Category:

Confessions

los, grief, national pregnancy and infant loss remembrance day

Living in the Purgatory of Loss

by Deborah Cruz 2013/10/15

It’s been a crazy emotionally draining few weeks. The kind that makes you take stock in who you are, where you are and what your life has become. Weeks that makes you stop and catch your breath and reassess what is important to you.

On Tuesday evening in casual conversation, I asked a my daughter’s ballet teacher when she was due. She said Thanksgiving and just like that, I was punched in the gut. Thanksgiving last year was my due date, this year I should have a one-year-old sitting on my lap. I don’t. It’s not fucking fair! I just want to collapse into a pool of snot and tears and cry until I can’t cry anymore.

It all started last week when the Big Guy and I were having a conversation about the big things in life, already happening. He feels like all the big things have already happened for us. He specifically mentioned our children and though he never said it, I felt that it was unspoken that maybe our loss was on his mind, even if he didn’t realize it. This made me sad because, I already blame myself and on some days the loss is too much to bear.

Then I had to take Bella to the hospital for passing out cold in my arms and for those split seconds I thought she was dead. I really did and my whole world exploded like a nuclear bomb went off and wiped me off the face of the earth. As I sat there in the emergency room waiting to hear the results, my mind went back to that moment on May 1^st, 2012 when I sat on a stretcher waiting for them to wheel me back for my D & E. I remember seeing a mother holding her 18-month-old daughter on her lap as they awaited surgery for the child and I said to the Big Guy then, “At least I am not here with my sick child!”

I was thankful not to be sitting there with a sick Bella or Gabi waiting for them to be wheeled back to get surgery when in fact I was sitting there with my baby in my belly with no heartbeat. I had completely separated myself from the situation and that is how I’ve survived the loss. The Big Guy looked at me like I was crazy. I probably was but when I sat there with Bella on that Thursday morning, I felt more helpless and useless than I’ve ever felt before.

The baby that we lost has been on my mind a lot lately; practically daily. Maybe its because its fall and I know that the due date is right around the corner. Maybe it has something to do with seeing beautiful pregnant women everywhere I go. Maybe it has been triggered by the losses of my friends in the past few weeks. Or maybe I have still not yet let it go.

When I first lost our baby, I was terrified of ever feeling that pain again. I still am but every once in awhile I see a glimpse of what if? I allow myself to wonder. But I’m older now and so are the girls and it feels like the gap is unsurmountable. That part of our life has been forcefully surrendered and I know I could not survive another loss. That I know for sure. It put me in a very dark place that I never want to revisit. But still it hurts, I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting; the loss of our unexpected blessing.

When will I stop marking time by events of loss? I feel like I am coping well and not dwelling on the sadness and then just as suddenly, my heart is in my throat and BOOM! emotional time bomb.

Maybe we should have tried for another baby. Maybe it would have helped take up some of the room in this hole in my heart and then I realize, no, you can’t fill that void. I just have to learn to live in my loss and not being able to give my daughter a little brother or sister. When will I stop feeling like I need to be still and hide on these annual occasions of conception, miscarriage and due date?

It’s all I have. I never got to hold my baby in my arms. I cling to these tiny milestones like they are my last breaths. When will I be able to exhale?

Our babies who have gone on to heaven may not be here in our arms but they are always in our hearts. During National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, please remember what we can never forget.

2013/10/15 1 comment

Confessions

The Hardest Part is the Waiting

by Deborah Cruz 2013/10/08

written by Deborah Cruz

When I was pregnant with Bella, I constantly listened to Celine Dion’s album Miracle. Honestly, it was my first pregnancy and I was so in love with my baby before she was ever born, like all moms-to-be. From the moment that I knew she was there, I loved her, more than life itself and I still do. This is how I have felt about every pregnancy and every child I’ve had the pleasure of growing in my body.

I would sway back and forth in her nursery, rubbing my belly and singing the songs to her, imagining all the things I would get to do with her throughout her life. All the books said that you should talk to your unborn baby because they would know your voice, and she did. She kicked and we had our long conversations in that nursery as the sun shone through the window and kissed my belly; just the two of us.

After she was born, I would soothe her to sleep in my arms, rocking in front of that same window looking down into her big blue eyes. My miracle realized; my child in my arms to love for all eternity. The love was sometimes almost overwhelming. It scared me to love someone so much; it still does.

My Bella has been sick since last Thursday when she unexpectedly passed out in my arms and my whole world feels upside down. Nothing seems right and even the air feels thicker. Yesterday, we went for her follow up and they sent us for an echocardiogram…just to be sure. My heart stopped. I thought everything was fine but I’ve been here before, that unsuspecting moment when you think life is fine and it gets completely knocked upside down. I don’t want to be here. I want to be somewhere else; anywhere else. I want to close my eyes and cover my ears and pretend none of this is happening.

