Tag Archives: #amwriting

What To Expect: My Journal Entry

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What To Expect: My Journal Entry

If you are following me on Periscope then you remember when I got my copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting Pregnancy Journal and Organizer back in my 10th week.

No one aside from me is going to see what I wrote in for a long time so I decided to share one of the prompt pages from the journal section. Also,I encourage all you mamas to be to use it as your own journal entry. Enjoy!

THE EIGHTH MONTH

memories&milestones

Baby’s Latest Moves: the kicking and punching is at an all time high, Avery is most active when I’m settling in for the night

I felt my first Braxton Hicks on: haven’t had any yet

Besides the obvious,this part of my body is swollen,too: my butt. Amani is always slapping me on it and talking about how huge its gotten 😬

How I’m Feeling About My Body: I like my growing belly but am self conscious about the bottom half of it because Avery’s head is not there so it’s just soft and jello like

How I’m Feeling In General: sometimes I panic about Avery coming and sometimes I’m just like “Its all good”

My most recent clumsy moment: tripped over my own foot(at least I think it was my foot, I can’t see my feet anymore)

Recently I dreamed: I was chasing my deceased cat down the block,but I couldn’t catch up to her. I woke up crying.

The best pregnancy advice I’ve gotten lately: Rest when you need to

The worst pregnancy advice I’ve gotten lately: none

I’m most sick of hearing: Why did you wait ten years to have another baby?

The nicest thing my partner said to me: He told me my skin looked good

The nicest thing my partner has done for me: he is moving and will not move until his new place is approved by me. He wants to make sure I’m comfortable letting Avery be there.

What I’ll Miss Most About Being Pregnant: eating whatever I want without getting odd looks from people

What I’ll Miss Least: the constant peeing. I pride myself on peeing 2x a day tops but lately it’s been at least 10-20x a day.

What I’m Looking Forward To The Most About Being A Mom: trusting my own judgement when making decisions about Avery. I let other people dictate my decisions when Amani was first born and it made me less confident in myself as a mom.

My message to baby: I can’t wait to hold you

Dad’s message: N/A

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Daddy’s New York

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I just found this half finished piece I wrote on Evernote. It was based on a dream I had about my father..or at least someone who represented my father. I stopped writing because the dream ended and I don’t remember the rest. Should I just leave it or use my imagination to finish it? Let me know in the comments.

I tapped his shoulder. He turned around and a grin so wide appeared on his face. I looked down and smiled, but he pulled my face back up with his hand.
“Never hide that smile. It’s like your mother’s. Its why I fell in love with her”.
“How are you, Dad?”
His face turns somber as he considers my question. I use the awkward pause to study his face. His eyes are hollow with gray-ish circles underneath. There’s still a dancing light in his eye. Probably the same one my mother says he got when his favorite baseball team played.
I can tell he isn’t well. A part of me wishes it was because of his Lupus but I know it isn’t. There is no secret about his drug use but we’ve never talked about it. He’s a Taurus like me so anything I say will just hit a brick wall. His lips are chapped and they were recently bleeding.
The hair that was once the talk of South Jamaica now resembles a black matter cap on his head. It’s grown out and stock a out on the sides. Reminds me of dirty straw. He cocks his head to the left.
” I’m fine,baby girl.
Baby girl. The sentiment hits me in the chest and I let out a deep breath. I’ve been called “baby girl ” by no good men I’ve dated. It always bought a smile to my face and a warmth in my groin,but this time it literally takes my breath away.
After all this time,I sill wanted to be Daddy’s Little Girl. I had pushes that idea out of my mind because I didn’t think I’d ever hear it from him. I grab his calluses but warm hand. I tug on it and we walk through the park.
I stop at a hot dog stand. I remember my great grandmother calling them “dirty Frank’s. Maybe she thought that the dogs somehow were sullied by the polluted New York air once they were transferred to the bun,then the customer. I start to tell the cart guy my order when Dad yells that I should let him guess what I like.
“Come on Dad, I’m hungry ” I protest. I shift my weight from my right foot to my left. It’s my tell tale of uncomfortability. Dad studies my face then looks down at my belly.
” You like it with ketchup and spicy mustard” he proclaims.
He is completely off. I hate spicy food and thanks to my younger brother, who drowned everything in ketchup,I hate that too. Do I tell him he’s way off? He nods his head eagerly,waiting my response.
“Good guess, Dad”
He gives me the thumbs up but I don’t offer to guess his favorite for fear of him lying to me the way I lied to him. He asks for a spicy sausage with onions. My stomach churns because that is actually my favorite thing to get. I pay for our food not bothering to wait for him to do it because I know any money he has is for his…vice. Maybe the ketchup and spicy mustard won’t be so bad. Before I could get in my third bite, Dad osis already balling up the aluminum foil wrapper his sausage was in. I grab the paper from him and he makes a hoop with his arms. I dunk and he cheers for me.
” You like basketball,kid?” He asks
“Sometimes. The last time I enjoyed it was when Dwayne Wade won his first championship. Mourning and Peyton were on his team then.
“Hmm…that was awhile ago,baby girl”
“Yeah,my brother taught me how basketball works that year and I liked it” I respond.
I immediately regret bringing up my brother. My father has always ignores the fact that I have a sibling through adoption. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, akin to his many nights emptying his stomach of putrid bile. No one wants to be reminded of their failure as a parent,I suppose.
We walk along in silence. I love the biting chill a New York winter chill brings. People scatter like roaches to get away from it, but I embrace it. The mostly dreary days bring me peace. I wonder what brings Daddy peace. Is it a sound? A color? A taste? A season?
After a we are a block out of the block, I realize that we aren’t going anywhere. I look up at Dad and he smiles at me.
“Where are we going?”
We’re here” he responds
Does he not now I’ve lived here my whole life? Like,all 30 years of it.

