Before I was adopted, my mom had a job with social security downtown with my godmother Carmen.
Carmen has a sister named Martha.
"Barb (my mom) meet Martha. Now you're friends," my Tia Carmen said.
I get off the plane. I am three months old.
"When I go back to work, can you babysit my daughter five days a week? My husband works every day as well," Barb said.
"Sure," Martha replied.
I am now six years old, still being watched by my "aunt" Martha who I call Mami Martha. I call her husband Papi.
Her four kids watch me, helped raise me, play with me, yell at me, just like older brothers and sisters do.
At age six, I was speaking spanish fluently [I don't anymore.]
I'm 23 and my parents and myself were in a way...ADOPTED by these Mexican people. I still understand spanish and I know a lot about the Mexican foods and I plan on carrying on a lot of the traditions that were started when I was little.
My cousin, who's like an older brother to me but often times knocked my head into the coffee table from rough housing too much, has a son named Julian.
Julian usually calls me "Tia Vicki/Karina." For some reason, he thinks I'm another relative but he does this with a lot of people so it's fine and he always corrects himself.
I DON'T KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED...but I am watched this little jerk (lovingly) from TEN IN THE MORNING till AT LEAST 7 p.m.
What?
"HEY VICKI! GUESS WHAT?! MY DAD SAID I CAN COME OVER TOMORROW AND WE CAN SWIM AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES!!"
Oh.
YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!?!!!
He's a handful. My mom and dad used to watch him a bit a few years ago, three days a week I think, and I was working and going to school at the time but on the days I was home, I just wanted to pull my hair out after a few hours. He's a little older now, 7 or 8 I think, so all he wants to do is play video games and sit in the house. My main focus for tomorrow is to stick him in the pool for like...five hours and just get him really tired so that he ends up falling asleep or something lol
My mom just took a big ass portion of these chips that are mine.
Okay, I don't have any problems at all sharing food with Ian or even letting him eat my food or finishing it. I really don't care.
When my mom does it...I just get SO irritated because she doesn't WANT food until I AM EATING IT OR COOKING IT.
GO EAT OR COOK YOUR OWN FOOD. PLEASE.
She specifically said "this is your bag. the other one is mine." Okay...then stay the F away from my stuff.
I'm just mad because I'm thinking about all of the other times I've made food. I ask her ahead of time if she wants some so that I can make enough for two people. "No, thanks for asking though." But then when she sees me cooking, she just...TAKES it. I'm sorry. That was mine. Now I have to make more for myself since you took what I was making for myself. :/
It's frustrating. She's been doing this to me ever since I was old enough to use the stove...so 10 years is kind of the breaking point?
In the past, I have had to resort to keeping things in my room while I'm eating just so she leaves me alone.
She never cooks dinner for us. I mean...once in a freakin' BLUE MOON, maybe. Jesus.
But when her boyfriend comes over (that she thinks is dispensable), she goes through all of this trouble for him.
Where's my chicken??
...How come you don't sit down to eat with me?? Why aren't you this nice ALL of the time?
There are a lot of things that I don't tell many people about my mother. I won't go into details on this public blog but I know I sound like a crazy person for going off about my mom and a bag of chips.
Don't ever mess with a fat girl's snack.
....I guess that's all I was trying to say.
Tonight I touched my cousin Yoli's stomach. She's nearly nine months pregnant. I told Ian that she was due this Wednesday...she's not. She's due at the end of this month and she's...HUGE, and I don't mean this in a bad way. She said that she's not scared at all and she's ready to take care of the baby. She put my hand to her stomach and I felt her moving around. It was very 1979's Alien.
I don't understand a lot about having a child or taking care of one, which is why I'm afraid to have children of my own. I don't want the responsibility. I don't want to raise a child and resent it or have it resent me for my bad parenting skills. I just don't think I'm fit to be a mother. Ian thinks I'm good with kids and that he likes seeing me hold my "niece" Grace. She and I are kindred spirits. We both love food. She's a really happy baby, which is odd considering her brother is always really serious and grumpy. I want kids but I don't want to be one of those embarrassed mother in a Target, trying to calm down her bratty child who just knocked over a display or threw a bunch of toys on the floor during a temper tantrum.
If my child does that to me, I will threaten to leave them in the store forever.
See? You don't tell a kid that. I know that's wrong but that would be my first instinct.
I don't want to change diapers...I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night to screaming child...I don't want to feel tired all of the time. I don't want the kid to fall and get hurt because that will scare the living CRAP out of me. I don't want it to end up in the hospital or have an illness that will always make them feel like...they're not normal. But it would be so cool to know that Ian (or whoever. kidding.) and I made this little person who's amazing and smart and talented and beautiful and isn't afraid of anything and is just...THE coolest kid ever, but I know all parents think this of their kids.
Children can wait.
Most days, I still act like a child and so does Ian.
Right now, time is my friend. I think...
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