The echocardiogram took what seemed like an eternity. I don’t know if that is standard or if they saw something. I only know that I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s been throwing up and laying around the house frail and sickly and I just want to take it all away.

Now, I wait for the results of one of the most important tests of my life. I am freaking out and today was the first time I’ve had the chance to process my feelings. The Big Guy is back at work, Bella went back to school and I am waiting by the phone, listening to that CD that made me so happy when I sung those songs to my Bella when she was safe in my arms and sobbing as I type this because the uncertainty is breaking my heart.

This could be the beginning of something we have to tackle or it could be nothing. Either way, I have to keep it together for Bella, my miracle.

***Update: After the doctor didn’t call last night, considering that I have been frantic since last Thursday when this all started, I called the pediatrician who is out of office until Thursday. I started choking up and crying on the phone with the nurse because my nerves are shot and practically begging them to call me as soon as the doctor walked in on Thursday morning, knowing full well that I will be a hot, sobbing mess until then. The nurse tried to talk me off my worried mommy ledge but it wasn’t working. She just called back and said she called the doctor at home and after consulting with the pediatric cardiologist: “No need to worry. No abnormalities. No issues. No Restrictions!” Thank You God and everyone who prayed. I’ve never been so happy to hear the word no in my life. WHEW!!!Exhale!Breathe….that’s what the nurse just told me. I am trying but first I must finish the stress crying.

2013/10/08 2 comments

Confessions Parenting

What to Do When the Unthinkable Happens to Your Child

by Deborah Cruz 2013/10/04

written by Deborah Cruz

You know it’s bad enough that we live in a world where I have to feel trepidatious every time I drop my kids off at school or hear a siren. It’s bad enough that I have to live in world where people bully other people for sport and children are regularly kidnapped, raped and murdered. All these things, I think about every day. I think of childhood diseases and cancers and getting hit by a car or stolen an these things scare the hell out of me.

Yesterday morning was one of the worst of my life thus far. We all hate to see our children sick. It makes us feel helpless. For me, it is the worst feeling in the world. Worse than anything else I have ever experienced. I’d do anything for them to never feel pain. Give it all to me. Let me take the pain and sickness and let them only feel well and happy. My mind goes to dark places when my children are sick.

When my nephew was 3, he was diagnosed with leukemia and since then, I have been acutely aware of the mortality of children. It is the one thing that scares me above all else; loving someone else so much that you can’t imagine surviving without them and knowing that at any time, anywhere, it can all be taken away. It scares me more than anything. Yesterday, I found myself in the emergency room with my oldest daughter and I was scared to death and helpless and all I could do was pray.

My 8-year-old woke up yesterday morning and immediately said she had a sore throat and didn’t feel too well. The night before she complained of a slight headache and scratchy throat, so I suggested that we take her temperature and sure enough she had a slight fever, 99.9. School says it’s not a fever until it’s over 100. Mommy says it’s a fever over 98.6. The three of us walk down the stairs through the foyer and make our way to the kitchen. Both girls stand by the counter while I grab some ibuprofen, only this is when things when terribly wrong.

With my back is to her, I stood about 5-feet away grabbing the ibuprofen, Bella screams out terrified, “Mommy, I can’t see!”

“What?” my mind is racing. I run over to her and immediately start putting my hands in front of her face to see if she can see anything.

“Can you see this?”

Staring blanky at nothing and her voice starting to crack, “No, Mommy, I can’t see anything!”

I am swept up in fear because the first thing that comes to my mind is the photophobia caused by meningitis. The very thing I lost a student to in the matter of a weekend. Oh shit! What do I do?

As she was finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed into my arms. Luckily, I was standing directly in front of her. I was hysterically shouting her name and shaking her. I was terrified. For a few seconds, that felt like an eternity, she was completely unresponsive and my mind went to the darkest place of all; was she dead? Oh my God, she’s dead.

Then she opened her eyes but she was still limp like a rag doll. My heart was beating a million miles a minute. My chest hurt. My heart literally felt like it had exploded. I drug her to the nearest chair (my 8-year-old is 75 pounds and 4 foot 10 she is almost as big as I am). I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was that I had to get her to the hospital now and I didn’t know where the closest hospital even was. As I dialed my husband, 2 hours away, just arriving at work, she said, “Mommy, I’m going to be sick!”

She is shaky and still limp-like. I walk her to the bathroom and hold her so she doesn’t collapse face first into the toilet tank. She is wobbling. I am shaking. I am trying to stay cool because my 6-year-old is watching the whole thing go down. Not crying, not scared just looking to me.

“Gabi, please get your sister some water.”

