Heidi's Hell Hole

 
This morning, as Bryan left to Bubbys football game I decided now would be a good time to give the kidlette a bath.

The bath part went fine. When she got out, I carted her into the bedroom to towel her off.

I had the bottle of lotion on the floor, waiting to be slathered onto her chubby widdle belly.

Pook was intent on getting the lotion bottle open...I thought. She squatted down, nekkid, and was trying to pry the lid open while I laid out clothes for her.

She gets up and walks off....Leaving a monstrous poo in her wake. The following part is how you KNOW you're a parent.

I did not even blink, cringe, or hurl. I simply took a wipe, cleaned it up, and threw it in the trash.

I'd like to thank bodily functions for officially making me a parent now. And, um, for lowering my standards of gross.
 
 
Dear Assesor,

Thank you for not listening to a damn thing I had to say. Every time I would try and point something out or say something helpful, I was poo-pooed. "We're the professionals, we know what we're doing." That little statement made me doubt everything I'd ever done as a Mother, and everything I'd done to help her speech along.

You gave me the results and tore my world apart. Four months?! I was crushed, and I was angry at the world. I was so mad that someone had dared to tell me my baby girl, my heart, my soul, my world, my EVERYTHING was anything less than perfect. But at the same time, I thought to myself that I was justified, that something was wrong. Anyone who dared contradict me brought my full wrath upon them. I even wrote into my favorite advice column, Alpha Mom, twice about it! I feel like I need to write in and apologize, "Sorry, false alarm! I'm a jackass! Thanks for publishing my questions, and having people respond! Love your blogs, though!"

For three weeks we waited for the second appointment. Three very long, very torturous weeks. Three weeks of living in a self-created hell. I doubted everything I'd ever done when I was pregnant, in labor, or as a parent. Was it because I drank coffee when I was pregnant? Was it the two epidurals? Did I not work with her enough? I picked fights with everyone. It was not a pleasant time in my household, and now I owe just about everyone I know an apology for being such a snatch.

Only to find out last night, you didn't even DO THE DAMN TEST RIGHT AND DIDN'T READ THE DAMN DIRECTIONS! The second assesor, Paula, apologized on your behalf. She apologized that we had to go through this, she apologized that you didn't give the test right. Come to find out, you didn't give her credit for things, when you had them noted on the test that SHE FREAKING DID THEM! What the hell, tester?! Needlessly Bryan and I wondered if Pook would be alright in the end. I spent three weeks trying to figure out how we'd afford her therapy. THREE WEEKS, YOU BITCH.  Paula was so upset that she put in a call to your office to ream your ass out. You haven't returned her phone call, I doubt that you will. You're damn lucky Bryan wasn't there at the testing, he would've left you in tears. While I stood back and laughed.

Next time, why don't you READ THE DIRECTIONS, ADMINISTER THE TEST CORRECTLY, and here's a novel idea...LISTEN TO THE PARENTS. Hopefully some other family doesn't need to go through what we went through due to your mistakes. As I write this, I am trying to refrain from cursing too much. It's taking quite a bit. When I am as furious as I am now, I swear quite profusely. But I will say this, a parting curse: FUCK OFF, BITCH.
 
 
If I had to put a word to how I'm feeling, I couldn't. There's so many emotions running through me right now...Anger, relief, frustration, happiness.

We had Pooks second, more in depth assesment tonight. Basically, she is NOT that delayed. She's got the abilities of a 15 month old. Basically, the person who administered the first test not only didn't do it right, she didn't follow the directions of the test, and knows little to nothing about the development of an infant.

I am SO happy & relieved that she isn't delayed. I was crying with happiness. The assesor tonight said she'd like to see her around 18 months to make sure she is on track then as well.

I am so fucking pissed off at the initial assesment. When they told me their results, I shut down. I bawled and I was heartbroken, and I was angry. How dare they say my baby girl is anything less than perfect? Why didn't they do it right the first time?

When they tested her the first time, they set her in a chair and buckled her in. And basically forced her to perform. Because she didn't perform, they didn't give her credit for things I told them she does!

For three weeks, I've been torturing myself, living in my own hell. Blaming myself, fighting with everyone else who said "She's FINE." Bryan and I fought about it. He was saying she was fine, while I would screech that she's not. He was the voice of reason. But three goddamn weeks of wondering if I did something wrong. Did I do something while I was pregnant? In labor? Have I done something wrong as a parent? As a mother? All to find out we're doing everything we should be. We're doing "it" just fine.

