Four Year Realization

You almost killed me this week. Literally and so this “Journal to Kayla” was born, either as a way for me to look back ten years from now and say to myself, “See things can get worse” or for you to have something to look back on and think why the hell did I put my mother though all of this only to have her die on me early…and the guilt you will feel for the rest of your life may actually mean you really did kill me.

It has become a daily occurrence that you refuse to allow me to help you. You outright snub my hopeful requests for, oh let’s just say anything that you might need help with, such as putting on your coat, shoes, underwear, socks, and hat—in that order. Just this morning after you refused to go to the bathroom again for the 108th time, simply because it was a request made by YOUR MOTHER, I let you do it your way. And your way, clearly not the better way, took you twice as long and resulted in your missing breakfast. Wonder if you’ll make that mistake again tomorrow morning?

I guess I should start with the reason this journal to you took me almost 4 years to begin. Honestly, I thought they were wrong. I thought my positivity and super-natural faith would give me leverage to point a bold finger at the naysayers (ie. Grandpa Larry and Grandma Judie) and show them how right I was and how wrong they were when their words long echoed in my ear in the early minutes after you refused to be born (a story for another day) “Payback Time” they proudly proclaimed in unison “We hope you get back everything you have put us through.”

The breaking straw today was the incident of you pulling your pants down and showing your creamy white buttocks to the world—behind my back, of course. Apparently, you were running around the gym at church, playing with the other kids, when you realized you had a talent that would make all of the other children, stop, stare, point, oggole, and laugh. This, in conjunction with the fact that you were again the center of attention, caused you to repeatedly pull your pants down for all to admire. Even a request from an older teenager could not deter you from the sheer joy you were experiencing in all of your glory, in a house of glory. Later, when another mother candidly explained to me her shock over what had happened, I attempted to speak with you in a civilized manner and explain why this behavior is inappropriate. You put on a good show with the tears and the empty promises, and I must admit, you had me quite convinced…until we got home, and you thought it was time again to put on the dog and pony show for your Daddy. This time it was Mommy, putting on the charm, convinced the Favorite parent to administer the discipline on the aforementioned buttocks.

All of this before 11am…you really have us going Kayla Rose. You really do.

Love,
Momma