Whistle While You Work

I've spent two years in battle, and I cannot subject myself any longer to the exhaustion.

Not motherhood, not being a wife, not work, no diets to speak of....no. I have given up on KEEPING MY HOUSE IMMACULATE.

Now,I know that sounds stupid. I have a child. There is going to be shit (literally and figuratively) everywhere. It's just taken me two years to come to terms with the fact that my house is going to look like babies r us threw up everywhere.

I admit, before I had children, I winced when I would see a messy house with toys and shit thrown everywhere, crayon on the walls, a potty in the middle of the floor. i would think "holy fuck, those are some lazy ass people! Pick up some damn toys!"

Okay, well actually I never thought that, but it sounds very dramatc for this post-so I am going to keep it! In reality I only sort of thought that. If you remember, when I was looking for a jumperoo I searched high and low for a wooden or neutral colored one so it would match my furniture, and I have fought the good fight when it comes to toys in big, loud primary colors, disney character outfits, and princess shit. I've refused to give in to it, every night I was cleaning the crap out of my house putting everything just so, pottery barning my mantle, making sure my dining room table was catalague ready, vacuuming and mopping the hardwood floors every other day, and putting toys away so it looked like a child did not live in my house. I couldn't stand the clutter, I HATED how my house looked,  and I wanted to rip my hair out everytime I saw a dumb plastic toy on the floor.  

Fact is, I indeed have a child..who likes to play with toys. And a dog who sheds everywhere. And a dining room table that sometimes doubles as a laundry table. ...I just couldn't keep up. I tried. Seriously I did.

Also- has anyone noticed that all little girl toys have been totally trampified since we played with toys? Georgia has a Cinderella doll and she has on a mini skirt and has those big cartoon hoe eyes that used to be reserved only for Sailor Moon. And her My Little Hoe-nies..ahem..I mean PONIES. They are skinny, sexy unicorns with slut eyes. What happend to sweet Bluebell and her big ass? Even Minnie is more glamorous (Is that possible??).  I'm all for glamour and everything, but really am having a problem with all this little girl shit being sexified. I really didn't care about it when Georgia was born, and I do not have a problem with her doing girl things like playing dress up, or being a princess or wanting to have a tea party...but I don't get why my little pony is now ponirexic haand looks like she sticks her hoof down her her throat on a daily basis. Or why I saw a bathing suit for a 2 year old with a deep v-neck and cutouts at the sides?

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my house looking a mess, but seriously Toy Company CEO-get a grip! Stop tramping up the girl section will ya? There will be plenty of time for that in 20 years. But not now.

On a somewhat related note, Georgia pretends to shave her legs when she is taking a bath and asked me to wear make up. I told her she could wear make up when she turned 13, so when Chris came upstairs she said, "Daddy I am almost 13!" I'm sort of excited for that.

So anyway, that is my update. My hose is a mess, I still like to drink wine, I still wear my bootie shorts, and I still love 1977 Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. 

 I'm still me except I'm a mom.

In Honor of the 35 Anniversary of my favorite record.

It was 1997. I had a broken heart. A BROKEN heart. I had never experienced anything before like it, and actually have never experienced anything afterwards like it.

My soul mate and I had broken up. We were done...finished. I had moved out and moved home. I knew it was the right decision. I knew he had been cheating on me a lot. I tried to look the other way, pretend it wasn't happening, but there were just too many signs. I still loved him when I left. *side note-he has a daughter now. I hope he feels like a jerk

Anyway, that morning I was talking on the phone to one of my very best friends. She told me that HE had confirmed slept with a girl. my friend.  We were broken up, I was miles away, but man... It hurt so bad. I felt sucker punched. I threw up. I wanted to die. I couldn't believe she or he could do that a week after I left. I couldn't eat, couldn't go out, couldn't talk to anyone. I was totally destroyed.

Okay-have I set the stage for you? Good.

It was some random night. My twin sister was out at some cool "under twenty one" club. I opted to stay home. I wanted to be miserable, to cry, and to sit on the couch. My mom was flipping through the TV.

"Fleetwood Mac is back together!' she started yelling at my dad.  A Fleetwood Mac concert special was on MTV or VH1-I can't remember which.  My dad walks in. " I had the Buckingham Nicks record when I was younger. I should have kept it." I had no idea what he was talking about, and I really didn't care. I had always liked Stevie Nicks in a very casual fanlike manner. Dreams, Landslide. Yay. I knew the songs everyone else knew and that was about it.

