My First Pregnancy Journey

Fresh out of college so close to the loss of my greatest ally left me in a flummoxed state. Already an introvert, I drew further into myself. One of the biggest lessons learned from woman in my family is that you always put one foot in front of the other. Keep it moving son. And so I did. I spent a lot of time writing, working, and hanging out with a co-worker/my first romantic love. Grief, alcohol and idle time is the perfect combination for the conception of a child so before you know it I was with child and more confounded than ever before. Things were sloppy. The father and I were broken up yet again. I was already planning on moving out of state (memories of Tan were chasing me all over NY). Abortion just wasn't my thing (pro-choice ...just a bit too messy for me). Adoption definitely is though; so I made a deal with myself that if motherhood didn't light a fire in me than I would give "it" away to someone who it did light a fire in. The morning sickness was terrible. People at work began telling me not to destroy my life just yet. Gee, thanks. A co-worker pulled me aside to offer up whatever help I needed only to take the offer back when his mistress on the job had a fit of jealousy. She was the father of my child's ex-girlfriend and went on to lead a campaign against me receiving "special" treatment. Something along the lines of me being able to lift 50+ pounds like the rest of them. The things that can happen when you're surrounded by ignorant people. I had to lawyer up so that my job could back down. So here I was minding my business and working overtime in an effort to be able to provide for my unborn. My paternal Aunt decided it was her turn to give me a hard time. Telling my sister that she wouldn't show up to my baby shower because I was not wedded. Yes, they still exist. The unkind words that followed surprised my sister. And when it got back to me *sigh*. I actually thanked God I wasn't there to witness because I am sure if it were me that she revealed those  archaic sentiments to, the devil himself would not have been able to contain my rage. This woman once showed me off as her child., showered me in compliments, expressed nothing but love, etc. As a mother of several children herself, I felt betrayed by her reaction. It was cool though. One foot in front of the other Storm. Let's keep it moving. The final straw was the father of my child not showing up to the baby shower. More so his lack of interest in the entire endeavor. I was too through with this pregnancy!

I must say thank God that it wasn't all terrible. My mother and sister were my lifeline. My maternal family in general kept me strong...showed me much love. And with all of the turmoil going on it felt like my unborn son and I were against the world. I felt like someone was loving me from the inside out *smile*. I would talk to my belly and I don't know.....could feel his response in a loving exchange of energy. It was weird. It was beautiful. He would dance like crazy to Jay Z and Celine Dion. I knew right then he'd be as eccentric as his mother and couldn't wait to meet him. As I was surrounded by my family/friends at my baby shower I felt so blessed all of the other nonsense was irrelevant. I'm ready for this, B! The clinical department at my job threw me a surprise baby shower which shocked me because of the treatment received from the very co-workers I practically grew up with was less than substantial. To this day, when thoughts of them fill my mind I am overwhelmed with gratitude. My mentor V, he was everything. His tough words of wisdom and sarcastic humor are carried with me to this day. No, it wasn't all unpleasant. God sent his angels...

Delivery was a little traumatic. My mother and boyfriend were standing by to greet little man and my son wouldn't budge (love, love, love that epidural).  Shivers began to rock my body like an earthquake. My doctor pushed for a C-section and I fought against his orders like I had had medical school instruction. No, no, no I can push!! Um, no I couldn't and my son was in distress so they rushed me into surgery. When I first laid eyes on him, I was just glad to have bought him to safety. My doctor would later express his happiness that we both survived. It took awhile for that fire to be lit but when it did, it became an inferno. Yes, God sent his angels.

Pregnancy is a time in a woman's life where she needs the most support. The most love. The most resources that you can have available to her. It is one of the closest human acts that we can consider a miracle. Whatsoever should become of that process has nothing to do with the emotions that she experiences and her perception of the circle of people she has surrounded herself with. I say all of this to say that due to the fact we've all come to be through pregnancy, our society (each & every one of us) should show a little compassion to woman with child. The media's constant display of images of pregnant woman dancing, working, and carrying on with their daily business desensitize us to the actual struggles that come with carrying a life. My experiences have made me a better woman so I can look back on it all and smile. I am now a source of strength for others. For my children especially. To quote one of my favorite poets (Maya Angelou) "People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, or even what you do, but they always remember how you made them feel." Shout out to all of those who made me feel great. You know who you are.

Item Last Purchased

Day 9 – A photo of the item you last purchased.

