Blog It Out, Bitch

by Perez, Nina

  And I'm of the mind that no one loves your child like you and no one will watch them like you. So I get all paranoid, even when it's ex-NYPD detective Grandparents, when someone takes my baby anywhere. The Monday (Memorial Day) after the baby shower my mother and Donny's Mom took Kali and my little sister Bruklyn to Stone Mountain. Kali calls from my Mom's cell, "Mommy, I'm at the top of the mountain and I'm not even scared! We took the tram up!" I almost wet myself.

  When she left last night I spent time in her room (mostly turning off lights and the TV) just touching her stuff. Call me old fashioned. I like having my children in the house at night. I thought it was just me, but I had talked to Kali while Donny was downstairs putting up dinner, and when he settled into bed he asked, "How was Kali? What was she doing?" Awww, we missed our baby last night.

  So, she'll be home later tonight and I'm sure I'll feel better (and quite silly) once I see her, but I make no promises that I won't still feel this way when she goes with Grandma and Grandpa again... even if she's 12 or 15 or 18.

  Dear Kali

  July 8, 2008

  Dear Kali,

  I am writing this for you because there are things I want you to know. Things I want you to remember. I am going to tell you these things in person too, but I wanted to write them down so that you can have this to read whenever I'm not around.

  Ready?

  1. You know how sometimes, especially lately, you'll catch me staring at you? You'll be on my laptop at the couch or eating at the kitchen table and you'll look up to find me looking at you. You smile and say hi, or sometimes just smile, and I always just smile back. Do you know what I'm thinking?

  I am always thinking how wonderfully beautiful you are. Absolutely everything about you, I find to be stunning. (Stunning means so beautiful all I can do is stare, in case you were wondering.) Yes, you're a pretty, gorgeous, beautiful girl with wonderfully long curls (No, you cannot get your hair cut!) and an adorable smile, and eyes that are so expressive. (Expressive means that I can see how you're feeling and what you're thinking by looking into your eyes. They hide nothing. And that's a good thing because they speak the truth. Although, you may not want to play poker for large sums of money. Just saying.) I sometimes watch how your eyes change with your mood and I can see already what kind of wonderfully complex (Complex means hard to figure out, and for a woman, that's a good thing.) exciting, brave, and smart young woman you're going to be. Watch out, world!

  I have told you before that you have the most beautiful hands I have ever seen. They are lovely in shape. Your fingers are long and fluid. (Fluid means they move like liquid; soft and easy.) You have these delicate hands that make me smile. You're a funny dancer, kid. Watching you pretend that our new area rug is some kind of stage, or even better that mat those Olympic gymnasts use for their floor exercise, just cracks me up. You are so like me when I was your age. All long limbs (arms and legs), flying around, thinking all the world is a stage. It's funny that we bought the rug to protect the other carpet from spills and you took one look at it and thought, "Hmmm, what can I do with this? Oh, I know. I can dance on it! I can be a star!" It's a wonder you don't have wings. Like a fairy or an angel.

  You are not beautiful because of the way you look only... which brings me to number 2...

  2. You are a good person, Princess Kali. You make me smile. You make me laugh. You make me proud to be your Mom. You're kind. You're funny. You're incredibly smart. You ask a lot of questions, but you always ask the right ones. I love the way your mind works. I love to feed your mind as best I can.

  You've been taking care of me a lot lately, you know, when I'm uncomfortable or in pain and you come to hold me and remind me to just, "Breathe, mommy. Real slow. In and out," it makes me feel better. You rub my back or my hair with those lovely hands and everything else melts away. When you were a tiny baby inside of me, I never imagined you would grow into this little person that you are, that loves me so much and takes care of me. It's supposed to be the other way around.

  Yesterday, you were on the laptop with the headphones on. I was sitting next to you. Daddy was behind us, by the garage door, putting on his shoes, and preparing to head out to the store. I had to go to the bathroom, and for some reason I felt the need to tell you. I didn't want you to see him leaving, and me leave the room, and not know what was going on.

  "I have to go to the bathroom," I said loudly tapping you on the shoulder.

  "OK," you shouted back, "Do you need help getting up?"

  That made me smile. I probably weigh as much as four of you, but just that you even thought you could, or would want to, help me up shows what a kind little person you are, Kali.

  3. I have never, in my entire life, loved anything or anyone as much as I love you. Never, ever, not even once, not even close. Until this baby. I loved you before I knew you. Whenever I imagined having a little girl, I imagined someone just like you, but you're even better than my imagination.

  I love you so much that sometimes it hurts. You'll know what I mean when you have kids of your own. It's this love that completely takes you over. It's a love that you could never feel for anyone else. That doesn't mean that I don't love Grandma and Grandpa, or Daddy, or any of my other friends and family. I do. But the love I feel for you, and for the new baby, is completely different. It's all consuming. (That means that it's a part of everything I do... all parts of me.) It's the most special love I've ever experienced and I'm so grateful that I have.