The assesor tonight, Paula, (if you ever read this thank you for...everything.) was so ticked off at how the initial assesment and how it was handled that she is placing a call to the initial person to, more or less, ream her out. She personally apologized for us having to go through all of this, and how it was handled, and how that person is a discredit to the profession.

While I apologized to Bryan for more or less being a bitch, I will absolutely not apologize for following my gut. I refuse to apologize for acting on the instinct that something was wrong with my child. I would do it no matter if it was a fever, or a developmental delay. No mother should ever apologize for making sure their child is healthy.

And I won't.
 
 
As I write this, it is barely 1300 hours. I have been up for six hours and I’m ready to crawl into a dark hole.

 

My day started out crappy and has continued to be crap. First of all, I woke up with a headache, which I still have. Bryan and I were grouchy with each other this morning, since work for us has been hell. I felt bad when he left. (I love you, baby!)

 

I have been rather lax about laundry of late. Because of my laziness, I had to root around for ten minutes to find panties. I did find panties, though I wouldn’t use that term. More like big-as-a-banner granny panties. (Side note to underwear manufacturers: panties shouldn’t come up to just below my boobs. FYI.) (Side side note: why do I own these again? Oh, right, I wore them in the hospital when Pook was born.)

 

 I left early for work since it’s raining out, and traffic can be a bear. My route to work involves driving by a river. A river with little duckies. I almost ran over one of those little duckies. I swerved to avoid hitting it, but it rattled me.

 

I got to work, and my computer decided to run super slowly. My morning report normally takes 20 minutes to run, code, analyze, print, and distribute. But, this morning it took an hour. When I printed it out, my printer used a ream of paper spewing gibberish. Lovely, so I spent another hour doing it again. Meanwhile, I’ve got management on my ass about where the hell that report is! I ended up having to show them the ream of paper so they’d shut the hell up.

 

That fiasco over with, corporate sent us their idea of a flu prevention kit…A box of single ply, 20 grit sandpaper…Um, I mean Kleenex. I am not making this up. This is how corporate tells its employees they care. I’m pretty sure the next round of cutbacks are right around the corner.

 

Riiiight about that time, my email decides to take a complete dump and crash. So, any hopes I had about those important emails I had sent reaching their intended recipients crashed with it. So, pretty much, since my offices lives and dies on email, communication wise, my day just got screwed. I rebooted and tried again. No dice. Well, fuck me sideways. And of course, once again, I’ve got people all but screaming “WHERE IS THAT EMAIL?!” By this time, it’s roughly ten AM…

 

My receptionist catches me on my way upstairs, “Heidi there’s a call for you. She’s a real bitch.” Gee, thanks. The customer was a bitch and a half. See, our billing is driven off of metered data that our customer provides. She said her metered data was wrong. I suggested maybe someone read the data wrong and she flew off the handle about how dare I suggest her employees aren’t trained! The entire time I was on the phone with her, she stopped just short of calling me a horrid, stupid slut. She ended by saying she was going to cancel her contract. I didn’t try to dissuade her.

 

The final straw of my day came about lunch time. My boss decided to heat up “tuna surprise”. Let me tell everyone a little secret: when you work in an office, you never heat up anything stinky or smelly. Tuna STINKS. It smells like the inside of Satan’s ass. My boss, bless ‘is heart, never got that damn memo. He is noshing away in his office, and might I add, with an alarming level of enjoyment. Who the hell likes leftover tuna surprise?! I asked him to shut his door, as it’s starting to make me ill. He tells me to quit being dramatic. I started my rebuttal but I was interrupted by throwing up in my trashcan. I raced downstairs to throw up in the bathroom. People saw me hurl. People heard me hurl. My other boss screeched, “YOU’VE GOT SWINE FLUUUUU! LEAVE THIS PLACE!! GO HOME! OH MAH GAWD, EWW!”  I was all too happy to oblige.

 

I get home, plop down on the couch and Kiera comes over and looks at me sympathetically. She then proceeded to hurl. On my shoes. Damn dog.

 

Tonight, we have Pookers second evaluation. I am beyond nervous. I’m worried the people will judge me as a mother, like I have FAILED my child. Just another way my day can suck, and another way Mommy Guilt can wrack me yet again.

