Open Letters | Heir to Blair

A letter to my new lovah.

3 May posted by heirtoblair

Dear iPhone,

You elusive, fickle mistress of technology. COME TO MOMMA.

For two years, I have waited patiently, renewing my contract with Verizon, loyal to my service with the promise of you in 2010. Visions of sugar plums & home buttons danced in my head for months as I eagerly anticipated any news article that may leak your Verizon release date. Sadly, 2010 came & passed with very little glamor, but the promise lingered in the air for 2011.

Oh yes, I vowed. You shall be mine.

But our love was fraught with trials & not meant for instant gratification. Store after store shut me out, saying that I was not right for you. That we would not be together. That I simply did not have the phone plan to deserve your utter beauty. Verizon informed me that I would simply have to wait until Spring 2012. “But,” I argued. “I resigned with you for the iPhone. You promised me this! & I want to pay you more money!” They remained firm & I hung my head in defeat.

oh, iPhone. I ache to think of how long I missed Tweets I missed & the ability to upload pictures of my child picking his nose, all because we did not have each other.

But fear not! Behold, a new era has dawned for Verizon, where early upgrades are possible! My little white love, you are now en route to my awaiting arms & our lifetime of happiness.

smoochies,
Momma

p.s. for all the drama you created, you better damn well do my laundry & birth a unicorn.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 A letter to my new lovah.

42 Comments
Filed Under: BA is effing crazy, Life in General, Open Letters, Random, Stuff I Love

I’ve got 99 problems but a Mommy ain’t one…

5 Jul posted by heirtoblair

Photo 11 Ive got 99 problems but a Mommy aint one...

Dear PPD,

You no longer have power over me, or my relationship with my son. You no longer have the power to make me hate myself, the world, or resent anyone in my life. Your manic tendencies no longer control my thoughts. You are NOTHING. You are a nasty, evil, vile disease that I am pushing behind me, leaving you in the dust, & you are receiving the world’s biggest, most victorious middle finger. In short, YOU ARE MY BITCH. I AM NO LONGER YOURS.

PPD, you stripped me of almost 9 months of my life & more importantly, my son’s life. You beat me naked, down to my core until some nights, I was literally shaking in the bed & clawing at the sheets, begging for my life to be over. YOU ABUSED ME, USED ME, & HURT ME. & now, I’m standing up to you & taking my life back. For months, I screamed & cried to have my life back. Now, I have it. I should resent you, hate you, & believe me, I do. But I also know that every ounce of my energy is better spent moving forward & enjoying my life rather than wallowing in what could have been, what should have been, & what I wasn’t for the better part of 9 months. Now YOU are the one, shivering in the corner while I giggle with my son over bathtime. YOU are the one losing the battle while we snuggle & wrestle in the sunlight. YOU are the one standing outside the nursery during the bedtime routine. YOU missed out on splashing in the pool for the Fourth of July. NOT ME.

I hate you for what you did to me. I hate that there was no rhyme or reason & at times, I still scream WHY ME?! when I think of how it could have been like this from the beginning had you not come knocking. But I also know that without those horrible, bleak, terrible days, I would not realize HOW DAMN GOOD I have it right now. I feel like I am seeing my son for the first time. Like I am seeing myself as a mother for the first time. & you know what? I am a good mother. & my son is amazing. I finally understand that love that parents gush about, that desire to wake up in the morning & see a toothless grin over the railings of the crib. To not only wish for that moment, but to desire it down to my core until it is the last thing I think about as I fall asleep - I can’t wait to wake up to him tomorrow.

PPD, I know you are one pesky son-of-a-bitch & that you’ll do your best to be back in my life. I know that I’m not healed, that I still have a long way to go, but I also know just how far I’ve come & that I feel like my back is turned to you in the best way possible. I know that your vile, creeping, explosive anger & resentment are like a cloying disease, looking for any chance to creep back into my life. You are there, waiting for me to give you an inch. But you know what? I’m waiting for you, too.

& I’ve got one hell of a leather whip to beat the shit out of you if you ever try to come back.

