I have four boys. I don't think I have mentioned that for several months in my posts. Peyton wasn't planned but he wasn't being prevented. Eli was the biggest surprise of my four. And continues to be, still. Zackary was planned and he took the most time to accomplish. Evyn was planned and I was pregnant by the next week, or so it seems. A daughter was always a little pink thought in the back of my mind but I never honestly thought I'd be a good mother to a daughter. I am rough around the edges, but I've mentioned this before. I always thought I'd be a better mother to boys. I can't help but still have those little pink thoughts especially around the Holidays. I guess it's because Mom and I always went shopping this time of year for a new Christmas dress. Usually it was red velvet and patton leather black shoes. I should hunt up a picture of one of those dresses.
That seems like so many years ago. It was. Twenty-five. I was rather girlie back then. Complete with lace, ruffles, bows and ringlet curls in my waist long hair. Please and thank-you was in my vocabulary daily. What happen, you ask? Got older. Thought I knew everything. To big for dress shopping with Mom. I was more interested in Mr. Wrong. The first one came along at age 16. I desperately needed to put my trust into someone, anyone. Other than my parents. No need in naming names. They know who they are. Mom knew from the beginning that something was wrong with him. The more she preached about him the more I wanted to prove she was wrong. I talked to him day and night. Hours on end. He knew me better than anyone had in my life up till that point. He was different but I needed a connection so badly that I over looked a lot in the beginning. When he was nice, he was one of a kind. Perfect hair. Built body. My friends were envious. His parents thought I hung the moon and I them. His friends took me under their wing and being 16 it was great to know so many people had my back.
He came to visit alot on Sundays. Normally when I returned from church with my parents he would be sitting on the porch swing outside waiting on me. He knew my schedule better then I did. He knew when I left, and when I returned. He knew my work schedule, school schedule, home schedule. I had told him. I had no reason not to. Not only did he know every detail of my life, but my parents life as well. Isn't it funny what we think will last forever at age 16. There wasn't anything I didn't think I could share with him.
The first time he hit me was several months into dating. I had just returned home from church with my parents. It was a Wednesday night. He was upstairs waiting for me in my bedroom. He knew how to get into the house. I had enabled him. He stored away information like a storage drive.
It startled me that he was there without my knowledge, and I was going to tell. It didn't take long for him to convince me my parents would be angry with me for sharing important information with him. The location of spare keys, hours they were gone, ect.. I was grabbed and shook, then hit for even mentioning he had no business there. I don't think details of the rest of the nights events are necessary. Just know these unannounced visits happen often. Usually he was drunk or high and forgot how he got there. Normally someone dropped him off but sometimes he hide his mothers car in various places that I would have to find the next morning. From the first time he hit me I wanted to end it but he wouldn't allow it. Just like everyone preaches he promised to do better, never let happen again, or he done it cause he loved me so. I was left having to sneak him out of the house the next morning and get him home. I was either late or missed school so many days that year because of him that I lost my license and almost failed that year of school. Just because I rode the bus or with friends to school didn't stop him from hiding in my home while we were gone. I was till responsible for trying to get him home. sometimes I couldn't and would go through the whole day knowing what was waiting for me when I came home. Mom and Dad have a huge home. It was easy for him to hid all day long even if someone was home. I see now so many ways I could have escaped such torment but I was so young and stupid then. He stole things from me. Money, clothes, cd's. things from my room that he knew Mommy wouldn't miss. Only me. He demanded my whole pay check at times and if I did not hand it over he threaten to tell my parents that I was allowing him to stay nights with me. That I had ask him too and threaten to tell them he thought they were aware. How stupid was I. Don't answer that. I already know. One of the times I tried to end things with him he piled all my clothes on top of my bed and poured finger nail polish all over them then locked himself in my bathroom. When he came out he was bleeding profusely from his arms and wrist. He had cut himself with my razor. He spent a month in a hospital after I told his mother what he had done. I snuck him out to his mother in the middle of the night. She too thought my parents were ok with this arrangement. During that time I finally had relief from the torture. Isn't it odd what we endure to keep from disappointing and hurting the ones we love. I didn't want my parents to know that I had told him to much, especially when my Mommy told me what he was about from day one.
The last time it happen I came home from school and didn't go straight upstairs. The phone rang and it was a friend. Male. We talked a while and I went upstairs to begin homework. The second I walked in the door I was slapped and whipped repeatedly with a telephone cord. He had gotten out of the hospital and I didn't know it. He had heard the telephone call and I had no idea. The next day I took him home and was hit all the way to his house. I had to pull over several times to wipe tears and clear my head so I wouldn't wreck. He had never hit me where it could be seen but this time he did. My head bounced off the driver side window several times. He busted out my windshield. This was not the first time he had damaged my car. That happen on several occasions. Usually when he had waited for me to get off work to speak to me and I'd refuse. He always dented or busted something before I could drive off. I always made excuses to my parents as to what happen to it.
I don't know why he never intruded my home again after that day. I'd like to think it was something I'd said or done to scare him away but I doubt that was the case. I'd like to say I finally told my parents that he had been sneaking into our home for months and destroying my pride and taking my dignity. I didn't. There are many things they should know about my childhood and teenage years but they don't. I never told them. I was afraid. I wanted them to be proud of me so badly.
So, this is just one of the reasons I don't think I should have a daughter. I don't think I have what it takes anymore. I'm not nice. I don't feel or have emotions. I think the last time I really cried was on that drive home when my head bounced off the car window a dozen times. That was 1997. I don't feel pity for people. I don't like whining, crying and drama.
I'd ruin a girl. I'd never want a little girl to grow up as cold and rigid as I am. I have to really catch myself even with the boys. Allow them to hurt and have feelings and emotions. I fuss at them a lot for showing emotion and for that, I'm sorry. At least one day they can have my blog and understand why I am the way I am. Until then, I am trying real hard to be a better Mother and allow them to be their own person.
Why did I think to write this tonight? I guess because I passed a little red velvet dress in a store a couple days ago and pink thoughts have been floating around in my head ever since. If I could only go back 25 years and do a few things differently. Having my 4 boys would NOT be something I changed!!!!