Ask and…

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I recently put out a call to my Peri Sisters for some help getting this blog to the next level. I was scared initially because I was embarrassed that after 6 years,I hadn’t monetized the blig or written any new pieces for other blogs/publications in years. But, I promised myself that I would stop living in fear,step out on faith and ask for the help I needed. The response to my call-to-action was great!

So far, I have someone who is going to help me update the look,someone to help me start monetizing,and even someone to help me put my plans/goals on paper. All of these ladies have been so wonderful and I thank God that I listened to His instruction that I ask for help. I’m motivated even more to walk in my purpose and “keep on truckin”(SN: Keep On Truckin’ by Eddie Kendricks is currently my ringtone. Yes, I still set my favorite songs as my ringtone. Don’t judge me.)

I have decided to appease to you,my readers,as well. If any of you could offer any sort of blog services or help to ke, I would greatly appreciate it. Unfortunately, I will be unable to compensate you monetarily,but if there is something you think I could help you with, I will be happy to do it. I thank all of you for sticking it out with me and am truly grateful for your support and readership. Three cheers for the new era of Mommy In Color!!! πŸ₯‚πŸΎπŸ₯‚

We All Fall Down…

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Write about a time you fell down.

When I was 5 years old,I was living in Brooklyn with my foster brother and great aunt. We were well taken care of and life was good. On rare occassions in the Summer, my great aunt would close down her daycare ( she was a Black business owner for 30 years) and take my brother and I to the park. This day we went to Prospect Park. On our way there, we ran into our sometimea baby sitter, Trina. She wasn’t doing anything that day and tagged along.

When we got to the park,my brother took off for the jungle gym and I made a bee line for th slide. Trina followed us to keep an eye on us while my aunt sat down and chatted with a long time girl friend(I forgot to mention she was there as well)

I climb the somewhat intimidating rungs leading to the to top of the slide. As I’m preparing to sit and slide down,a little girl around my age sqyeezes herself next to me. Before I could utter a word of protedt,she knocks me from my seat and I kand with a thud to the pavement. I scream even though I feel no pain at first. Trina, rubs over and helps me up. She looks concerned but not panicked. She knows how clumsy I was prone to be. I relieve ger concern by insisting I’m okay. I feel a small pang in my collarbone but ignore it. I want to go on the see saw immediately to avoid further embarrassment. After looking up to sneer at the jerk who pushed me, I walk to the see saw.

As soon as i put my hands on the handle bars if the see saw, a sharp pain shoots up my right arm and it literally takes my breathe away. I pull my hand off the handle as if it had burned me. That gesture is met witha pain worse than the one before. I cry out and jump off the see saw. Trina is there in a flash asking me what’s wrong while looking around for the culprit she thought was responsible for my outburst. Tears well up in my eyes and I start sobbing uncontrollably. Trina has given up trting to understand my nonsense and leads me to my aunt and her friend.

My aunt jumps up and holds her hand out to me while asking what happened. Between breaths, I tell her that something is very wrong. I motion towards my shoulder with my head,she furrows her brow, looks and puts her hand on her hip. “It’s broken”, she says matter of factly. Before owning a daycare,she was a pediatric nurse for many years. She was known throughout the maternity ward for her distinct…sashay. I cry even harder as we head for the hospital.

I remember the smell of some strong cleaner with a tinge of medicinal something in the air of the hospital.I also recall finding out I had broken my shoulder. But that’s all I remember. The next memories are of the awful hard cast and sling I had to wear for 3 months. After it came off, I had to do rehabilitative exercises that my aunt made sure I did. The worst thing about it was I was a hard core thumb sucker and could not enjoy my precious “lovie” for 3.MONTHS.

That was 23 years ago and the only lasting result of that incident is my permanent crookedness. My right arm droops just a little and that causes my glasses to also appear crooked on my face. Sigh.