In short, GO TO HELL. Satan’s waiting for you.

kindly eff off,
Blair

71 Comments
Filed Under: Open Letters, Postpartum Depression, the uphill battle

Only I’m allowed to call myself a “fat ass,” thankyouverymuch.

18 Jun posted by heirtoblair

Dear Girl in TJ Maxx,

I am not quite sure what happened – I was standing there, minding my own business & perusing the baby blanket aisle for a gift for my buddy, when all of a sudden I hear a *huff* & the screeching tires of a stroller about to pop a wheelie or figure eights. & in a blur, you & your stroller & friend blew behind me like a bee stung your ass.

& your friend whispered, “That was pretty rude.” She sounds like a good girl with common sense. You should keep her around because your response was a very, very loud, “Well, her FAT ASS WAS IN MY WAY & she wouldn’t move.”

Emphasis on fat. Emphasis on ass. Emphasis on you looking back at me to make sure I heard it. Me & the rest of the shopping congregation.

Look, honey. I don’t know you. I don’t know your name, where you’re from, or whether or not you were actually raised in a barn (although I have my speculations). I do know that you don’t know me from Joe Blow & that prior to your explosion heard all the way to the register about the enormity of my derriere, there was no request for me to move. There was no subtle cough. There was no coquettish giggle as you apologized & leaned over me to get to the product you desired. There was no brightly chirped “Excuse me!” Nothing that registers polite on Emily Post’s Give-A-Shit-O-Meter.

& even if you did one of these things & I was so immersed in deciding whether this baby should be welcomed in fleece or thermal (which is doubtful) that I didn’t hear you, there was obviously enough room for you to go around me without causing a scene.

But you did cause a scene & the bottom line is, you called me a fat ass today. & it hurt my feelings.

So this is where I sit you down with a cup of coffee & talk to you, Mano a Mano. Woman to woman, mother to mother. QUIT BEING A BITCH. There was absolutely NO NEED for you to yell that I have a fat ass simply because I was doing what customers do – stand in an aisle. Only I am allowed to say that, & even that is only after I’ve eaten a cheeseburger & then decided to try on new jeans. (I also use the word “dumb ass” quite a bit in that situation) There was absolutely no reason for you to say it at all, but you did. At the top of your lungs, with a glance back at me to be sure I heard. TO BE A BITCH. So let me push your bangs out of your face & tell you this – IT’S NOT WORTH IT. Quit the bitch. Tuck that inner cat fight away into a drawer – nay, a coffin – & let her die. She’s not cute, she’s not sassy, & she’s not that weirdly-cute-snobby that can be really funny. She’s obnoxious, hurtful, & she sounds ignorant.

Really? A fat ass? That’s the best you can do? I bet you didn’t know that I just lost 35 lbs. I bet you didn’t know that like you, I just gave life pretty recently. Or that I’m wearing a shirt that is too small for me today because my kid spat oatmeal all over my first outfit today. There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, based on looking at me. That you’ll never know, because you were too busy letting your inner bitch do the talking.

& let’s face it, if I hadn’t let them take my inner bitch away to be composted with my placenta eight months ago, or my anti-psychotics working quite so well in this moment, I would have asked you what number your hair color was so that I could have it permanently banned from the universe.

love,
A (semi) Reformed Bitch

48 Comments
Filed Under: Fatass, Open Letters, Stupid People

Hey, guess what Rabbi?

7 Jun posted by heirtoblair

The Momma breastfed all three of her biological children.

& she’s been married happily to my father for over 30 years.

SUCK IT.

and in the words of Forrest Gump, that’s all I have to say about that.

51 Comments
Filed Under: Open Letters

Dear child of mine,

31 Dec posted by heirtoblair

You just ate 6 wonderful ounces & are deliciously full. You are dry. You have been awake since 7am, with the exception of a 30 minute snooze. You are snuggled into your swing with a fat cozy blanket by the fire. PLEASE STOP SCREAMING AND GO TO SLEEP.

A child your age should not have bags under his eyes. Or be purple around the eyes from exhaustion. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE A DRUG PROBLEM. & as a result, so does Momma.

16 Comments
Filed Under: Open Letters