Easter eggs hot off of the clearance rack. Holidays don't tie me to the calendar. LP will be discovering M&M filled eggs for the rest of the month. It grows old at times (that darn short attention span most 4 year olds possess) so I do little things to keep it interesting. I write letters on them that spell a word when arranged horizontally. Tomorrow I'll draw shapes....funny faces...etc. I cannot resist holiday sales so I have to be creative.

2 Years Ago

Day 5 – A photo of yourself two years ago.





My birthday...2 years ago. Traveling to several wineries in Long Island, NY. The limo was well stocked and the company (even the driver) was amazing. We talk about how much fun we had to this day. Here I was taking a nap (it was a couple hours long) in the back of the limo. Definitely need a repeat. Oh and I loved that wig! Good times.

Favorite Photograph of her....

Day 4 – Your favorite photograph of your best friend.

Not sure if you can see it well but this is one of my favorite pictures of ol' girl. This hoody was a early birthday gift and I just might wear it everyday. This was the very picture she had sitting on her dresser in her room. It was in a beautiful "best friend" frame that I teased her about the first time I saw it. "Girl, you're so corny" I joked "Mad cheesy and shit". *smile* We laughed so much that day. It was the first thing I saw when I finally found the nerve to go in her room after she passed. I kept it until the frame broke and then I put the picture on my fridge. It's just the comfort of knowing she was here. She was really here and we had so much fun together. Look at that smile. I mean, it's the little things, you know? Yeah, I know you know.

Belgian Waffles

Day 2 – A photo of something you ate today.

Yesterday I almost killed myself. As a working mother I yearn to give my children as much of me as possible when time allows. As a mother who works a night shift, that desire becomes that much greater. I also have my own identity and goals. I mean, what good is a Queen who only wears one crown? Yesterday was one of those days that involved too many wardrobe changes. Responsible mom to fun mom to nature lover to concerned Aunt to punctual employee ending with gym rat on my lunch break. I had this bright idea to do a yoga move that used to be one of my favorites (pre-pregnancy that is). I returned to work so proud that I almost turned my shoulder stand into a plow pose.


Shoulder Stand

Plow Pose

            to       




Whoop whoop! 5 minutes later I was nauseous. Then a headache blew in. And before I knew it I felt like I was dying a slow death. Ugggh, my body rebelled so outlandishly I wanted to curl up into a ball and beg for sleep to overcome me. But I'm a "G"! So I toughed it out and went crawling to my bed the next morning. Barely able to stand, I ordered my favorite pick me up from IHOP. Those Belgian waffles are to die for. Their vegetable omelet is alright (drowned in BBQ sauce and hot sauce). But that Belgian waffle....good Lord. Love it! It succeeded in being the pick me up that I needed. Thanks IHOP!

A Day in the Life

Day 1: A photo of yourself and a description of how your day was.......

Today was cool. Ordinary. Plans to go to a Civil War encampment were quickly thwarted when I realized how exhausted I was. LP pulled the blinds up in hopes that the sunlight would wake me up after calling out "Mommy" several times. When that failed he cried out that he was hungry which he knows is enough to wake me up from the dead. Alright, I'm up! Kingston decides that he wants to sleep in the most awkward spot underneath (sort of) the bed, so I almost stepped on him. Holy crap, King.....way to really wake me up.  LP and I did our morning ritual (brush teeth, bathe, etc.) then had breakfast together. I tried to do laundry as best as one could with a 4 year old chasing them around with a crushed banana in his hands. It was all squishy....ewww. Well once he ate the banana he was defenseless and the chaser became the chase-ee (not a word but you know what I mean). We had a tickle fight that lasted 30 minutes before I realized that there was only one 4 year old in the apartment. All that running was wearing me out! So I sipped on coffee while I made LP his favorite dish of tilapia and roasted potatoes (he never eats the broccoli) followed by some ice cream. None for me though (gave it up for Lent). Took some time to twist my hair up. The girl's diapers were finally washed and stuffed so I napped for an hour. LP decided to give me a break and painted on his easel while I slept. When I woke up he reminded me to water the tomato and lettuce plants that we're trying to grow out on our balcony garden. It was so sunny on the balcony, I told little man to meet me outside. However not before a video call with my brand new niece (almost 3 weeks and just the cutest). So anyway LP and I had a ball (a soccer ball to be exact) at the park. We walked to Walgreens to buy Lighting McQueen bubbles for him and then to Tropical Smoothie (love, love, love them) for a Mango Magic for me. Or is it Mango Madness? Oh who cares that smoothie is exquisite! Of course I started running late. Time flies when I'm with my boo. I dropped him off at daycare (had to drag him out of the car). Squeezed in a few moments to fuss (aka drown them in kisses) over my girls before rushing out of the door. Hit 90 mph on the interstate and was still 15 minutes late (darn!). Now, I'm sitting here at work hurting like crazy after working out on my lunch break. Working on this here blog and talking to an old friend on facebook to take my mind off of the overall body ache...lol.

