You know those annoying cliche BS things everyone tells you when you get pregnant? Stupid shit like,

“Sleep all you can now.”

and

“Go see movies! You won’t EVER get to see another movie again!”

and

“Your life as you know is going to be forever changed.”

Those things that, as a naive pre-parent you’re all like, “No shit. I know babies don’t sleep. I know going to a movie will involve getting a babysitter. And holy DUH, of COURSE my life will be different. I mean, I’ve never had a BABY before!”

Dudes. THAT’S SO NOT WHAT THEY MEANT.

They meant that you will NEVER sleep as well as you did before you had kids. EVER. Even when the baby sleeps through the night (and they will! They really will. Eventually!) you won’t. You’ll wake up when you hear every grunt. Every sigh. Every groan. My eyes pop open when I hear my girl roll over. I’m NOT kidding.

They meant that yes, you’ll need to secure a sitter in order to go to a movie. What they didn’t tell you is that you have to plan ahead for this. Who plans ahead for a movie? For the last 15-years of my life it’s been a little last minute.

“Hey, I passed the theater on my way home and grabbed two tickets. You in?”
“Sure. I’m feeling popcorn tonight.”

Now it’s a colossal event that goes something like this:

Line up sitter, pick up child, feed child, bathe child, pajama child (all before 6:30pm). Prepare bottle, explain nighttime routine to sitter, write important parts down (read: all of it). Pay $20 for tickets to an evening show by using Fandango. Quickly eat a yogurt to have something other than buttery popcorn grossness in your stomach pretending to be dinner. Kiss child. Leave house. Forget keys. Go back in. Child screams. Another quick hug. “She’ll be fine! Call if you need us.” Drive to theater. Pick up tickets. Fork over another $18 for snacks. Try to focus on movie without a) falling asleep b) wondering if the baby went to sleep or c) thinking the child has lost it but the sitter is too proud to call and tell you to come home. Sneak out of theater. Call home. Everything’s fine. Grab a bag of Skittles. Pee. Go back in theater. Fight to stay awake until the end. Drive home. Bend over. Grab ankles. Pay sitter $75 ($20/hour. Too much?). Stand over baby’s crib and watch her breathe for 15 minutes. Go to bed.

WHY? BOTHER?

So yes. If you’re pregnant. GO SEE LOTS OF MOVIES. Because all of the above? It’s more pain than pleasure.

They also meant that for the last 15 or so years, vacations were easy. You and your never-totally-disposable,-but-you-pretended-it-was income loved taking weekend trips to Boston, spending time relaxing at the pool, boating on the lake, doing whatever the hell you wanted to, whenever you wanted to, with very little notice.

Those days? LONG. GONE.

Now that you fork over a second mortgage payment for childcare, have no time to even do laundry, and can no longer fit into your awesome my-ass-has-never-looked-better jeans, these short weekend jaunts ain’t happening.

Our third wedding anniversary is in two weeks. I had one request.

“I want to go to the beach.”

Who knew that would be the most difficult wish to make come true. You would think I asked the genie for unlimited wishes! Including a million dollars! And free cable!

I know I don’t like to leave my kid overnight and man ALIVE was that knowledge ever cemented over the past weekend. I do NOT like to leave my kid overnight. AMEN. So my master plan included inviting my parents on vacation with us.

Yep. Really. I happen to like them.

It was a short vacation. Only three days. I thought we’d go to Cape Cod, get separate rooms and Mom would be there to watch Lyla when I wanted to retreat to the sand, read a book, and listen to the waves crash. (Waves. Crash. Hear that Connecticut? I love you, but your beaches suck.) I’d still be able to tuck my girl in every night and I’d have a nice tan while doing just that.

No.

The place my Mom wanted to stay was wildly expensive, but we were totally up for dipping into savings to make it happen. Then they found a nicer place that wasn’t kid friendly so they would come with us to the first place, and then go to the second place for a few more days after we left. I did not want to make it more difficult for them. Packing and un-packing? Changing venues mid-trip? What a pain in the ass. So they’re going to go – to the nice/non kid-friendly place – and we’re not.

We’re not going anywhere.

And the more I thought about it, I realized that packing up the kid and all the necessary crap that accompanies us for just three days would be hard. Why bother? Would I even be able to relax? Even for just a few hours? Probably not. We’d have to drive home in horrendous traffic. We’d get home late and have to get up for work the next morning. The house would be a wreck like it is whenever we come back from anywhere. And chances are I’d come home even more exhausted than I was when I left. Not worth it.

So no beach for my anniversary weekend. And now that my Mom’s going away, we’ll have to find another sitter (Hi, Aunt Peggy!) so that we can AT LEAST go out to dinner to celebrate loving each other legally for three-whole-years.

And maybe a movie, but then again. Maybe not.

Having a kid is awesome. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I when I decided I wanted to be a mother. I’d go to the ends of the earth for her over and over again. I wouldn’t trade her in, sell her to the gypsies, or give her back for anything. Thirty hours of labor. Major surgery. Ten straight newborn weeks of 5-7 hours of screaming non-stop. Sore boobs, eye-bags, and twenty stubborn pounds.