She did, no complaining or back-and-forth. She kicked into fight mode and she was calm and rational and I have never seen this side of her because usually she is the first one to fall apart. I was amazed. I needed her to stay calm. I couldn’t handle one more thing going wrong. I was on the mommy edge.

I finally reached my husband, I choked out the words,“Bella passed out. I have to take her to the hospital. Where’s the hospital?” Fighting back tears. He tells me to call his mother and he is on his way. I can’t reach her. I frantically call my brother who is 5 minutes away. He tries to calm me down but I am in the other room from the girls and I can barely breathe, never mind talk. He’s coming right over to take us to the hospital. I am hysterical in my mind but trying to keep my cool in front of the girls but inside, I am falling apart all over the place and collapsing in the fetal position in my own pool of snot and tears. I am praying. Constantly.

“Gabi, go get dressed and come back. “ She does. “Stay with your sister while I grab my clothes. “

I ran faster than I knew I could and grabbed whatever was nearest and then I grabbed her clothes and ran back downstairs where I found her pale and meek, sipping water as her baby sister, held her hand and watched her every move. I dress in the living room and then dress her. My mind is still in that very dark place. I can’t unsee her motionless in my arms, unresponsive and I can’t stop feeling like my world just ended. I’m having a panic attack but no time for that now.

I am crying right now thinking about it. No mother should ever have to see that, ever.

My brother pulls up and we race off to the hospital. It’s a good thing that he came because I couldn’t drive. I was in no shape to drive. My mind settled in that calm before the storm place and I was going through the motions of doing everything I could for my child, I wouldn’t allow the fear to rear its head. I had to gag and bound my fear and throw it back in a closet until I knew what was going on. I had to keep my mind clear for what was coming. I asked a million questions and was very specific about recounting the events of the morning and the previous night. I was her unrelenting advocate. I asked for prayers from my friends because sometimes prayers and faith are all that can soothe your soul. I even learned about 555 Angel Number that changed my life for the better.

All the tests came out fine; the blood work, the glucose, the EKG and the 2 hours of heart monitoring. Blood pressure was fine. The only thing wrong was that she was running a fever, which had now escalated to 100. 4 and her throat was red. They gave her antibiotics and sent us home. They gave me no answer for WHY my perfectly healthy child passed out. They told me what wasn’t wrong but said sometimes these things just happen when you are sick. This didn’t sit well with me. This is my baby; my world.

I immediately, contacted our pediatrician to inform her of the situation and she had all the labs sent to her and we scheduled a follow up. I called my brother-in-law who is a doctor and one of my closest friends who is an ER doctor. I gave them the run down, the tests and results and asked for their professional opinions because these are two people who love my child and are qualified. Consensus is that there was a drop in blood pressure from the fever and not eating yet, which caused temporary blindness and then her to pass out. Both said to push fluids because children dehydrate when sick. I felt a little more at ease and then our pediatrician called and confirmed the diagnosis and prescribed rest, plenty of fluids and to come in on Monday.

This morning, my mind is still in that dark place. I can’t stop seeing her limp in my arms. She woke up full of energy but I kept her home today because she still had a slight fever and more to the truth, the thought of sending her out the door after what happened yesterday morning made me sick to my stomach. I just want to hug her and never let her go. I feel crazy and scared and facing my children’s mortality, the one fear that I thought I had bound, gagged and locked away in some space I’d forgotten about years ago.

Thank you all for the prayers and positive thoughts. It meant a lot to me yesterday when I was sitting there in the ER and my mind was going to the really dark and awful place. You were my flotation device when I was drowning in fear. Now, I am off to have a good cry.

How do you deal with these sort of situations without freaking out and how do you get past that fear that lingers in the pit of your stomach afterwards?

2013/10/04 26 comments

Confessions

We’re All Allowed to Go a Little Bat Shit Crazy Occasionally

by Deborah Cruz 2013/10/01

written by Deborah Cruz

The world is freaking out because the U.S. government has shutdown. But haven’t we known for some time that our government has become a petulant child and it was only a matter of time before they threw a fucking tantrum in the middle of the grocery store? That’s what this is. While we are all busy paying attention to this tantrum, more important things are going unnoticed and ignored but that is not my BIG concern today. I’ve got my own shit to obsess about. You know, mom shit that wouldn’t matter to anyone else in the world but it sticks in our crawl and drives us insane? Yeah, that!

A few weeks ago my daughters auditioned for the Nutcracker and I am happy to report have both been cast in this year’s production. Bella will be an ethereal angel and Gabs will be a sweet little parrot. Both are great parts in the second act. Both girls are excited. They’re ecstatic. Except for this one thing that is literally keeping me awake at night.

