And I have pages of MySpace messages saved from all sorts of people. Don't flatter yourself. The screenshot is from a message that you sent me whenever and I have it saved. SO creepy! I don't care how you spell your husband's name. Just leave HER alone.

And I have pages of MySpace messages saved from all sorts of people. Don't flatter yourself. The screenshot is from a message that you sent me whenever and I have it saved. SO creepy! I don't care how you spell your husband's name. Just leave HER alone.

Answer here

Oliver says.

Mama
Mom
Ma! (Which is his word for Grandma)
Dog
Kitty
More
Drink
No
Dada
Juice
God
Tree
Book
Door
Two
Ball
Hello
Hey
Car




Oh, and today he totally gave me a kiss. I said "Oliver, can Mommy have a kiss?" And he placed an open-mouthed, wet one on my mouth. At least seven different times. Seriously, who needs a boyfriend?

I really like this guy...

There are people who have it worse than me. They have fallen victim to genocide, rape, torture, starvation. We all grow up hearing about these individuals. Parent's making such remarks as: "You could feed China with your leftovers." You always just assume that these people lead completely different lives from you, that they don't fret over the petty stuff that seems to get our panties in a bunch.

I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love and it really puts things into perspective. As humans (though particularly those with a vagina), there are just certain things that are in our nature. One of the biggest foundations of life is love. Do you love me? And how much? She discusses how her psychologist friend once counseled Cambodian refuges, many of whom had witnessed the murders of their own families. And you would think, upon receiving free guidance, they would discuss the hard times they'd been through. Yet, a large number of refugees started their session with I really like this guy...

We all have different experiences in life. We've all overcome our individual obstacles in order to get where we are today. Sometimes we are living. Sometimes we are merely surviving. And still, we are all connected by our human nature. By our need to be loved and understood and accepted.

(This was my way of saying "don't bitch about my bitching, bitch". You know, in a more dignified manner.)

I proclaimed my love for a boy awhile back. It's hard not to feel like a failure when somebody chooses not to love you back. Like you aren't worth being loved. This is where I could lie and say that I don't still think about him constantly. That I don't look at my phone with every vibration and hope that it's him. I'm still in love with him. I will always be in love with him. But I'm not fool enough to think that is enough. Sometimes you have to recognize you love somebody. Yet realize that despite how your heart feels, you deserve way more than this individual could ever offer you.

Alex very well could love me back (though this is not my belief). He could be thinking about me right this second and want to be with me. But that doesn't change the fact that I deserve better. I should not have to save you all the time. I don't want to pick up your pieces. I have enough of my own goddamn issues than having to deal with yours too.

So, you just kind of learn to cope with the empty space in your heart. The part that he took all those years ago and never gave back. And you begin to understand that it isn't about filling the space as much as it is opening other places in your heart.

The Good Stuff.

I guess it's time that I come out and say a few things.

First, I've changed my blog title and siteID. I've thought deeply about this lately and have come to the realization that it isn't just "teenhood" and "motherhood" that I'm struggling with. I simply classified my desire for self-realization as a general quest for my lost adolescence. Driven is currently the name of my on-going novel. (Though, it seems to change on a regular basis. Just work with me.) So that pretty much explains the new-ness of my blogger. And all the blah boring stuff.

Now, onto the part of my blog that'll cause all sorts of gossip amongst people. You know, the stuff that I'll get judged on for being honest about: the good stuff.

Though this is still in the works, I'm abstaining from sexual activity. At first, this was just "sex" but I've learned first hand that doing other things normally lead to completing the deed. So, nothing. No genital to genital touching. No mouth to genital touching. No hand to genital touching. No naked skin to skin touching. This girl only goes to first base from now on. (Oh, this 100% includes self-love. If you know what I mean.)

So I made this decision as I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love". And I must say, I find it extremely awkward that I can relate to a 30-year-old divorcee on so many different levels. I'm not doing this because I think sex is wrong, or evil, or ungodly. This isn't me being on my high horse thinking I'm better than everybody. Obviously I have fornicated and thrown that whole "save yourself until marriage" bologna out the window. I don't have a problem with people who have an active sex life.

I'm trying to form a better relationship with myself and with God. I know, I know. As I'm typing this, I am seriously considering hitting the delete key. It's not embarrassing, per say. It is just anytime you mention the word "God" people automatically associate the words "Bible" and "Religion" and "Beheading". I have always been a faith driven person, it just has never been something I'm open about. I feel that my relationship with God is personal and unlike anybody elses. I don't claim a religion. I don't go to church. And I'll be completely honest to say, I don't pray unless I'm trying to make a plea bargain.

But I feel now is the perfect time to deepen my faith. Not necessarily with the Christian God. Rather, with my own personal definition of the Holy one. I am going to work towards knowing who I am as an individual, a separate entity of my beautiful son. Towards knowing who I am as a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, and eventually, a lover. (Yes, I just cringed at the fact that I'm 19 and used that word.)

And to better know myself, I have to do this substance free. I'm not saying that I'm a druggie or an alcoholic. (In fact, I've only smoked pot twice and have never been drunk.) I just don't want those things in my life at all. I don't need them to make me happy, even if it's just a sip of Mike's Hard Lemonade every-so-often. I just know, on a personal level, that being under the influence has never made me happy. I have seen it destroy my family, and I won't let history repeat itself. Again, I'd like to point out that I'm not judging somebody who lives their life differently. I am simply making personal decisions that I think will better my life, and thus bettering the lives of those around me.