  I worried how I would ever love another child. I love you so much, so hard, so insanely, wildly, much, that I thought some of it would surely have to go away in order to love another child just as much. I was wrong. Kali, a funny thing happened. I shouldn't have worried about not having enough love for the baby because my heart got bigger. The more he grew inside of me the more my heart grew and it was as if it said, "Here you go. I'm now big enough so you can feel just as much love for your son." Isn't that crazy? He's not even here yet and already I know that all the wonderful things I get from loving you, and having you love me back, are about to be doubled. And though I didn't think it was possible to love you more, I absolutely do.

  4. I adore you.

  5. I don't think I've ever told anyone this... not even you. But there have been many times when I thought, "Kali is my favorite person in the whole world. I'd rather spend time with her than with anyone else." It's true.

  6. You saved my life. Having you made me a better person. It changed the way I see the world. It made me want more for myself, for you. My life is so much more full and special than it would have been had you not been born.

  7. Thank you for being patient with me. I know sometimes, especially lately, I can be moody and snap at you. The other day I made you cry. I hate to hear you cry. Probably because you don't cry that often and mostly because when you hurt, I hurt. Even if I'm the cause of your pain, it still makes my heart ache to hear you cry. And when you came back into the room a short while later and you let me hug you and apologize, I hope you know that I really meant it. When we pulled away from our hug you said, "Rub noses?" And we rubbed noses like we often do. Like Eskimo do. Thank you for that.

  8. Time goes by too quickly. Sometimes I look at you and I think, "How did she get to be nine already?! When did that happen?" But you're still my baby. You still sleep the same way you did when you were just a few weeks old. I'll peek into your room while you're sleeping... not in a creepy way, in a "she's too good to be true so I gotta keep my eye on her to make sure she's really mine" kinda way. Ok, so maybe that is a little creepy. But anyway, sometimes when you're sleeping you'll have your little fist tucked under your chin and you used to do the same thing when you were a baby.

  You talk a lot... like me. And when you were a baby, after you were bathed and fed and burped and sitting in your bouncy seat, you would just start talking; baby talk that I didn't understand. But it was cute and it was loud. And I spoke back, to let you know you were being heard and loved. And to get you to continue because i
t was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. And when you started talking that baby talk I knew you were tired because every time you did it you would just talk yourself to sleep. You still do that. When Daddy would work nights and you'd crawl in bed with me, you'd just talk, talk, talk till you feel asleep. And even when I would sometimes say, "Kali, will you please go to sleep?" I secretly loved it because it reminded me that my sweet little baby girl was still in there.

  9. We are lucky. Not because of the things we have, but because we have each other. You said the other day, "Wow, I can't believe we have such a nice TV and I never even thought we'd have so many game systems." When we're sitting in the family room, like we tend to do a lot lately, we are not lucky because we are surrounded by nice things. We are lucky because we get to sit like that with each other and laugh and joke and smile. We are lucky because we are a family with a Dad that loves us and takes care of us. Because we have a new baby coming that is going to need us, and love us, and bring us more love than we ever thought we could hold. We are lucky, Kali, because we get to spend time with each other.

  Try to remember this time, these few weeks before the baby arrives, because you'll be going back to school soon (Eek! Fourth grade! When did that happen?), and Daddy will be going back to work, and I'll be busy with Jack and taking classes again and we'll long for the weekends and evenings when everyone can take a breath, relax, and just look at one another. And talk to one another. And spend time with one another. It's going to seem like those moments are few and far between. (That means that it's going to feel like there aren't enough of those moments.) So, we should be thankful that we have them now. Let's soak each other up and appreciate each other. Let's appreciate not that we have lots of nice stuff, but that we have each other. There are plenty of people with nice stuff, but they don't have nearly as much love in their homes as we do.

  10. It has been, without a doubt, the greatest joy in my life to be your Mommy. People have told me that I'm pretty, that I'm smart, that I'm funny, and even that I write well. But the greatest compliment anyone could ever give me is to tell me I'm a good Mom. I try to be. I hope you think I am. It has been the greatest pleasure being your Mom.

  When you call me Mommy I will sometimes pretend not to hear what you said just to get you to say it again. Sometimes, when you call me Mommy, I stop and think, "Wow, I am her Mommy." And I think how amazing and awesome it is. It makes me feel special. It makes me proud. It fills me with awe.

  I love being your Mommy. Never forget that.

  Love, hugs, kisses, and lots of nose rubbing,

  Mommy

  Donny’s Not a Team Player

  July 9, 2008

  I hate playing tactical shooting video games with Donny. He just really sucks.

  1. When we enter a room, he just enters the room. I peek around corners, lob grenades at bad guys if necessary, I watch my back and clear the room. Not Donny. He just waltzes in and usually ends up with a cap in ass for his efforts.

  "Who taught you to clear a room?!"

  2. He tosses out grenades all willy-nilly. I can't even count how many times I've been blown up by a Donny grenade.

  "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

  3. He doesn't follow directions. If we're going down a hallway and I say, "You take the left side, I'll take the right," I'll inevitably end up shooting him in the back of the head because he'll come wandering in front of my crosshairs.

  "Stay on your side!"

  4. He reloads out in the open. If there's a low wall around, it won't occur to him to crouch there and reload. Nope. Not my Donny. My Donny stands all out in the open, reloading, and taking shots.