This will be Bella’s 4^th year in the production and Gabi’s first. Gabi is thrilled to be a parrot because her favorite part of the Nutcracker is the Arabian coffee dance. She is over the moon, which is why writing this post makes me feel like a complete asshole. There will be whining because this is my safe place. Please don’t judge and if whining will make you think less of me, run away now. You’ve been warned.

I scanned the cast sheets and I saw my daughters’ parts. Thrilled! I know if you are not a parent of a child who plays a competitive sport, cheers or dances, right about now you are thinking, “Get a life, lady!” But if you are a parent like me, you understand that our child’s success, to see their little faces light up, is magical. It makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst with pride.

I get nervous and sick when they audition and I am over the moon for them when they achieve something they worked for. Only when my eyes neared the top of the page, there it was, in black and white… Almond Cast. Which is like being 1^st runner up. Peanut cast is the opening night cast. Every year for the past 3 years my daughter has been a Peanut. Not this year.

Why should I care? I probably shouldn’t but maybe it’s the PMS or turning 41 or the dreary days we’ve been having but my brain won’t stop obsessing over this damn nut. My girls are thrilled. I fake it. I hate faking it. Never letting on what’s really going on in this box of crazy, I call my mind. But, inside, I am screaming What.the.fuck? Why God, why?

Here are the facts: my daughters have an extra year of dance on all the dancers at their level because they started at 3 instead of 4. My girls are dedicated and disciplined. They take the recommended amount of classes and I have the outrageous tuition to prove it. We are involved and volunteer backstage. All of our family comes in town to see the production. Every year, we’re peanut cast and this year…fucking Almonds. It’s like getting chosen last in dodge ball. I mean it’s not like something has happened to suddenly make my kids suck from last year. Luckily, my girls don’t know the difference and I will never tell them.

I’m keeping the mommy crazy in check. But I want to know why? I know the answer that they will give me; the casts are the same; apples and oranges. But this isn’t my first Nutcracker and we all know, it is unspoken, but the peanut cast is opening night and last curtain not the almonds. It’s like bizarro world, Jerry.

The girls will dance their parts and never know that 2013 was the year that their mom nearly went bat shit crazy over a cast list. We will still volunteer backstage and our family will still come to see the girls because I’m not telling anyone the difference between the fucking almond and peanut. And on their opening night, I will sit still in my seat next to my husband as our babies take the stage holding back the tears. Fucking pride always makes me bawl like a baby. When they are done, I will love them and praise them just like I would if they were in the peanut cast because no matter what cast they are in, they will have earned their part, rehearsed for months and taken the stage in front of hundreds of people. That is worth praising.

Tell me that I am not crazy. Tell me that I am not becoming a fucking bat shit crazy dance mom. Tell me that you have felt this sort of feeling before. I just want my girls to be the best at whatever they do but as long as they are happy, I will smile and pretend to be as well because when it really comes down to it, as long as they are happy, I am happy.

Bat shit crazy, signing off.

P.S. Don’t think the fact that I am acting like a petulant child is lost on me. I see the irony, only I don’t care. I’m entitled to my tantrum just as much as the U.S. government is, right?

2013/10/01 3 comments

Confessions Parenting

Would You Allow your Teen to Have Sex in Your House?

by Deborah Cruz 2013/09/09

written by Deborah Cruz

When I was a kid, my biggest fear was growing up and turning into my mom. Not because there was anything “wrong” with her, she was just so uncool. I felt like she didn’t let us do anything. We never got to sleep over at friend’s houses or do the lock ins at the Roller Dome, we had a curfew and weren’t allowed to go with our friend’s family to the Wisconsin Dells. I thought she was so mean. I knew since about the age of 5, I was going to be different when I was a mother.

I grew up riding in the back of my uncle’s pick up truck, never wearing a seat-belt, shooting my brother’s B.B. gun and staying out riding my bike until the street lights came on, with no supervision at all. I ate raw hot dogs and cookie dough, played with sparklers and never swam with floaties. I roller skated with no pads and learned to ride my bike without a helmet. I was reckless.

Today, my girls are buckled into their five-point harness car seats at all times for fear the unspeakable might happen. I will never let them ride in the back of a pick up truck because, hello, there are no five point harnesses back there!

They will never shoot a B.B. gun because I think B.B. guns are segue drugs to much worse things like violence desensitization and shooting ones eyes out, just like toy guns. Hello, nobody wants to be a one-eyed Willie and it’s not going to happen on my watch.

They are NEVER unsupervised. Even when they think they are unsupervised, they are supervised. My kids have never eaten anything not cooked above 160 degrees, sparklers are forbidden and floaties were a must. When my girls ride their bikes, it is only on the condition that they are first wrapped in bubble wrap and always, always wear a helmet. What was my mom thinking?

