Happy birthday!
When you were little, you loved to hear stories about when you were even littler.
The day you were born, I got a call at work from your soon-to-be-mother. She said it was time and that she was going to take a shower.
When I got home, she had her little bag packed including some CD’s of music she wanted to listen to while she was in labor. I was to put the bag in the car along with your mom’s boom-box.
On the way to the hospital, your mother wanted to stop at Sonic because she was hungry and knew the nurses wouldn’t allow her to eat anything. I can’t remember exactly what she got, but I imagine it included tater tots because,well, tater tots are just that good.
So I’m going to say that tater tots were your last meal while onboard your little momma.
A note about your mother: In high school she taught me the correct way to eat fries from McDonalds. You use ketchup packets. You pick up one fry, paint it red, and then consume. It takes longer to eat a pack of fries, so the treat last longer. See? Your mother was a wise girl.
Please make note that labor appears from my perspective to a wee bit painful.
After the epidural was stabbed into your mom’s back, we turned the overhead lights off and turned on the side table lamp and put on the music your mom wanted. This included Mannheim Steamroller’s Fresh Aire 2.
I was wondering when my dad was going to show. He called and said that a family friend had just died and he would be there a little later. The lady who died had one of the kindest hearts I’d ever encountered. I’ve only found one whose heart is so much kinder that it’s worth mention, and that is yours.
When the time came, the doctor came in and positioned herself in the catching stance at the base of your mother’s business. There was also a nurse there.
I was not allowed to look by order of your mother, but I did see your first millisecond in the world. You were a pretty shade of blue. The doctor cleaned out your mouth and you started to breathe and then you cried a bit. After a few moments you were pink.
You didn’t cry much after that.
Against my better judgment, the doctor had me cut your umbilical cord.
What a beautiful baby girl we had.
As you might know, pregnant women usually get an ultrasound examination to make sure that everything is progressing well. The doctor can usually tell the parents the sex of their upcoming addition, but we decided not to ask. We wanted a surprise.
It was my job to announce to your waiting relatives your arrival.
As I was walking down the hall, my mother was walking toward me. I was crying and I told her we had a baby girl.
I went with you for your first bath (given by a nurse) and your first little physical checkup. During the course of that examination, the nurse measured you, and counted your fingers and your toes, and listened to your heart, and verified that you had all of the factory equipment expected of a newborn.
You were perfect.
Your mother’s and my process of picking out your name went like this: She would think up names and then I would verify that (a) the name cannot be turned against you through teasing, and (b) the name would look good in a history book or on a nameplate on the President’s desk.
Your name has two syllables in every word. I like that.
You were named after a little girl that your mother babysat when she was a teenager. I used to come over and “help” with the babysitting. It was very exciting. (Note that you’re not allowed to have a boy over while you babysit.)
I am sorry that it has been four years since we last saw each other. I apologize that I have not been allowed to send any cards or have any other contact with you. Today I am not sending you a birthday card or a gift.
This mess is entirely my fault.
I have this policy: I vow to accept my life as it is, as I have made it, because I want to play with my own cards. I wouldn’t trade my cards for anyone else’s.Additionally, I have said that I would not change anything in my past if given the chance, but that’s a lie. If I could, I would go back and stop myself from saying what I said to your mother that day which led her to taking me to court and stopping me from seeing you. If I couldn’t change that, then I would go back and kick myself in the butt for not working enough to be able to afford to see you at the Parent Child Center.
The day I heard that I was not going to be allowed to see you for three years I was in shock. That night I started crying and continued for days. The image of you and and your brother wondering what’s going on with your daddy was too much to bear (I thought at the time). I kept repeating, “[Your name] has lost her daddy, [your name] has lost her daddy.”
I miss you. You’re always on my heart. I’m always wondering what you’re doing and wishing I could sit down and hear all your stories. I’m guessing you have some good ones.
I found your name on the Internet in an article on your school’s website saying that you had won the school spelling bee! You are so smart.
Do you remember when we used to color? I remember when you drew your first “muffin man” on the chalk board. Your mom asked you who it was and you said it was daddy. Your mother has a picture of the muffin man. I wish I had a copy. I used to, but I don’t know what happened to it. I also wish I had some newer pictures of you.
Do you remember when we would do experiments? You built a thing one day out of wire and blocks and called it your “expotition.” It was so very cute.
When you were very little, around nine months old or so, I was up early with you and moved your high chair into the kitchen and started teaching you to make scrambled eggs with cheese. Mmmm. You loved them. (And then your face broke out and you threw them up. Darn allergies. Sorry!)
I loved reading to you. We read every night. Eventually, we were reading the Wizard of Oz books and the Narnia books and Harry Potter. I tried to read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to you, but you weren’t interested. I hope you take the time to read those books, written by Douglas Adams. You should also check out anything written by Kurt Vonnegut.
Yesterday, I wrote a blog for your brother. It includes some advice that I also mean for you (and everyone else).
I can add the following:
Never Take Shit from a Man
Love doesn’t mean that you put up with being treated any less than the princess you are. Your capacity for love is certainly unsurpassed in this world and any guy who doesn’t value being the object of that love enough to keep his act together doesn’t deserve third and fourth chances. Loving someone sometimes means standing up and holding them accountable for their behavior, so don’t take shit from a man (or anyone else).
As I wrote for your brother, I expect to be in this world for quite some time and will be there to provide help when you need it, in your best interest.
I can’t send this note to you, sorry. I’m guessing you’ll find it in a couple of years. I want you to know that I love you, that I miss you, that I’m proud of you, and that I’m imagining myself giving you a big hug and a kiss right now.
Do you remember when I used to tickle you and you would say, “No tickle!” and laugh and laugh. You probably don’t remember, your vocabulary was only 200 words or so… like at age 1. You are so smart.
Mucho love!!
Note: This entry was modified to remove the name of my child by order of the court.
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