No sleeping, no movies, and no beach.

The best sacrifice I’ve ever made.

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Today was a particularly horrid day and after sitting in traffic for two-hours and picking up a baby that has barely napped, I was at the end of my rapidly fraying rope. While making Lyla her dinner she was screeching in her high-chair. Yelling. Loud. Demanding food. Demanding my attention and I couldn’t cut up her hot-dog any faster. I felt the rage burning inside. In my head I screamed, “SHUT-UP! JUST SHUT-UP!” It never came out of my mouth. I finished cutting her food, dumped it on her tray and ran out of the room.

I sat on the floor breathing. What kind of asshole tells their eleven-month old to shut-up? WHAT KIND OF MOTHER DOES THAT? But I didn’t do it. I thought it. I thought it and I felt like the biggest pile of shit that ever lived. She’s a baby. She’s a baby and I love her more than anything. She can yell all she wants. It’s not her that needs fixing. It’s me.

There are so many things I need to change and the power to change them lies only within me. I know this. And it’s time.

I also need to sleep. I’m still not caught up from the weekend. I still feel completely wiped-out.

I’m definitely down from the high that was Blogher. I miss Chicago. I miss my girls. I miss the energy. I have crashed. I’ve crashed, but instead of things feeling fuzzy and weird, it’s like I see things clearer. However those things that are clear, are not such great things.

My world is a little dark right now. It’s not horribly serious, but I need to regroup. I need to make some decisions and find some solutions to issues that have been plaguing me for a while. Things I’ve chosen to and successfully ignored until now.

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Dear Lexi,

Today. Today you turn one year old.

For the last month or so I’ve been remembering over and over what it was like to be your Mommy’s friend around this exact time last year. Mommy and I shared (and over-shared) our entire pregnancies together. And you, little one, you were a big tease! You teased us and taunted her and when we thought you were coming out, you’d change your mind and I can’t help but think that it was your way of saying, “Nah, it’s cozy in here. And she keeps eating yummy french fries and pickles. So I’m staying.”

And you stayed.

One night Mommy and I were talking on the phone. It was a particularly hot, summer, night. We were feeling huge and sweaty and you know, huge. We whined about how badly we just wanted our girls to be here. To perform the Great Exit of 2008. And then your Mommy said something I will never forget, “Well. At least we know where they are. And eighteen years from now, we might be on this phone cursing about how if they were still inside of us, AT LEAST WE WOULD KNOW WHERE THEY ARE!” And we shared another laugh.

You stayed an extra two weeks past when we’d thought you’d join us. But when you did join us, I have never, ever seen your Mommy so happy. It was more than just happy that you were finally here (read: no longer inside of her), but it was a true, deep down, heart-filled happy that she had a baby. A daughter. A beautiful, perfect little girl. And Lexi, you really are beautiful and perfect. AND SMART!

I had four full weeks to go before your BFF LylaBean would grace us with her presence. And all I could do during those four weeks was think about you. I got to come see you in the hospital. I got to hold you, though you weren’t that thrilled about it and wanted your Mommy’s boob touch. I got to come visit you after you got home too. I couldn’t give you up during that visit. I just had to love on you. And I had to ask Mommy a million questions. All of them she answered with a smile. You were here. You were perfect. And that’s what mattered most.

You ate like a champ. You loved to snuggle. You slept really well. Oreo and Ted were your best buds. You were happy and content whenever I saw you. And I would just burst inside at your cuteness.

Four weeks later (almost to the day!) Lyla was born. Mommy wore you in the Moby while she wrote on my blog to announce Bean’s arrival. I don’t remember much about what I was thinking that day, but I remember thinking about you and Mommy. And how you guys just went through what I was going through. I thought a lot about you, Lexi. You brought me a lot of strength that day.

But today is your day. It will always be your day. And it will be the day that I think about exactly where I was sitting (at my home office desk) and praying minute after minute for your safe arrival. I remember being unable to concentrate on work. I remember texting with Mommy. I remember stalking Twitter. I remember even talking to Mommy on the phone around 11am and how she sounded so in control; patiently waiting for her epidural and her own room. I remember thinking, there’s no WAY I can be as strong as she is being.

Your Mommy loves you so very much. She would go to the ends of the earth for you. There will come a day where you two will bump heads. It happens to every mother and daughter. And on that day you can call me up and you can complain. And I will listen. And then I will tell you that she’ll always be there for you. Always. No matter what. And you’ll think I’m a big Liar McLiarpants, but it’s true. There is nothing you girls will do that will make us stop loving you. Ever.

You’re a very special girl, Miss. Lexi. I have really enjoyed watching you grow up over the last year. I cherish every minute I get to see you. We need to work on having more of those minutes in the years to come. We need more minutes. And more memories.

For ever and ever.

I love you,
Auntie Pocklock

PS: There is a photo somewhere on this earth that I am unable to locate at this time and it’s KILLING ME. It was taken when we came to visit you on August 8th. You fell asleep on my pregnant belly and it was the sweetest thing ever. Lyla, then Blinkie, kicked at you and I believe that is when you two cemented your friendship. Whenever that picture surfaces, AND IT WILL BEFORE I DIE, I will post it.