I’ve not turned into my mom instead I am much uncooler. These days, we are made to feel like it’s lethal to even let our babies touch a doorknob or play in the yard. When I was a kid, I swore I would be so much more relaxed. I would trust my kid and let her have freedom. I wouldn’t be all crazy and never let her do anything. The thing is, I do trust my children. It is the rest of the world who I have issues with. I am constantly trying to make sure that the world doesn’t break my perfect little human being. It’s hard work. It’s a damn full-time job.

I don’t know if the world has become a scarier place, I am more aware of it thanks to social media or if I am simply hypersensitive to it because I have a bigger stake in it now because I have kids. All I know is I am not anything like the mother I thought I would be. I am a crazy lady, devoid of all reason and rationale when it comes to my kids. I am the ringleader in the wussification of today’s children. I gasp if someone else’s child falls. Yeah. I am that lady!

I have chewed up food and fed it to my baby. I’ve put my Christmas tree in a baby jail to make sure little people didn’t pull it over on themselves. When my girls were little I seldom let them run for fear they would fall, it still makes me cringe and I’m not too big to admit that I may have removed raisins from the diet indefinitely after an unfortunate near death experience. To my embarrassment, I have bought every keep-a-baby-safe gimmick they’ve had on the market and still there are some things, as a parent, that you just can’t save them from like the first heartbreak and sex. It’s going to happen and there is no way you can baby proof that. Well, you can but it’s called birth control and it is quite literally baby proofing. Lalalalalaa, I can’t hear you!

I read a post on café mom in which a mom was asking if she should let her 16-year-old daughter and her boyfriend have sleepovers together at her home. The crazy, sleep deprived woman I have become shouted, “NO!!!!” at the screen. I don’t have teenagers yet so I don’t know what will happen when the time actually comes but right now, the answer is hell no. Then the rational adult that I keep locked in the closet started playing devils advocate.

Would you really want your child to be having unprotected sex in the back of some crapmobile when she could be safely having conjugal visits in her bedroom? Wouldn’t you want her to talk to you about it before hand? Would I have preferred to have my parents’ blessing to have premarital sex? Would it have made me have sex at a younger age? More often? Would I have become a teen mother? Would my life have been ruined? I don’t know but I didn’t have sex until I was in college for fear that my dad would literally kill me.

Am I glad I waited? Yes. So the question remains, would I change anything my parents did as far as how strict they were with me? Don’t tell them I told you this and I swear I will deny it but no. I think they saved me from myself. I was too stupid and naïve to know any better. I was “in love” and if I would have thought I had their permission, I would have definitely has sex and that would have changed the entire course of my life and not necessarily for the better. I know it would have. It was their job to save me from myself and they did even if I didn’t like it then. I am grateful now. I guess we’re not so different after all, that crazy lady who never let me do anything and myself.

It’s hard to know what to do because teens are like giant kids with grown up bodies and all these hormones. They want to be adults but they just don’t have the experience and wisdom to know how to make the right decisions yet.It’s not their fault. They are going to do stupid stuff and it’s expected but at what cost? Which consequences can they live with and which ones can they not?

Would you give your child permission to have a sleepover with their boyfriend in your home?

Photo Source: BlueGrassAnnie

2013/09/09 2 comments

menstruation, co-sleeping, co-toileting, attachment parenting, humor, raising girls

Confessions Parenting

That One Time I Went Into “Heat” at Panda Express

by Deborah Cruz 2013/09/06

written by Deborah Cruz

Today, I am going to tell you a little story about raising daughters and menstruation. No, it has nothing to do with half-naked selfies but it just might be TMI so if you are squeamish about lady parts or feminine hygiene products and the such, I should warn you do not read any further. If you faint at the sight of blood? Stop! Do not continue reading! Back the truck up and run in the other direction.Go. Run. Fast. It’s about to get real up in here. For real, for real!

As many of you know, I have two little girls that I am trying to raise with self-confidence, independence and verve for life. I want them to live life so fully that they just grab it with both hands and jump. I want them to live life on their own terms. I want happiness and equality for them but more than anything else, I want them to always know they can come to me.about.anything. ANYTHING! That includes pubic hair, menstruation, boobs and yes, even sex, masturbation and childbirth.

I parent with honesty and openness. I want them to ask questions. We talk about everything. If they ask, I answer. I am trying to build trust and respect to compliment the unconditional love. I want them to not only be children that I love but people that I like and I hope they feel the same way about me one day but today, I am their mommy and my job is to mother them.

Anyways, sometimes even when you think you are doing it right, things get muddled and you are left wondering WTH just happened? This is what happened to me yesterday in the bathroom at Panda Express. Don’t judge.