I haven't quite figured out how long this whole process is going to be. I've thought about saying "for the rest of the year" or making it a flat year or even until I'm 21. Because I truthfully feel in my soul that it would do an immense amount of good for me. But I also don't think something like this has a time frame. It isn't a baseball game or a movie. There is no limit. I think I'll come to a point where it no longer is a "process" and becomes a way of life. I know eventually I will find the balance I need in my life, and I will be happy.

Babydaddydrama.

It was suggested that I write about my babydaddydrama. (And yes, that is one word. And yes, you DO say it in a fast & ghetto-like manner.) So, in my allotted time, I will try to explain why I'd rather have a child with a homeless dead-beat.

Matt is the formal name of my sperm donor. Though, I rarely take the liberty to call him that. You see, Matt and I don't talk. We don't get along. In fact, 87% of the time I feel like I had a baby with his mother. (Since she is always annoyingly texting me asking if they can take Ollie and is the one who usually meets to pick him up.) I know it isn't healthy for us to not communicate, and I realize that we have at least 17 more years of dealing with each other. But the truth is, he makes me so damn angry.

I guess it's a combination of things that make me hate him, a lot of them dating back to pregnancy and newborn stages. I remember how he reacted when I informed him Oliver (though then, he was "Noah Alexander") was going to have MY last name, like that was the only thing that mattered to him. His words, not mine.

Or how I was nine months pregnant and he decided to move two hours away. This is something that always dumbfounds me. Because I. DON'T. GET. IT. The distance makes it so hard to make things work. If he was truly dedicated to his son like he says he is, wouldn't he move closer? There is no reason why he lives in the town. I mean, he works at Dominoes as a delivery man. Oliver has never even been to his apartment because

Or how when we got back together when Oliver was a month old, he still never helped out. The only thing he would do is hold Oliver 24/7 (which was against my parenting method). He wouldn't change diapers, or give baths, or clean up around the house, or play with him, or make bottles, or feed him, or get up with him in the middle of the night. Nothing. He spent 96.3% of his time around Oliver and I trying to convince me to take Ollie to my mom's so we could do something. (And by "something", I mean "have sex".)

Or how I haven't receive child support in three months. And anytime I ask him about it, he ignores me. So then I bug and bug and bug and bug until he tells me something that makes NO sense. It annoys me.

Or how he seems to think it would be a good idea for Oliver, a fourteen month old, to spend FIVE DAYS in a row with him. Though, I'm fairly certain he never thinks about the well being of Oliver when he asks things like that. He just wants things to be convenient for him. It really doesn't seem to matter that this could possibly be traumatic at such a young age, to go to a place for almost a week that he normally only spends a day at. I imagine he'd feel abandoned. And plus, I'd miss my baby too damn much.

I know that I don't have it as bad as other moms. I'm extremely blessed. But I'm not worried about everybody else's situation. I can only worry about me and my life. And I'm done bitching, er, I mean, blogging, for the day.

Just a thought.

I'm a single mom.
There is no need to explain, nor complain.
It's a fact.
Deal with it.

YOUR opinion really doesn't count if:
1) You've had your kid(s) taken away from you.
2) You've abandoned your child(ren).
3) You are or have been dependent on pain medication
(i.e. Valium, Vicodin)
4) You don't have anything going for you (Examples: No job, no education, no future.)

Because if the worst thing that I am is a "fat slut", that'll always be better than whatever you amount to some day. I'm done with your drama and hypocrisy. Grow up. I know that's quite the concept for some people. Maybe instead of focusing on how much I complain about this or that, you should figure out how to pay your bills.

Or manage your money better.
Or become closer to God.
Or write a book.
Or further your education.
Or something productive.

Just a thought.

This is why I write.

I've been searching for other teen mom's on Blogger and have thus far come up empty handed. I wish there were other girls like me, trying to break the mold of what society believes being a "teenage mother" represents.

I don't want to be stereotypical, but I mean, we've all thought about young mothers in an unfavorable manner. If you face the statistics, most teen mothers are poor and uneducated, living off the welfare system and working at dead end jobs. And, from experience, most other girls put into my situation rely on others to raise/support their child.

You hardly ever see thriving, sensible teenage mothers plastered on your television screen. You see sixteen and seventeen year olds trying to get pregnant. There are times when I want to call up Dr. Phill and say, "Hey mister, now listen here. Just because some girls are having sex with homeless guys in hopes of getting pregnant doesn't make us all losers! Okay?!"

I understand that it's difficult for girls to find a cozy medium between "teen" and "mom". If you lean too far to one side, it's strictly diapers, nap time, and a feeling that you lack any sort of self. But too far to the other side, and it becomes reckless, drunken nights that leave you feeling guilty. I can't even say that I have it all figured out yet, because I don't.

Often, I feel that I'm alone in my struggles. Like I'm the only one who is unsure of myself and the life I lead. It doesn't help making myself so vulnerable, so raw. What you are reading is the truth. It isn't some act I'm putting on so I look like a better mother. I'm not some sympathy-seeking reject looking for reassurance nor guidance. I'm simply putting myself out there because I wonder if other people go through the things I do. If they have the same feelings and doubts and experiences. And if they do, I hope they read this and know they are not alone.

This is why I write.

I write to change people, to uplift them and give them hope. I write because even if I alter one life in the smallest of ways, I have accomplished something. (Okay, and sometimes I write just to release some of the whining and bitching from my head.)