Highlight of my day: After our tickle fight, LP said I love you...unprompted. Yeah boy! Who's the greatest Mommy to the greatest boy alive?? That will be me. Whoop whoop. Don't hate! Lol. *performing celebratory dance*

And that's it. A day in the life. Yeah, yeah I'm boring. So what!

Blog Challenge

Let's lighten the mood a bit. Here’s a 30 day list for a blog:

Day 1 – A photo of yourself and a description of how your day was.

Day 2 – A photo of something you ate today.

Day 3 – Your idea of the perfect first date.

Day 4 – Your favorite photograph of your best friend.

Day 5 – A photo of yourself two years ago.

Day 6 – A photo of an animal you’d love to keep as a pet.

Day 7 – Your dream wedding.

Day 8 – A song to match your mood.

Day 9 – A photo of the item you last purchased.

Day 10 – A photo of your favorite place to eat.

Day 11 – What’s in your makeup bag?

Day 12 – A photograph of the town you live in.

Day 13 – Your favorite author and why?

Day 14 – A TV show you’re currently addicted to.

Day 15 – Something you don’t leave the house without.

Day 16 – Your celebrity crush.

Day 17 – A photo of you and your family.

Day 18 – Something you crave a lot.

Day 19 – Another picture of yourself.

Day 20 – The meaning behind your blog name.

Day 21 – A photo of something that makes you happy.

Day 22 – A letter to someone who has hurt you recently. i.e A letter to someone who broke my heart.

Day 23 – 15 facts about you.

Day 24 – A photo of something that means a lot to you.

Day 25 – What’s in your purse?

Day 26 – A photo of somewhere you’ve been to.

Day 27 – A picture of you last year and now and how have you changed since then?

Day 28 – Your favorite movie.

Day 29 – Something you could never get tired of doing.

Day 30 – A photograph of youself today + three good things that have happened in the past 30 days.

Let it be known that I will not be doing this in 30 days....lol. Whenever time permits, I'll do a couple until I'm done. Toodles....

