Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “children”

You Say It’s Your Birthday?

It’s my birthday too. So sayeth the Beatles.

I just realized this morning while putting makeup over laugh lines, and skin that’s not so taut anymore, that in about a week, I will be 45.

Throughout the day I contemplated. I didn’t contemplate my entire life up to this point, just this last year. It’s been a doozie.

What did Dickens say? They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. Or something similar. A year of extremes. A study in contrasts. That’s what my 44th year has been.

The worst of times because I found myself in a physically abusive relationship.

The best of times because I decided I was worth more than I thought and I deserved better than being someone’s punching bag.

The worst of times because my son decided he wanted to try living with his dad, after I’d had him with me for his first 12 years.

The best of times because my son returned home to me only a few shorts months after moving in with his dad, albeit with some painful lessons under his belt.

The worst of times because I found myself alone, and quite lonely, and thinking that possibly, I should come to terms with the fact I might spend the rest of my life that way. But, also figuring out that being alone, was better than being beat or emotionally abused.

The best of times because I met a wonderful man. I had sent wishes out to the universe for this man for years. I had hoped in vain for this man for years. But I now believe that it wasn’t until I decided, until I truly believed inside of me, that I deserved better for myself, that the universe sent him. Strange how that works, huh?

Life is yin and yang, and a whole lot of other shit in between. And as I stand poised, ready to slide into my 45th year, do I think it’s going to change? Do I think it’s going to get any easier? No. I’ve learned enough to know that anything worth having doesn’t usually come easy. Plus, I’m kind of one of those girls who has to learn things the hard way. Some lessons it took me 44 years to learn.

I know there are more grey hairs and more wrinkles and tears and frustration in store for me. But there’s also more laughter and love and adventure in store for me too. You need the dark and the light, both sides of the coin, the rain and the sun. You have to have one in order to truly appreciate the other. I’ve figured that out in my 44 years too.

So 45 is only a few days away I told him, and My Man reminded me it’s only a number.

And I in turn reminded myself I have a hot, younger man. 45 can kiss my fat bottom!

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Photo Credit: deviantart.com


What is it he tastes like in that movie?  Orange tic-tacs?  That has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  What this post has to do with is teen pregnancy–me being the pregnant teen.  Well, being the pregnant teen 27 years ago.  First of all, if you’ve never been a parent, biological or otherwise, or never wanted children, you might not relate to this post at all.  But, it has to be written.  It has to be written because of what happened last night between me and my biological daughter.

Let me give you a little background, hopefully a short synopsis so you will kind of understand where I am coming from.  I got pregnant in high school, considered abortion but just couldn’t bring myself to do it, so after much soul-searching, decided to put my baby up for adoption.  There were many reasons I made this choice, but just a couple of them were the fact I was only 16 and still had two years of high school left and wanted to go to college, and the fact that it’s extremely difficult to raise a child with a two parent family, let alone being a single teenage mom.  I mean really, they have that dumbass program on MTV now about teen mothers, and most of those chicks don’t do so great at it.  Plus, I had seen a couple of girls from my high school try it, and it didn’t seem to work so well.  I also knew the last thing I ever wanted to do was to resent this little human I was carrying around inside of me.  And last but not least, money. . .where in the fuck was the money going to come from?

Let me just say, hands down, one of the hardest things I will ever have to do in my life.  I have lived through some other hard things, and they were a piece of cake compared to this.  You don’t realize the agony, the depth of soul pain, that went along with this decision.  The day she left the hospital was one of the worst days of my life thus far.  A piece of my soul left that day, and a couple of years ago I thought I might finally be getting it back.  Either that, or I was determined to finally get some closure on it.  It’s pretty hard to walk around with a piece of your soul missing for 24 years.  I know most of you haven’t done it, or maybe you have, just not in this sense.

She and I had very limited contact over the years.  I would send gifts for her birthdays after she turned 10, and receive letters from her mom updating me on how she was and what was going on in her life.  About 3 1/2 years ago, I decided it was time for some closure on the whole thing.  I knew I wanted to meet her and possibly have her be a part of my life, but Ihad no idea if she felt the same.  I sat down and wrote her a letter.  Yes, I put pen to paper and wrote an actual fucking letter.  I mailed it off to her mother and waited for a reply.  I didn’t get a letter in return, but I did get a Facebook friend request.  We chatted a bit, and coordinated a meeting.  Everything went great, saw her mom who really seems to be a kindred spirit, and even met her dad that day too.  It was all very casual and comfortable.  Was invited to her wedding a few months later, and the whole family went.  All seemed well, and we continued to keep in contact and see each other periodically.

Fast forward to 2012.  She came to see me yesterday.  We shopped, we dined, we got our shit-kickers on and went to the country bar for some beers and dancing.  We came home and ate a bite, and while sitting here discussing some things that were going on in her family, she got really pissed off at me.  I guess she felt like I was trying to say her parents didn’t know what they were doing regarding a situation with her brother.  That wasn’t what I was saying, but she didn’t understand that, and wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain to her.  So she threw all her shit in a bag, threw on her tennis shoes, and took off to drive 2 hours home at 3 in the morning. . . .oh, but not before she told me exactly what she thought of me.  Don’t you love how alcohol acts like truth serum?

Prepare yourself. . .I wasn’t prepared for it, and it was like a punch to the gut.  She told me I was irresponsible to get pregnant in the first place, and that along with that, I totally fucked her life up by sending her presents through the years, which confused her, and that I don’t really care about her, and that she never should have met me because it has just made everything worse for her.  Wow. . . .just wow. . . I was actually speechless for a short period of time, which almost never happens.  I tried to tell her some things about how I felt, but what’s the point.  She doesn’t get it, and I don’t know if she ever will.  I don’t know that she wants to get it.  She is so ungrateful.  Does she not understand that if I hadn’t been that irresponsible teenager, she wouldn’t be here?

I do know one thing.  I know I love her.  I have loved her since the day she was born, and even before.  She is my child, just like my son is my child.  But I will not stand for disrespect from my son, and I refuse to suffer it from my daughter.  I did the best I could at the time, and I am still doing the best I can.  But if my best isn’t good enough for her, I will have to let go.



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