 

Considering my day so far, I’m going to apologize in advance for any drunk texting later on….



 
 
 
I am in healthcare HELL. I swear to GAWD, my life is one freaking appointment, one call to this Doctor or that Doctor after another.

For example, Pooks speech delay issue. So, the initial assesment shows she's got the abilities of a 4 month old, which SUUUUCKS. When they said 4 months, I shut down. I didn't hear a word after that, and I bawled for a good 20 minutes. Did I do something wrong? Did I too much, not enough perhaps? Bryan said it's not about me, and he's right. But in a weird way, I'm not concerned about getting Pook help. Namely, because I don't care what the cost, she WILL be getting help. The best help we can afford. One way or another, I'm going to kick speech delays ASS. 

In order to do that, I have to get her "further evaluated" to see where she's REALLY at. (Make sense to ya? Because it doesn't to me.)

In order to get her into therapy I have to:

1) Get a referral to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. This is to make sure her hearing isn't bad, or that some throat abnormality isn't at fault. (You'd think we'd have figured out if her throat was wonky before this, but apparently, we're just dumb yokels.)

2) THEN that person refers us to someone who can REALLY evaluate her, because apprently, the people who did it before, while RN's, aren't MDs and insurance won't accept their assessment.

3) THEN that person refers us to someone who can actually work with her.

All of this for one little girls delay. All of this rigormireaux just to get her some help. All of this for someone to come her to daycare once a week. But, like I said, one way or another, it will happen. If I have to personally become certified to help her, I will.

So there's that.

Then there's MY uninsured ass. Why am I uninsured? Because in order for Pook & I to be on my insurance, it's $300 per paycheck. Screw that noise, I put Pook on state insurance and decided I just wouldn't get sick. However, in the meantime, I was diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder. This comes as a shock to nobody. So, I decided to get medicated for the sanity of my family and my well-being. The clinic I use puts me on a sliding fee scale, which is great.

Because I am uninsured, my benefits center gave me a $500 prepaid Visa debit card, that up until now, I haven't had to use. When I called to use it to pay off the clinic, it was declined. Well what the hey?!

I called the benefits center who informed me that the card was deactivated 5 months ago, and that they didn't notify me because they don't have to. They said they were sorry, they'd get it fixed. IN TWO WEEKS. Meanwhile, our fearless herione called the clinic! AAAAND was told that they're no longer going to be accepting debit or credit cards as of Monday. Well of course you're not! I asked the benefits center if they could cut the doctors office a check and take if off my card. Yeah, the evil call center lady just laughed. Bitch.

On the other end of the spectrum, Bryan, who does have insurance, got his retina reattached yesterday, and that went well. (Bad darts accident when he was a kid. I TOLD YOU YOU'D POKE YOUR EYE OUT!!) He was supposed to have his lense transplant surgery in 3 weeks but apparently the doctor is out of town (the nerve) and is there another doctor that do the surgery? HELL NO! Why would we have two doctors in case one has to leave? That makes SENSE! So, we have to wait until mid-November to get that done. In the meantime, he can't wear his contact and he's basically blind for six weeks.

I need a drink.
 
Well, shit. 09/25/2009
 
I've been thinking for months that Pooker is speech delayed. Yet everyone told me I was overreacting, every child is different, and how I need to calm down. I cannot effectively articulate how much those statements frustrated and angered me. I knew something was wrong with her. I knew her speech was off, I knew that she wasn't as developed as she was supposed to be. And yet everyone told me to shut up, she's fine.

Finally, I philosophically gave everyone the finger and scheduled her to be evaluated by the county. "You're just wasting your time" they said. I said they could shove it up their asses, I was going to test her anyway.

They were WRONG, internets!

As it turned out, she is indeed speech delayed. As of this posting, she is 16 months old. She has the speech abilities of a 9 month old. She should have at least 2-3 words in her vocabulary, and trying to mimic what we say. She will try to sound out consonants, but she doesn't say WORDS. When the evaluator asked her where I was, and who I was she just shrieked.

So where does this leave me? Well, the nurse is coming to our house next Thursday to do a more in-depth evaluation. From there, she'll keep coming to the house and to daycare to work with her. For once, I was right. But I wish I was wrong, that she was normal.