My Son's Hair

It started out innocent. I swear *holds hand to heart before angry mob*.
Dreadlocks are beautiful. Natural hair is beautiful. Any decision that you make in life that doesn't bring harm to anyone yet pleases you to no end is beautiful. And with that, it was decided before my son was even born that at some point in time I would allow his hair to lock up. If you're not familiar with Dreadlocks, it's a fascinating hair journey misunderstood by many. For those who have expectations for a certain look it requires much patience. Especially with black hair. Our hair is unpredictable and rebellious. The beauty salon will make quite a profit off of you if your desires include avoiding the "rough" beginning stages. I had no such desires. What appealed to me most was the free form version of locks in which you allow the hair to grow out with little intervention. The idea is that your hair is beautiful the way it is. Which usually translates to the idea that YOU are beautiful the way you are. A message that I want all of my children to carry with them through life. And thank God I the kind of mother that I am because my son would need that message imbedded in his heart sooner than I imagined. He's a handsome boy. Light skin with eyes that scream of Asian decent (he isn't....well not to my knowledge....the unfortunate history of my people means we are often born looking a variety of ways). There is a large portion of the Black community that considers this look enough to label someone aesthetically pleasing. A European ideal of beauty that dates back centuries. Oh but his hair...my God it's screams black child. Short length, nappy and uneven. There is this trend in my life where people nod in acknowledgement to the words that I say however only when I act on those very words do they find their actual voices. Strong opinions (that usually counteract mine) tumble out of their mouths in the face of the very action that moves them so. I respect it as I do most opinions. But they are just that. Opinions. Neither fact nor a factor towards my financial advancement in life. So when people began to politely hint that I should cut his hair, his father and I would politely stand our ground. They gave reasons that were so ridiculous, my cheeks would grow hot with shame for them.
"He's too cute"
"His hair looks dirty"
"He is a boy"
"It's not cute"
"I just don't like it on him"
Etc
The source of these unnecessary comments bothered me more than anything. They were worse than the comments I hear about Blu Ivy (I just can't with my people sometimes). No one outside of my race ever saw my son's hair as anything other than what it was. Hair on top of a toddler's head. Not one of my friends (I mean I don't have much but hey) felt the need to express their displeasure with the way his hair was styled. The source of all of this frustration came from the people I expected would understand me most. My son's family. His village. Paternal & maternal. The paternal side shocked me because of the obvious. Um, you know...They're Jamaican! I thought they would be proud to see him wear their culture on his head. Big fat no. Then of course some members of my family annoyed me greatly because well they should know me better than anyone. At least by now.  Many a time they would forgo questions about my son's health & developmental milestones and jump right into "Project Convince Storm to cut his hair". I've dealt with way too much to be hurt by such sentiments but man they were vexatious. So, yes, it pissed me off that a stranger could look at my child and see him for the cute little rambunctious boy that he is and members of my own family could would not. All they would see was his hair. Jeeez, get a grip people. What furthered my annoyance was the fact that it wasn't the dreadlock hairstyle that bothered them the most. It was the fact (and I'm pretty sure this is a fact) that if he had the kind of hair that that matched his "bi-racial" look, they wouldn't mind. It wouldn't offend their eyes so much. Well, I must say my son has never been affected by anyone's judgmental tone or words. I'm sure the whispers will continue however the questions/requests to me have not which I am so grateful for. So what began as pure innocence is now intentional. His father and I let him wear his hair as wild as it wants to be. My aspiration for him to get this particular message has exceeded my expectations because now he is the message. Strangers tell me that they love his hair; loves how happy he is in his own skin. My son has parents that take great care of him. You can usually find him wearing a bright smile to go along with that wild hair.














When I'm done twisting his hair (which I do when I er  when we feel), he says "Mommy wook! My hair! It's be-yoo-ti-ful". *cue that India Arie song please*

So I think he's more than ok with how he looks. He finds nothing wrong with the hair his parent's genetic make-up gave granted him. And what's more  be-yoo-ti-ful than all is that in the millions of photos I take of him, he looks and doesn't find a thing wrong with the way God has made him. Mission accomplished. I love you, LP.

Co-Habitation

Definition of Co-habitation

1: to live together as or as if a married couple

Thanks you Webster for that brief definition.

I did mention something about how much I loathe cohabitation in my previous post. So as promised, I will share my thoughts and reasoning as to why.  I’ll begin by stating that I’m pretty sure I am partaking in this with the wrong person in addition to the fact that I grew up in a female dominated home. Let’s address the up-bringing since that came first.  My mother never remarried after losing her 2^nd husband (my Dad) to illness when I was just a precious 5 years young. So young that I hold no memories of said father although my mother promises me that despite his jealousy and womanizing ways he was a great man who loved me dearly. I feel loved so I believe it. We grew up n a Caribbean household (Haiti stand up...lol) filled with woman. Women cleaned, cooked, reared children, etc however they also threw the parties, paid most of the bills, and made all decisions that involved the household. My entire life I've been surrounded by women who were the delicate princesses and the ones to slay the dragon.  My obsession with books and Disney (Disney fooled us all....lol) conflicted with my up-bringing however I held firm to the belief that if there is anything that a "man" can bring to a woman, surely it is love. I mean surely! Imagine my surprise when as lady coming into age I discover that true love from a black man (no judgies....I can only speak on my experience) is as rare as a Parrot's beak (endangered flower) in the wild. Oh but I was determined. I mean young really. Met a handsome Jamaican Aquarius and fell head over heels!

And here comes in my first love a.k.a the current boyfriend. For all intents and purposes we'll refer to him as "TM" in loving memory of one of our many arguments in which we debated over the use of my reference to him as "this nigga" in a text message to a friend (Hi, Shareen!). Long story short we led a beautiful hood romance (babymama drama, I cheated, he cheated, but we love each other so much! kind of romance). Before long children followed so hey "Let's just move in together".  And it went a little something like this in the beginning....

Storm: I love you.

TN: I love you more.

Storm:Look at our son.

TN: We're such responsible parents.

Storm: Look at us.

TN: In-house (safe) sex is just the greatest.

Storm: Yes, it is

TN: I love so much.

Storm:No, I love you more. *insert barf moment here*

Then we graduated to this shortly there after.....