The girls had their well visits yesterday and got a surprise Hepatitis vaccination and flu mist sprung on them. That did not go over very well so to “help the medicine go down” we promised them a dinner out. It was the least we could do.

In the middle of dinner, my littlest one informed me that she MUST go to the potty or she will “actually” pee herself. Her words, not mine. Obviously, that’s kid code for four-alarm code yellow. I realized that I could use a little tinkle and check myself, so off we went. Of course, we travel in packs, where one goes, so shall the other and with that, per usual, we had 3 girls in a stall. Only once we got in there, I realized shark week was back with a vengeance.This was a straight up Jaws emergency. If you know what I mean?

FYI, public restrooms are not the place to tackle the subject of menstruation.

The girls have always gone into the bathroom stall with me in public places if I have to use the facilities. Its just the way it’s always been; co-sleeping and co-toileting, attachment parenting gone wild.I don’t want them to get abducted but I also don’t want to give step-by-step directions on how to use a tampon yet either. I practice discretionary, ninja-like tampon changing skills. They know that sometimes mommy gets a “booboo”. They think a tampon is like a Band-Aid for your vagina and they are sort of right. But they are getting older and we just had the conversation in May about puberty and periods, thanks to a dog that went into premature heat.

I asked the girls to turn around. They do and I successfully execute my quick change and flush. This is nothing I ever thought I would be doing in my life, then again I never thought I would randomly be smelling baby’s butts in public restaurants either. How the mighty have fallen. Remember, a baby changes everything and all that shit?

Only, life hates me and the toilet is one of those green, low-flow, crunchy granola Woodstock, no bra-wearing, hairy armpit bastards and no match for the super duper, no-holds barred, epic nuclear- reactive, cotton torpedo that I needed to use that day to keep the sharks at bay. So everything flushes. Except.the.Damn.Tampon! It re-appears waterlogged and even larger than before and as it does, in slow motion, both girls turn around to see it breaking the surface of the pink toilet water. Then this happened.

Menstruation happened!

Gabs (screaming at the top of her lungs): “Oh no! Mommy, I saw blood!!!!”

Me: “Remember I told you what happened with the dog?”

Gabs (whispering and completely serious): “Oh my God, Mommy, did you just go into heat???”

Me (dying of laughter on the inside, trying my damnest to keep a straight face): “No honey. People don’t go into heat. We have periods.”

Gabs: “Oh because I was scared we were going to have to keep you inside because all the daddies in the neighborhood were going to try to jump on you.”

Then, I died.

And just like that shark week wasn’t so bad anymore. Have you ever been caught in a state of shark week? How did you explain menstruation to your little one?

2013/09/06 27 comments

baby shoes, never worn, loss, grief, miscarriage

Confessions Miscarriage

For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn

by Deborah Cruz 2013/08/19

written by Deborah Cruz

Anyone who has ever read this blog before knows that I don’t write flash fiction. In fact, I write the complete opposite of “flash fiction” I write drawn out nonfiction. I’m a story teller who tells you my stories in their entirety, even a moment can last 350 words.But when I saw the Hemingway piece, “For sale: Baby shoes, never worn” again with new eyes, new experiences, they were no longer 6 words. They were like a brick thrown at my heart and the weight of those words brought me to my knees.

I’ve read these words before but I never really knew what they meant, not truly. I never knew the hole in your heart that could be left by losing someone you never got to meet; never got to hold, kiss and cuddle. Never got to hear them call out to you, “Mommy” or wrap their tiny arms around your neck. But, I think you miss them even more because you are missing the promise of something that never came to fruition. You have to cling for dear life to that one single memory, the loss.

Thankfully, I haven’t lost a lot of people who were close to me. I lost my grandparents that I never really knew and I’ve lost two uncles who I was very close to and that hurt. It hurt bad. I felt those losses and I still miss their presence in my life. I wish my daughters could have ran to them when they came to visit and known the giving hearts and comforting smiles of these men. I’d like to say it taught me to appreciate those who are alive even more. It did, for a little while, and then as some sort of a survival mechanism, I had to put that loss on a shelf, so I could continue on. I think that is how we are made; this is how we survive the pain of loss.

Not until I lost a pregnancy, my third child, did I feel the true weight of loss. It nearly killed me. There is nothing like it. The only thing that I can imagine that would come close would be losing a spouse or a parent. I know that sometime in my life I will lose my parents and that scares me. It terrifies me but not for the reasons you might suspect. Not because I won’t know how to live in the world without them but because I didn’t have enough time to know them; to really know them. The hole left by words unspoken and memories not made is an unfillable one. I know that now.