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A few months ago I got a phone call. It was on a day that I don’t usually work from home, but for some reason I did. I saw on the caller ID that it was an UNKNOWN caller, but I still answered it. I know all our bills are paid and I don’t mind an occasional charity pitch every now and then. Plus, while in college I worked for a polling institute and I LOVED it. I’ve always wanted to participate in a survey like the ones I used to give.

This wasn’t that type of call.

When I picked up, a polite voice asked to speak to…

…someone.

Someone who’s name I heard and was unable to utter a complete syllable afterward.

“WRONG NUMBER!” I finally said.

It had been years since I had heard that name. Nine of them to be exact.

My head spun. How the hell did they find this number? How the hell could they still be linking me to him? It’s been forever. I don’t even have the same name anymore!

I called my husband at work and told him what happened. He said it was weird, but that I did the right thing and hopefully they won’t call back.

Today? They called back.

This time they left a message on our answering machine.

I had to come home and listen to a message on our answering machine, the answering machine I share with my husband, standing in the kitchen of the home we bought together, while holding the child WE CREATED and listen to that name echo off the walls.

What. The fuck.

They left a name and a number so I called back. The person that answered the call wasn’t the same one that had contacted me. I asked him why I was being called about God-Knows-What with regard to someone I had little to no contact with in years. I told him I was married. With a baby. And I had a different last name then I did NINE YEARS AGO and to PLEASE kindly, KNOCK THIS SHIT OFF.

He couldn’t find any records in his system. He couldn’t find the name. He couldn’t find my phone number. He couldn’t find my name or information anywhere.

Holy. Creeped out.

There was nothing I could do. It’s extremely possible that since this man couldn’t find the record in their system to update with DO NOT CALL THIS PISSED OFF WOMAN BACK. LIKE EVER, they were going to continue to call me.

He couldn’t tell me what the call was about. He couldn’t tell me if it was bad or good. (Um. It’s so most certainly bad.) He didn’t ask if I had updated contact information and I didn’t offer that as a solution. He said that my name must’ve been used for a reference or something. A reference? Like for a job? The hell?

The one thing he did say? “Ma’am. If my company’s calling people… well, let’s just say people run and hide from us.”

Fantastic.

I hung up completely dumbfounded. My heart was beating 400 miles-per-hour. I was pacing in the hallway. I felt unsafe. I felt violated. I felt… helpless.

So what did I do?

I Googled.

I put the phone number I had dialed into Google and held my breath. The following came up with very little effort:

This number belongs to FBCS, Federal Bond Collection Services, Inc. They appear to be a sleazy collection agency based in Philadelphia that specializes in trying to collect very old debts known as time-barred debts. Time-barred debts are prohibited by law from being collected via any legal means as the statute of limitations to sue the person in their home state has already expired. (5 to 7 years from when first reported delinquent in most states) In lieu of any legitimate means to collect these debts they use a mixture of trickery, intimidation and lies to get people to give over their bank account or credit card information to pay bills from 5, 10 or even 20 years ago. Unfortunately, lots of people don’t understand their rights and give them money. Some of the practices they have been known to engage in that are in direct violation of the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA) include: the use of automated calling systems commonly known as “robo-calling” to call cell phones, false or deceptive threats of garnishment, arrest, and/or legal action; communication with third parties (EG:Your neighbors or relatives) about your “debts”; and calls to consumers at their workplace when the employer prohibits such calls. Additional reported complaints include frequent, harassing, threatening, and abusive calls; inaccurate and/or unauthorized charges/withdrawals from credit cards or bank accounts; and early deposit of postdated checks consumers submitted for debt payment. They will call from a variety of numbers regardless if you are on the do-not-call list or ask them to stop. Help stop this company’s abusive practices by filing complaints about your experiences with FBCS on donotcall.gov and http://esupport.fcc.gov/complaints.htm lets hope the government shuts them down.

So that like, did nothing to ease my concerns. Although I really don’t have a clue as to what it means. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to make it stop.

I told my husband about it the second he got home. I told him I was totally creeped out. He said that if it happened again we’d have to do something. I think that something starts with getting an attorney.

I told him I wanted to blog about it. And that I’d be as vague as possible. He said to go for it.

I think there might be a few attorney’s out there that read my blog. Am I or my family at risk? It doesn’t sound like they’re after us, but how can I be sure? I have no idea why this is eating me up inside, but it is.

Wise readers? I’m askerred. Help.

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… this baby? TURNED INTO A KID. Like one that likes to play games and stuff. And she’s STANDING UP. ON HER OWN. WITHOUT HANGING ON. AND NOW LOOK WHAT I DID. I WENT AND BROKE THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON.

Edited to add: No video evidence of the standing-up-without-hanging-on. That was meant as an aside to the Game Playing.

Peek-a-Boo from Pocklock ! on Vimeo.

And she totally got cuter.

I’m never leaving home again.

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