This is my Pooker Butt. The baby I fought so hard to keep healthy when I was pregnant, despite my body working against me. The little girl who has my heart, melting every time I see her smile.  The baby who is so upbeat, who runs as fast as her little legs can carry her to give me a big hug. She is my heart. She is my soul. She is my life. She's....just...she's everything.
Picture
 
 

Most everyone knows that I swear. A lot. Heck, even my friend K's husband didn't know who I she was talking about until she said, "You know, Heidi? The one that swears a lot?" "Oh, you mean Heidi Goddamnit?"

 

I'm trying to quit, I am. But unlike smoking, there's no patch for this. Just a little toddler to remind you that she IS listening, and IS learning to talk.

So Saturday she got into something she wasn't supposed to, I think it was Bryan's computer stuff. I'm not sure. Anywhoodles, what I do remember is saying, "Well, f***. This is GREAT." Pook just sat there, looking at me. She then slowly sounded out the word I just uttered. In a shining moment of grace, classiness, and all around MATURITY I then said "Oh SHIT, you just repeated it!"

 

I'm that classy, y'all.

 
 

To say that I am mad, furious, angry, upset, or livid right now would be such a gross understatement. I am so engraged right now that my hands are shaking to the point where it's hard to even type.

Angel sent me an e-Mail saying that she had a proposition for me, that I should call her. Curious, I sent her a text message asking what was up. What followed makes me so fucking furious I can barely speak coherently.

She asked me to convince Bryan to give up ALL of his parental rights to the kids. She tried to tell me that it would be better since we could concentrate on us, devote all our time to Pook, and it would save us money, how the kids more or less hate me, and how he's a horrible father anyway, and he listens to me, so why don't I just put a bug in his ear?

I have several issues with her request. Number one, you do NOT drag my child into this unless you want to suffer a horrible death. You want to drag our innocent child into this mess? Sweety pie, you're going to open Pandoras box. You fuck with my child you fuck with me and trust me, when my temper flares up, Satan himself hides from me. Don't try to tell me how to parent MY DAUGHTER, and don't try to tell me how Bryan should parent OUR DAUGHTER. Don't try to tell me what she does and does not deserve. If you mention my child again, I swear to everything I hold dear you'll be eating from a straw for the rest of your miserable existence.

Secondly, my relationship with Bryan is none of her damn business. Have we hit a rough patch? Sure we have. Like all couples. But we're working through it, and I sincerely believe we will come out stronger for it. Unless and until our relationship starts damaging the kids in some way butt out of it.

Seriously? You're seriously trying to play the money angle with this? Let me tell you something, Twat Face, it wouldn't matter if he paid $6,000 a month in child support and we were eating ramen noodles every night. He will never, never, EVER give up his kids. Would it save us money? I'm sure it would. But those kids are worth every single fucking penny he/we spend on them, and more. Unlike you, Twat Face, we don't put a price on the love we have for them.

The kids DO NOT hate me. Oh, they say I'm mean do they? To be honest, in the beginning, I was overly harsh with them. I was 21 years old, had never dealt with kids before, and I was dealing with two kids who were CONVINCED (thanks to you) that I was here to replace their Mother. Over time, with just plain ole trial and error, guidance from Bryan, and listening & observing the kids, I've gotten MUCH better. I've learned that Bubs is a very sensitive little boy, and that he needs to be parented accordingly. I've learned that T is high spirited, and needs to be handled WORLDS differently than her brother. I've made mistakes but I've admitted to them and learned from them.

Twat Face, you seem to think that Bryan is the worlds worst father. Namely, because he missed a few of T's softball games. But let's examine the facts, shall we? He asked you repeatedly for a game schedule so we could be there. You only told him that she had games on Saturday. When, in reality, she actually played two games a week. But again, something you failed to mention. We still don't have a softball schedule. Oh, he doesn't stay home with them when they're sick? Well, golly, Twat Face, it'd be nice if you'd tell us WHEN THEY'RE SICK. The phone calls at 1800 hours of "Bubs was sick today and I stayed home with him, by the way." is crap. How the hell do you expect him to stay home with them if you don't tell him? I know, I know it's a novel concept.