I don’t know why these words have been haunting me over the past couple days. I think it was triggered by watching my friend go through the painful loss of her dear mother and watching another friend give birth and struggle with complications and a very sick baby after losing her twin pregnancy last year. My heart is breaking for these two women. I have all of these feelings swirling around in my mind, in my heart and I I can feel my own scabs being ripped off. I can imagine how their hearts are aching with these fresh wounds. I wish I could do more than pray for these women but they need their space to process; to contain the hole that feels like it will swallow you up. It’s survival.

The pain of losing someone you have so much love for leaves a giant hole in your soul and with them they take a part of you. You don’t feel whole. You feel fractured and broken and it hurts it ways that you didn’t even know it could. It’s an indescribable, all-consuming pain.

Please pray for these two women, Alexandra Rosas and Diana Stone, that their hearts might know peace and comfort again someday soon.

For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn

2013/08/19 1 comment

Confessions

Back-to-School ~Stop that Train, I Want to Get Off

by Deborah Cruz 2013/08/12

written by Deborah Cruz

It’s back-to-school already! My girls start back to school in a couple days and I am decidedly simultaneously ecstatic and sad about back-to-school. Last year, my baby entered kindergarten and while trepedatious I was completely ecstatic to have the day to myself for the first time in 7 years. Then on the first day of school, I was promptly grief stricken. Alone. Crying because I was alone. What the hell was wrong with me? My baby was gaining independence at lightening speed and her childhood was a runaway train. Stop.that.train!

I should have been dancing around the house in my undies, playing air guitar and celebrating my hard earned freedom. Instead, I sat on my couch looking out the window sobbing at my computer, counting the minutes until my babies were back in my arms; the very place from which I was pushing them out the door that morning. The duplicitous of motherhood; it’s enough to make you crazy.

This year is different. I know they are both going to school. I know they both love it and I know their teachers. There is nothing scary about this year. Only the summer went by way too fast and now, I am regretting all the lost moments that I should have spent enjoying my children instead of swatting them away and shooing them into another room so that I could complete my work. It sucked. I sucked and I have the guilt to prove it.

This summer did serve one purpose though, it has taught me to appreciate the moments and to know that next summer, work will have to wait. My girls will always come first. You know the nature of my business is to be a mommy. I write about being a mom in all of it’s many facets. So, when I am doing a shitty job of it; being a mom, not writing about being a mom, it makes me feel like a fraud because in the end, I want to be great mom not a great writer writing about being a mom. So, this summer has taught me some things. The most important being that childhood is fleeting and the older my girls get, the faster the summers go.

It’s like life is this crazy carnival ride we are on together and it just keeps speeding up. It goes by so fast some times that I feel like I just might get sick. Wasn’t it just year that my daughters were born? Wasn’t it just a few months ago that they learned to talk and walk and say “ I Love you”? Where did the time go?

My oldest is 8 and almost as tall as I am. She is becoming such a beautiful and amazing young lady; full of personality and wit. She’s thoughtful and caring and I see sincerity and loyalty in her eyes. Her thoughts and opinions are no longer something I told her, she is forming her own beliefs. I can still see the cherubesque little face I once held in my arms as she looked up at me like I was her everything but it is evolving into the woman she will someday be and it will be here before you know it.

My 6-year-old is funny, silly, beautiful and charming. Her passion and fierce convictions about life teeter on scaring me at times. She has been and will always be an ask permission later kind of child. She’s still small enough to cuddle up into my lap and she loves to cuddle with me at night. I should be forcing her to sleep in her bed alone but, my God, in no time she will not need or want me to cuddle her to sleep. So, I take it all in sucking every bit of marrow out of their childhood. I want to linger awhile and watch them sleep, listen to them speak and truly hear what they are saying.

School starts back on Wednesday and I am going to make today and tomorrow count because once these last days of summer vacation are gone, they are gone forever. Moments in life cannot be DVRed and rewound, they have to be lived while they are happening or they are lost forever. Stop. This. Train. I want to get off.

What are you going to miss the most when your children go back to school?

2013/08/12 3 comments

Ree Drummond, the Pioneer Woman, BlogHer13, blogging, blogger

Confessions

An Open Apology to The Pioneer Woman or How to make a Complete Ass of Yourself

by Deborah Cruz 2013/08/01

written by Deborah Cruz

Dear Ree or as I like to call you Your Royal highness the Pioneer Woman,

I hope you don’t mind that I address you so informally; it’s hard for me to know my boundaries. We’ve been “friends” online for years and everything I know about you is from our contact on social media. You’ve sent me signed copies of your cookbooks, I squeed. I took it personally when that parasite on Twitter was making mean comments about you. I was invested. I needed to stand up for my “friend!” And I did. You graciously thanked me. When I had my miscarriage last spring, you privately DMed me your condolences. You are good people, Ree Drummond. This is why everyone adores you.

