The Weekend

It is the weekend. I am grateful.

Wonderful to go to a tag sale and find the exact thing I’m looking for.

Relaxing to dig my fingers in the garden.

Enjoyable to shower for as long as I wish.

Future Stripper Moms of the world!

There’s an interesting discussion on pregnant strippers at Live Journal by booju_newju.

There is a dancer at the club I work in (I'm a waitress in a strip club - don't be hatin') who is rail thin but looking about 5 months pregnant. Which got me thinking, at what point of pregnancy would you say it's time to throw in the thong and tassels and maybe get a less physically demanding job than being a stripper?

FWIW we're talking a pole dancing club, full nudity several hours of bouncing around and contorting your body in every possible way. Very physical work, in very absurdly high healed shoes. Also consider the safety risks involved with working in that kind of place.

What say you booj? What stage of pregnancy is it quittin time for stripper-mom?

What an interesting post and responses. I’m quite surprised that most of the respondents to when a pregnant stripper should quit say that it should be when she wants to. I would have expected more moralizing.

I can’t remember any noticeably pregnant strippers dancing in all my years gyrating.

Of course, I can’t remember much of anything tonight. Today was Gen’s birthday: I spent an hour shopping at Target for gifts, had phone therapy, tried to write, did laundry, washed dishes, nursed, soothed teething baby, took care of Nana, dropped off and picked up Genny, took kids to Boothe Memorial Park and playground, got supper, fed family, including Nana, picked up Nick at train, reheated supper, helped in garden, did birthday stuff, made Genny apologize for sticking tongue out at Nana, and…egads! That’s enough already.

Being a pregnant stripper sounds like a breeze after this week.

Only Wednesday?

Another day, another dazed mother.

I forgot about how painful teething can be. It hurts for the baby, too.

Cole’s nursing now and I think I smell a poo.

We just got home from dinner out with Grandma and Grandpa for Genny’s birthday, which is tomorrow.

Before we went out Genny had another clothing freak out. Nothing felt good and everything was too big or too small. This went on for twenty minutes while Cole screamed and I sweated.

My brain feels all discombobulated.

This week can’t get any worse.

Get it Done

Stripper Mom has been pretty stripped down the past few days about her depression and momhood angst.

I really think Cole must be teething with all his ear tugging and screeching.

He went down for a short nap—in his swing. Yes, I know we’ll have to break him of this habit eventually, actually pretty soon since he’s getting too big for the swing, but at the moment, it’s one almost-sure way to get him to take his nap when he’s frazzled out.

As for me, no nap today, but I did have a visit from a friend, which was liberating. We popped Cole in the car seat, drove to Wendy’s and picked up lunch, and then drove to the beach to eat our food.

Not much creative work done though today, but I’m trying.

Come on, Sheila, trying isn’t good enough. Doing is where it’s at. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to be done.

Sweet Sanity

For those of you whom have never taken care of a screaming baby for a day…it can make you want to kill yourself or baby.

I’m fine now. Cole is nursing and not screaming at the moment. And the killing of self or baby is never an actual option, just a scary bubble of emotion that pops up from the brain-piercing screeches and then saws at your sanity.

I am eating a mini brownie as a pumper-upper for what may prove to be a long night. I am thinking there is some serious teething going on inside this house.

Ugh, every day I plan on saving some sanity and time for my dear husband and then something like this happens and I’m a big freaking mess by the time I hear him open the door at eight o’clock.

Oh sweet sanity…I miss you.

My Mother

Yesterday had me asking…Am I manic-depressive?

I go, go, go and then I crash. It hurts to breathe. Depression deep. All consuming. The pace of life required of me exhausts, consumes my head. Cloudy. Crying.

A day like this—I miss my mother. She’ll never be here again. She’ll never celebrate another birthday with Genny. She’ll never meet Cole.

And I wonder, how can I do this life without her?

And I wonder, how do I be a mother?

Why does Genny have to be so rude to me? “I don’t like you,” she spits at me. She doesn’t want to kiss me or hug me except when she’s scared. How long will this phase last?

How could I have been mean to my own mother?

And again—I feel so different from all the other moms who coo over every baby murmur. I love my baby and my child. But I ache in such a hard way for my own self. I can’t seem to separate the two.

Where am I? I feel like there is something wrong with me when I don’t feel what other mothers feel.

Does Genny see me as inadequate? Does she sense I’d rather be somewhere else, doing my own things? Does my anguish cause her to not like me? Does she already sense and suffer from my depression?

I need to stop caretaking. I need to stop feeling so responsible. I need to clear clutter. I need to rid my self of unwanted pressure—unwanted physical junk, too. I’m holding onto Mom’s things as if they will bring her back to me. Things will not salve my grief.

Perhaps I have not grieved for my mother enough. I need to have more closure. My mother is not coming back.

I am a motherless daughter.

I am a mom.