Seven dead babies and a whole lotta stupid.

I am all for forcible sterilization of this woman. Really, how many people have to die before women like these learn to keep their pants on?

The allen wrench that ruined my life.

I remember The Girl’s nutritionist saying I could switch from formula to whole milk when she was at least 9 months old and eating at least a cup of food every day. We made the switch at about 10 months. The Boy? He’s 6 months old now, and eating almost two full cups of food. Everyday. He also drinks 45 oz of formula. Every day. I wonder what’s wrong with his stomach. Is it a boy thing? His sour stomach has calmed down quite a bit, and thank goodness — because cleaning up pureed peas is a little higher on the disgusting scale than cleaning up formula.

He’s also a little more mobile. He can roll over on to his side — and now and then to his tummy — and sort of.. spin.. on his back.. so I decided it was time to lower the mattress in his crib. He’s managed to wedge his big ol’ fat thighs (he gets those from me!) into the slats of the crib, so I put up the bumper pads. When the mattress was at its highest level, he was almost able to swing his legs over, so it was time.

I took off the bumper pads, and hoisted the mattress out of the crib to find the allen wrench that is always, always under the mattress. I needed the wrench to loosen the bolt thingies so I could lower the bottom of the crib (essentially a heavy, flat board separate from the sides). Except the allen wrench wasn’t there. I checked under the crib. No allen wrench. Night table, dresser, baby’s memory box. No allen wrench. I checked the kitchen cupboard where I hide things of value. Then the cutlery drawer (really, at that point, who knows). No allen wrench. I checked the toolbox! Nothing. I checked under the kitchen table, where the wrench for the table and chairs is always, always taped. No allen wrench.

I went downstairs. Checked the coffee tables, and even the disassembled coffee table where the allen wrenches — you guessed it — are always, always together with the bolt thingies. Found the bag of bolts n’ wing nuts n’ such. NO ALLEN WRENCHES.

I did eventually find two allen wrenches through my frantic flipping-the-house-upside-down. Of course, they didn’t fit the crib. Now, I was obsessed.

I went to the grocery store and picked up some milk. They had lightbulbs, hammers, duct tape.. Hmm.. No allen wrenches.

I stopped by the dollar store, where I KNOW I’ve seen allen wrenches before. The dollar store is normally a SEA of allen wrenches, just waiting to be scooped up. You normally can’t walk through the aisles without tripping over them. And you know? I think that particular dollar store was actually officially an Allen Wrench store, until people without cribs in their houses complained and they started introducting crappy toys and witty coffee mugs. They had lightbulbs, hammers, duct tape, screwdrivers in all the colours of the rainbow. No allen wrenches. I announced to some poor lady passing by with her child that I was on the verge of a meltdown. She didn’t have an allen wrench either.

I considered swinging by a furniture store. And buying a wooden chair or table just to get the allen wrench out of the box. Instead, I headed to one more dollar store. They had allen wrenches in packages of 8! I bought two packages, and went home.

Now, there are a few things in life that are easier with more than two hands. Lowering the mattress on a crib is one of them. I loosened one bolt thingy, then the other on the same side. I let the board slide to the ground. Now, I was working outside the crib, but using the wrench on the inside. I loosened the third bolt thingy. And off it flew. If I’d paid more attention in physics, I could have calculated trajectory and all those fancy x, y coordinates. I found it eventually, and approached the fourth bolt thingy. It wasn’t easy to loosen, as the other 3 corners of this ~ 60lb board were now dangling precariously toward the floor. And.. you don’t need to be a physics major to guess what happened next.

Mommy. Broke. The. Crib.

 

Can’t feed em? Don’t breed em.

What a great bumper sticker. Except not really.

I found this story about a Maryland housing official proudly displaying it on his vehicle. I’m sure he grew up in the best neighbourhood, went to only the best schools, never ever lived paycheque to paycheque, and had life handed to him on a silver platter. (And then got a job in public housing. Good for him.) I only kinda partially agree with this statement. It’s hard to look at pictures of emaciated babies in third world countries who will starve to death before they learn to walk, and it’s too easy to wonder what their parents were thinking.

Now let’s snap into context. This is North America. There is no reason for anyone to starve to death here. In particular, there is no reason for a child to be homeless. We help each other here. Now, it’s not ok to have eight or ten babies when you really can’t afford them.  No one has children just to get a roof. That would be like chopping your feet off to save money on shoes.

I have never ever met a little girl whose wanted to be a “welfare mom” when she grew up. I never thought I would be going through school with two kids and a mortgage by myself. Shit happens, life happens, and we make the most of it. But public housing is usually a temporary thing. It’s there to help. It’s there to lower rent payments so children can have food and clothes and diapers, etc. It’s not always long-term, and it doesn’t need to be a shameful thing. If the help is available, who would be foolish enough to not accept it?

I’ve heard comments. Unnecessary comments. Posed to myself, and others in my situation. I’ve always thought.. my goodness.. if you cannot help me, you don’t need to make it worse. There has to be a middle class. There has to be a lower class. That’s just the way it works. If we all got paid the very same amount of money.. well, correct me if I’m wrong.. but didn’t Hitler have an idea about that 60 years ago or so? It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to raise a child from birth to college age. Should I have set that aside before I had children? Should I have aborted them?

I hope others can begin to think twice (at least) before passing judgement. It could have been you. It could have been your mother who applied for government housing to keep you safe, and to keep you warm. Or it could have been you who looked in an empty refrigerator one moment, and a hungry child the next, wondering if your baby was getting tired of rice and hotdogs.

Be thankful you are in a position to criticize. And not the one needing help.