I was ecstatic when I saw that you were going to be the Keynote speaker for BlogHer13. Finally, we’d be able to meet in person. In my defense, it was my first BlogHer and I had no comprehension of what 5000 bloggers in one place looked like. I missed your keynote. I realized that the chances of meeting were slim to none. I spent the day bobbing and weaving in and out of sessions, hugging people and then off to an event in the city.

I got lost in Chicago. Did I mention I grew up there? Well, I did and I got completely turned around when my cab driver dropped me off a mile and a half away from the venue at rush hour. Yes, I was stuck about $13 away from the Sheraton. I walked the mile and a half in my obnoxiously bright J.Lo maxi dress, looking like a complete tourist and developing the worst case of chub rub in the history of the universe. Thighs ablaze and still no venue, I’m sweating, my hair is sticking to my forehead and I am positive I look like a lost child or baby Jane. My make-up is melting off of my face and my eyes are filling with tears, as I am already at least 45 minutes late for this meeting.

Finally, a nice gentleman who looked like he may or may not have been Jeffrey Dahmer in an Armani suit, offered to walk me part of the way. Thighs on fire, and not in a good way, I accepted his help. Walking like a cowgirl who just rode for 8 hours, I hoped he wouldn’t notice. Hell, who am I kidding I didn’t care. He walked me past where the original cabbie dropped me off only to find that I.STILL.COULD.NOT.FIND.The.VENUE!

Thighs chafed beyond recognition and permanently disfigured, I continue walking through the loop like my Diva cup is falling out and still, I am stranded. I make my way over to yet another stranger, who looks at me from above his square framed black spectacles and says, “Yeah, you want to walk a mile and a half in the other direction. Your address is wrong!” and he sauntered off just before I began to sob and my thighs began to bleed profusely at 5 o’clock in the afternoon in a sweltering Chicago summer afternoon.

I hobbled to the corner, threw my arms up in the air (the universal symbol for I give up God) and a cabbie, briefly hitting a pedestrian, pulled in like a white knight on his trusty steed, only the opposite. I got in, never mind the other cabbie who ran to the window and cussed him out for stealing his fare (my fucking thighs were bleeding through my Maxi dress at this point. Thank God it was multicolored and no one would ever know the difference.)

I sobbed quietly as we raced towards the Sheraton because I could not miss VOTY. This was what I came for; to hear the words. These are my people. I exited the cab, with no time to go up to my room, ran (thighs reigniting) to the ballroom and that is when it happened…YOU!

I was clearly running late, as there was no one else in the hallway. But just before I got in line to have my badge scanned, what out of the corner of my eye did I spy but a really tall, beautiful, red head in a reddish/orange chevron top surrounded by what could have been mistaken for bodyguards. With no thought, because believe me if I would have thought about it I never would have done it, I turned, sped towards you (holding back tears as my thighs were engulfed in flames), held my badge up to you ( as to identify myself like I was FBI or some shit) and said ( to the best of my knowledge because honestly this is all a blur to me. I do believe I was in serious danger of fainting from pain and shock), “Hi Ree, I am Debi! TruthfulMommy?” and you, gracious as ever and probably a little afraid, said something like, “OH. Yeah? HI! It’s been a long time.” (A long time indeed because its been forever because we have never met in person and you were just trying to be kind and remember if you had ever met me in person before. You.Are.So.Sweet.) You had that frightened deer in headlights look on your face, probably because a complete stranger, who I am sure looked completely deranged by this point, was invading your personal space and without asking going in for a full body hug and may or may not have accidentally body checked you. For that, I owe you an apology and I am so sorry. Then I turned and ran into VOTY,like a crazy little bleeding thigh Tasmanian devil..if he were a short, little Latina blogger, that is.

I assure you that I am not a deranged fan girl normally but that afternoon in Chicago, after the day I had, I just really needed my Ree Drummond hug. Thanks for obliging and not calling the cops. Next time, I promise you will not be harmed in the making of my BlogHer. So, please don’t get a restraining order against me.

Love, Your #1 Fan Girl,

@TruthfulMommy but mostly people call me Debi

2013/08/01 14 comments

mommy blogger, mommy guilt, blogger, parenting, work-at-home

Blogging Confessions

Dealing with Blogger Mommy Guilt?

by Deborah Cruz 2013/06/26

written by Deborah Cruz

The first thing I read this morning was a piece by my good friend, Jessica Gottlieb, Which came first the Anxiety Disorder or the Blog? Her post really resonated with me in a lot of ways but the most important takeaway that I had was the realization that I need to live more and blog less. This is nothing new. I have known this for some time now. Hell, I know that I need to back the fuck away from the computer and get out of my head and into my life. I need to unplug and it has never been as evident as it is this summer.

2013/06/26 5 comments

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