Speaking of model parenting, let's examine you for a moment. No, no, Twat Face, despite what you think, you're not without blame here. Remember a few years ago? I know most of it is a drunken blur, and that is what I'm pointing out. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with YOUR KIDS unless it was a holiday when you could dress them up and show them off and Oh, aren't you just the perfect little (well, not anymore you're not little) Super Single Mom?! All you did was drink and party. Now, to your credit, you don't do that as much anymore. But again for the first part of their lives all you did was drink and left Bryan to deal with and raise your kids. Great parenting. I mean, honestly, you should write a book. I know!! You could call it, "What To Do If You Want To Scar Your Kids For Life...By Twat Face" Has a nice ring to it, don't it?

Furthermore, you bitch, if you have an issue with Bryans parenting, you need to bring it up with him. Not me. Texting me and sending me e-Mails behind his back is beyond chickenshit. Trying to recruit me into your bullshit plan is beyond stupid. Did you honestly think I'd go along with this? Did you really think I'd not tell Bryan?! How stupid are you? You're either A) incredibly stupid, B) incredibly drunk, C) incredibly high, or D) all of the above.

Lastly, Twat Face, don't ever try to tell me you love your kids again. If you truly loved them, you would not take them away from the father they absolutely ADORE and love. There's a damn good reason every time they see him they run up to him as fast as they can and give him bear hugs. Because they LOVE him. He is NOT a bad parent. He's not the perfect parent, but then again neither am I, and you're the furthest from perfect I've ever seen. You're right up there with my mother, which is scary to say the least. If you loved your kids even one iota, you'd never even think to take those kids away from him. And frankly, taking away those kids would kill Bryan. Literally. He loves all three of his kids with everything he has, and so do I.

If it weren't for the fact that it's illegal, and it would crush the kids, I swear to God I'd have no problems bitch slapping your pockmarked face until you finally got it. If you were laying in the gutter on fire, I wouldn't piss on you to save your life. I'd probably take a nice, healthy dump in your mouth. I hate you that much. You've enraged me to a point I've never been at before. You screwed with my kid. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Twat Face.

 
 

So Sunday night I came down with what I thought was the flu. It sucked but whatever. I had a high fever and whatnot and by Monday I was over the fever, just completely exhausted. And I've been coughing NONSTOP and blowing my nose every other fucking minute. I figured, okay so I got over the flu and now I have a cold.

 

Since my azz aint got no insurance, I've been doing every single home or OTC remedy I could think of. Neti pots, humidifiers, Vicks VapoRub, throat lozenges, day time cough syrup, night time cough syrup, steam...Everything. But this morning I was coughing so hard that I couldn't get a breath, I was choking and gagging and throwing up. Okay, okay, I give up. Fine. I'll go to the doctor.

I have "influenza with broncopneumonia" which apparently is fancy-schmancy talk for walking pneumonia. I tried to argue "Okay, but I'm a Mom. I don't get sick. Can I still go to work? No? Just for a few hours? PLEASE?!" Nope. I'm supposed to park myself on the couch or in bed and drink TONS of fluids.

 

The worst part is that until I'm fully recovered, I can't touch my baby girl. I "can't risk getting her sick with this" and since she's already sick...Yeah....This sucks. I can't hold her?! WHAT?! Every morning I pick her up from her crib, she lays her head down on my shoulder, and just gives me this amazing full body hug. Her legs wrap around my torso, and her arms go aroudn my neck. It's my little slice of Nirvana every day. And now I have to miss that. I think that's worse than any illness I could possibly have.

 
 

Isn't Easter supposed to be sunny? Kind of like natures way of saying "Hey, God! Thanks for giving the world your Son, and hey, Jesus! Thanks for dying for our sins!" Instead, it was a gloomy overcast rainy windy day. Ummm. Mother Nature....Whatcha trying to tell the Alpha & Omega here?

I mention the shiteous weather because THIS! WAS! POOKS! EASTER! Easter dress! White patent leather Mary Janes! Photos outside in the grass! Not to be. For one, the weather couldn't cooperate so there was no photo ops. Two, Pook wasn't exactly filled with the Holy Spirit that day.

She. Was. So. Damn. Fussy. If you weren't holding her, she'd scream. Diaper? Fresh. Bottle? Eschewed. Tired? Hell no, that's too damn easy. So, needless to say, trying to wrestle her into the CUTEST little overpriced Easter dress, tights, and shoes wasn't happenin'.

 

By the time I got her into her dress, it was time for Bryan to take her to Easter at his parents house. Of course. Naturally she's good for my ex. Mother #$%^&!!!!