  "Push in the left joystick to crouch!"

  "I know."

  "Oh, cause I couldn't tell with all the non-crouching and dying you're doing."

  5. He doesn't communicate. I'll be in the middle of a big battle and look on his side of the screen and notice it's all quiet and shit. Birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and no one is shooting him.

  "Where the hell are you?"

  "I'm at the bridge."

  "What bridge?"

  "Oh, I must have gone ahead."

  "You left me? You suck!"

  6. He's an ammo hog. If we come across ammo or health packs, I'll always ask before I pick any up, "How are you on ammo? How's your health?" Not Donny. I'll be running around saying, "Damnit! I need ammo." Donny's response?

  "There was a bunch over here, but I got it.

  Gee, thanks.

  7. He's a horrible driver. He'll drive. I'll jump in the gunner seat and then he has the nerve to yell at me.

  "Shoot them!"

  "It's kinda hard to shoot when the Warthog's upside down!"

  Last night we were playing Halo, and after about an hour I lied and said I wasn't feeling well just to not play with him anymore. I found that when it became more enticing to shoot him and lob grenades at his head than the enemy's, it was probably a good time to stop playing.

  Kali the Morbid

  July 10, 2008

  I'm a little worried about my child. A few weeks ago Donny and I were watching this Dateline about a woman who was raped and killed while out jogging and it turned out her body was dumped at the same spot another woman was killed on the anniversary of the first woman's death. So, Kali comes into our room, climbs into our bed between us as she is prone to do, and starts watching.

  The Dateline narrator says something like, "Susan Smith's body was found later that night. She'd been sexually assaulted and strangled." Then they cut to an interview with the lead investigator. "I'll never forget the way she looked. It was one of the worst crime scenes..."

  Kali asks, "How come they're not showing the body?"

  I shrug. "They just don't show the bodies on shows like this."

  She looked disappointed.

  A few days later we're watching the local news, and once again she comes into our room, sits on the bed, and starts watching. They get to this story about finding a dead little girl in a house and apparently her body had been there for over a year. Her family just up and left to Mexico.

  "They didn't show the body," Kali points out.

  "They don't show bodies on the news."

  "Well, that's not very interesting," she sniffed.

  Donny and I exchange glances.

  Cut to two Saturdays ago and we're driving home from dinner with my parents and sister. It's dark out. We're a few blocks from home when a small animal runs out in front of the car, thinks better of it, and turns to run back the way he came.

  "Oh, man. Donny, did I hit it?"

  "I don't think so. It was kinda small, but you still would have felt it."

  Kali has had her iPod on during all this, but removes the headset to ask, "What are you guys talking about?"

  "Mommy almost hit an animal... we're not sure."

  "What kind of animal?"

  "I don't know." Donny says, "It happened kinda fast."

  I offered, "It kinda looked like a mouse, but that would have been one big ass mouse."

  "Mommy, if you hit it, it will be all over the car or the tire. You can check when we get home. And if it is, I want to see it."

  More exchanged glances.

  Turns out, we didn't head straight home. That's the night we went to Wal-Mart to get the stuff we need for the hospital and grabbed an early edition of the Sunday paper so we could get a jump on the sales circulars. When we got home, I was bone tired and I could feel my hands and feet starting to swell. When I walked into my bedroom I noticed the TV was on MSNBC and the program seemed kinda interesting. I went into the master bath, turned on the shower, and called out to Donny, "Don't change the channel. When I come out I want to be able to rewind the TiVo to see that."

  When I get out, I climb into bed with Donny, Kali's already in the middle, and I rewind the program. It's one of those caught on tape specials where you see crimes that were, well, caught on tape.

  There was the grown ass man over six feet tall and two hundre
d pounds who starts kicking, hitting, and stepping on the fingers of a 18-month-old baby boy in a convenience store. At one point he purposely hits the baby with the door to a freezer as he opens it to get a beverage. When the baby cries and falls, he spanks him.

  There was the 92-year-old man who is leaving a liquor store after playing the lotto and is attacked by a 20-something-year-old male who repeatedly punches him in the face before stealing the old man's car.

  There's the skinhead looking guy who enters a supermarket one night and starts shooting people with a shotgun.

  And on and on it goes. I realize that I've seen a lot of this stuff on other shows so I start paying less attention to the program and more to the newspaper spread out on the bed. It's not until a commercial comes on and Kali reaches for the TiVo remote to fast forward through the break that I realize she's more into the show than we are. When the commercial is over, she hits play, and Chris Hansen can be heard saying, "Now, back to Caught on Tape..."

  And Kali says, quite excited, but very seriously, "See! Now this is what I like. Caught on tape! You actually get to see what happened exactly. This is better than the news. It's more interesting when you can see what happened... when it's caught on tape. This is what I like."

  So, umm, yeah. At this point Donny and I are hoping that her morbid fascination means that she's going to follow in the footsteps of most of my Dad's side of the family: Law enforcement, detectives, avid readers of mysteries and crime novels, etc.

  You know, hopefully that than... anything else.

  Best Buy and Big Baby

  July 11, 2008