Storm: Um, television doesn't belong in the bedroom. Oh, so I have to fold your clothes too? Your baby mother has to meet you where? (not here!) Yes, my feet are always this cold. You didn't mind me not cooking before (pardon the double negative). Kingston (my cat) isn't going anywhere. Can you please put things back where they belong? You don't clean tubs?! Oooohh hell no!

TN: Um, did you say something babe?  *watches television*

So there you have it. I hate sharing my space. I don't like asking for things in my own home. I despise that "comfortable" feeling most men tend to adopt in live in relationships. These are personal problems though. And when you bring children into this world, your problems are just that...yours. TM and I have decided to take the old school approach. Stick it out as best we can for the sake of those beloved babies. Ugh, yes really. The advantages of a 2 parent/ 2 income home are invaluable. Coming from a single parent household, I can see the difference that a father's presence alone makes. My 4 year old son constantly measures out his confidence according to his father's feedback. Not to mention I couldn't get him to pee standing up for the life of me. Had to call big poppa in for that one (among many things). It's a fight to the death between our 13 month girls to see who gets jump in his arms first. It's not until he grabs them each that they finally settle down in order to keep the prize of an arm to snuggle up against.

College education has made me a fan of research and research shows.... *insert good things here*.

So we'll probably never make it down the wedding aisle but our children will be able to stand before society as productive citizens. So yes I hate co-habitation and perhaps I should have made wiser decisions as a young girl but I'm human. I've made mistakes I refuse to have my children pay the price for.  We're duking it out (well I am). Hope I make it out of this alive. Pray for me ya'll.

Not So Happy Birthday Approaching

It's coming up so quick I can barely keep up with it. Everyday it approaches I feel like I should be doing something "grand-er" with my life. Like it has yet to be lived and yet I feel like a mad man when I go through my lists of accomplishments. Relocating from my hometown of New York City with 2 unborn girls fighting their way out of my womb prematurely has got to count for something. Puking my guts out on the way to my new job and finding some kind of strength to care for an adventurous 2 year old after one 12 hour shift after another has got to count for something. Surviving bed rest to deliver 2 angels that doctors predicted would receive their wings before they would ever their first breath. Purchasing yet another vehicle. My return to work within 12 weeks while adjusting to my new town, job, boobs and family. My God, yes, I have accomplished quite a few things this society deems successful. My own home, healthy & happy children (that have both parents in the home....co-habitation, eww we'll get to that later), a college degree, 2 cars and a "good" job. Why, Storm you've got it all! Don't cha? No...I can't enjoy a damn thing because I don't have her. And thus is the beginning and end of my story. My answer and my question. Tanya Mondesir. The sweetest person I would ever have the pleasure of knowing. The pleasure (and it was such a pleasure) of calling her my best-friend and confidant. She was lost to this world forever after an unfortunate car accident on the Southern state. I won't get into the scary silence that came after. You know the one. Where loved ones pull apart instead of together. Lawsuits from surviving parties. Unanswered questions. Conversations that intentionally avoid the very subjects one needs to discuss to find closure in tragedies such as this. I won't get into my foolish open heart in the midst of closed ones. So much to the point that the very faces of people Tan & I spent so much time with became unrecognizable. I didn't know them anymore. Perhaps I never did. Nah, let's fast forward to now. Where this special day is coming. And why I feel so retrogressive. Let's see, that's it. Birthdays were sort of our thing. She lived for them. "It's a season, she would say. I'm celebrating all season." And she did. *soft smile* So here we are 6 years later with a birthday so quickly approaching I don't know how to feel. The love received from the 3 angels God has blessed me with has saved me from the hellish flames of life after your greatest ally has passed away yet I am still in that 2008 haze. Think no burns but extreme smoke inhalation. Skin intact however breathing is impaired. My ambition leaves me dissatisfied with any progress made. I've always known how to put one foot in front of the other. That doesn't impress me. How oh how do I stop the memories from taking my breath away when either of our birthday approaches? How can I make myself forget that she ever existed? How the hell can I heal? When I'm with my son and my daughters the veil of grief slips off of me. Time stands still. Love passes over every wound and makes me whole again. Even a snuggle from Kingston dulls my heart's aching pain.

 I can deal. How do I make that magic happen when I'm alone? How can I enjoy my birthday this year? How does one get over the loss of her best-friend? I intend to make this discovery......... *sigh* ..........one day.