotion and finishing with the matching body spray. My scent is based now on shea butter soap and deodorant (on the days I remember, which I try to remember every day because no girl wants to walk around as smelly girl.) These lotions and sprays used to be a daily ritual for me. Daily girl days have truly changed into a woman rushing to have more time with her son. 

The time I spend with him does not matter if I am in 5 inch heels. The time does not require me to smell like Paris Love or Rainkissed Leaves. Most of the time, he looks at me as a stranger when I am in my nice work clothes and have my face painted on. He is used to this lady.

The mom he knows. The mom in her glasses with no make up and smelling like shea butter walking around the house in her Toms. There is no glamorous high heels in this world. No fancy designer dresses. Only his pajama clad glasses wearing mama, that's the person he loves. 

And somewhere along the way, I have learned to love this person more too. The less maintenance means more face time where I get to roll around in the floor and wrestle, or we are out in the yard barefoot splashing each other with water. My treasured girl time where I felt so pretty is replaced by a boy who loves to throw dirt (he will eat it too if you don't catch him fast enough.) I have become a girl who is replaced by being a mother. And although society doesn't see the beauty in this, I see it. I see the mothers in their yoga pants and running shoes with their hair quickly thrown into a ponytail. And these women are taking care of their children and they are more beautiful than any super model. 

Beauty isn't about the person we see on the outside and how long it took them to become that way. Beauty is not caring about the looks, the high fashion, and the even higher heels. Beauty is born on the inside. It is a person caring only about another person, never giving a second thought to their own looks. 

The Last Notch

In the movie "The Shawshank Redemption" the character Brooks talks about his new life outside the prison walls. He says "the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry." He was right. Each moment is rushed. We are constantly rushing to the next moment. When did we stop just being here?

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 In the first few months we had our son, and he wouldn't sleep longer than an hour or so at night, I have the memory of taking him into his nursery. I rocked him to sleep and put him in his crib. I prayed with all my might he would just sleep there for awhile. I missed my bed. I missed sleeping next to my husband. I missed sleep. I stumbled into my bedroom and fell into the bed next to my husband. This lasted about ten minutes. My son wasn't ready for his crib. He wasn't ready to be thrown into a strange room called his nursery and I was rushing a moment. 

Moments are rushed. Each day I am excited for his next big milestone. Each day I look forward to when he is older and we can go see movies together, or have conversations (like real ones not him babbling gibberish and I just nod pretending to understand. I don't understand or have the slightest idea what he is saying most of the time.) And I know what I am doing...and it is so wrong. 

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Wishing away life, waiting for what I think will be the next breath of fresh air. We always need air and we should be grateful in the fact that we are breathing. We are in the moment of now. When we returned from our vacation, we lowered his crib to the last notch. I don't know why I put off this milestone for so long. At the beach, I rented baby equipment from a wonderful business called Baby's Away of Charleston. And they anticipated what my child needed. They set up a crib and it was at the lowest notch. And I knew, it was time. Time to lower his bed. He is climbing. He is literally running and bouncing off the walls. He is living each day in his new moment. 

As I look at his new lower crib, I know what will happen next. He will outgrow his crib. He will then need a toddler bed, and before I know it he will have his own room with a real bed. He will be playing Playstation 6 or whatever the current gaming system is, and I won't be allowed in his room, and all these little moments will be gone. They will be a memory just like the one where I put him in his crib for the first time and prayed he would sleep.

It's going too damn fast. The world really is in a damn hurry. And just like Brooks, we are all here. We are present in the now. Not looking to the next moment, but we are living in this precise exact moment. And in a few seconds, it will be gone. And the memory is all we will have.

Pee Pee Hands

Although vacation was pretty perfect, there were set backs. Things a new first time Mom, or a forgetful first time Mom, was not equipped to handle. Things which ended in semi-mortified moments where you could feel the glances of other more prepared mothers burning holes into your soul. This is the story of Pee Pee hands. 

After a delightful morning of swimming, we decided to stop at our favorite tavern for lunch. 
I didn't have the necessary change of clothes. I was clad only in my sheer swim cover up with my bathing suit underneath and flip flops. The child had on his trunks, swim diaper, and a long sleeved terry cloth cover up. We were lucky enough to pick a booth which was walled on both sides so there was some privacy. On this trip the child discovered french fries, and he was happily wolfing down his new favorite treat which we ordered as an appetizer.

Then it happened. Have you ever seen a horse pee in the street? This happened in our favorite eating spot. The swim diaper gave way and then there was a gush. The sound of a waterfall hitting a hardwood floor. My feet were covered in my child's pee. On a side note, all readers should know that in a panic situation I am a freezer. I become paralyzed with a deer in headlights look. I state "Oh my God, he just peed all over the floor." A person who will remain nameless in this post, throws down a wad of paper towels, wipes up the pee pee mess the best they could and continues to eat lunch with pee pee hands. 

I had no hand sanitizer. I had none of those cute little Bath and Body Works hand sanitizers strapped to my purse. No back up diapers. No shred of dignity was left in me after this lunch because I know someone had to witness this incident. If for some miracle no one noticed as it happened, my face was screaming with "Oh My GOD! What do we do?!!" Eat fast, tip HUGE, I take the baby to the car, and nameless person uses every napkin on the table to wipe away our mess. The next plan of action is to get the hell out of there, not to return for the rest of our trip, and everyone proceeds to shower. To my favorite tavern, I apologize for this story. I will also allow the eating establishment to remain nameless, which is the least I can do....and I say to myself, thank you to my child for only allowing that moment to be a number one potty moment instead of a number two. Hand sanitizer is now a staple in my purse.

Blessed Be

Vacation was pretty picture perfect. And on the day after I wrote my last post, I saw this in my Facebook news feed. Even on Fakebook, a message will come exactly when it is needed. And I needed a major reminder before I entered full breakdown crying in the floor mode, which I tend to do. Mainly I reserve these occasions for a bath. 

 My bath was a much needed baptismal in the Atlantic. There I found strength and happiness. I actually was able to witness true joy. Nothing will compare to the memory I have of my son and the first time he saw the ocean. He questioned the vastness. He looked at us for security and once he knew he was safe, he charged into the surf screaming with zeal. He was, in usual fashion, fearless. There is no greater joy I can hold in my heart than replaying his high pitched shrieks which only exuded the excitement. If he had his words, his screams and shrieks would have been translated into "THIS IS THE BEST DAY I HAVE EVER HAD!" But only his delightful screams and his eyes could say these words.

He has my eyes. Eyes which can't hide emotion. All emotions are displayed on our faces for the world. It's a funny thing because until you have a child, you are never able to witness certain features about yourself. On this vacation, I saw my own happiness reflected in my son's eyes. 

It is easy to say children are blessings. Because they are the closest we can come to seeing the last bit of heaven before they conform to the world. That within itself is a blessing. The blessing doesn't end here. Watching a human see the ocean for the first time is a blessing. And in my last post, I regretfully wrote that he probably wouldn't remember this trip anyways. I let the stress of a preparation, and worry, and the doubt override a great blessing. 

As we sat on the beach, especially our last day, I looked into those happy eyes and asked him "to please remember these days. These are special days." Throughout his enthusiasm, he was overwhelmed by the greatest play place he had ever seen, he cuddled with me. Our cuddles are always brief because he is a great explorer. But on the last Friday, on the eve before we would have another early wake up and be stuck in the car for another 9 to 10 hours, he cuddled with me. We didn't have a care in this moment. We were blessed. May all travelers have these moments, may every family and loved ones find at the end of their journeys the experience in "blessed be."