Actually, at that time in my life, I was mostly into musical theater, although I did get into Alanis, Fiona Apple, and Jewel  two years before-but mostly classic rock was not on my radar at all.  ( Um, except for the Beatles and David Bowie, because my mom was totally obsessed with David Bowie). But whatever. Fleetwood Mac Sheetwood Flack was how I mostly felt about them.

"Well, I have nothing better to do," I remember thinking, and sat down on the couch. 

Actually, I totally don't remember thinking that at all-but I decided to watch the concert with my mom, so what the fuck else could I have been thinkingt? And also that makes the story flow a little easier, so yeah...

Well, I have nothing better to do. I plopped down on the couch.

"Wow Stevie looks great!  OMG the biggest soap opera in rock history blah blah blah blah" my mom is going on and on about Fleetwood Mac. "Lindsey is the most underrated guitarist EVERRRR"

Um, how the hell does she know about guitar playing talent? I was mystified.

And also interested. "The Chain" was the first song. I liked it-it was familiar. "Dreams was next" okay, I like this song too. I had always wanted to be in a band anyway, I was liking the harmonies...humm...could be interesting.

Christine McVie song...um...okay...time to take a piss.

I'm back! Rhiannon, Go Insane, Big Love-um...cool! I think I could like Fleetwood Mac.

Everywhere...um...soda break.

Landslide. My mom is like sobbing "THEY USED TO BE SO INLOVE!" ( for those not in the know...um..never mind. If you don't know the story of Fleetwood Mac, you probably aren't reading my post.

Then IT happened. THE song.

You could be my silver springs...blue green colors flashing....

I could be your only dream...your shining autumn ocean crashing...

Humm..what is this song? I have never heard it before. Silver Springs? I like the visual.

Did you say she was pretty? Did you say she loved you? Baby i don't want to know...

I seriously couldn't breath. My break up...the cheating...my heartache...how was this song describing me? Like, exactly describing my feelings?

I'll follow you down 'till the sound of my voice will haunt you, you'll never get away from the sound of the woman who loves you...

I was a singer. These lyrics hit home. I wrote songs about him ( um that no one ever heard). What the fuck?

I seriously almost fell of the couch. I was like in some kind of crazy trance. I wanted to scream and cry and OMG LOOK HOW THEY ARE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER! Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks! Singing to each other and giving each other the side eye! omg they HATE each other! But I could still see that they probably wouldn't be upset if they wound up in bed together.  AHHHH! WHAT IS THIS SONG?

I'm like attacking my mom with questions and she was vague.

 "Humm..I think it was a B-side or something"

Beside?

So anyway I was totally "knocked out" as La Nicks likes to say. The internet was just, like, a thing, so you know I couldn't just google "the making of Silver Springs". I forget-I think I went to a Fleetwood Mac website. Nothing on Silver Springs, but I was learning a lot about the band.

I went to a record store the next day, I forget which one, but I bought the Fleetwood Mac White Album, and Rumours. Maybe "Silver Springs" had a different name on the record? I was determined to hear the original version of the song. I HAD to hear it . I HAD TO PEOPLE DO YOU HEAR ME??!!

I played both records back to back that day, and after I heard "Gold Dust Woman" it was like FORGET IT. I becaume obsessed with everything Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, and Rock and Roll of the 60's and 70's.

So Happy Anniversary to me.

PS-I finally hear the original Silver Springs while I was going to the bathroom in Denny's at 3AM after like a 24 hour bender. It was so awesome.

Time after Time

I really want to ignore the new TIME magazine cover, but I can't. My uneasiness has nothing to do with mommy wars, attachment parenting, not feeling "mom enough", or extended breastfeeding. I just can't help thinking about that little boy. Why would his mother put him in the middle of such controversy? Yes. The photo is controversial.  A MILF in tight pants with perky boobs and her large three year old son standing on a stool breastfeeding is not a natural or nurturing comment on breastfeeding or attachment parenting. It's awkward and confusing.

Also, why does she have to be sexy? That is not to say that moms can't be sexy. But one of the things our country struggles with regarding breastfeeding is how sexualized breasts are. Many people can't move past  "OMG BOOBS!"that when they see a woman breastfeeding in public. They see it as dirty or gross or weird. This picture is weird and stupid, so great job to TIME magazine for making a joke out of attachment parenting. And shame on this mother for putting her child in the middle of it.

So tell me whatyou want, what you really, really want

So I submitted my post titled  Waaaav, True Waaaave to Babble-a popular parenting website. I thought it was a really nice piece, different from the eighty thousand essays titled:

"WHAT NOT TO SAY TO MOM"S OF TWINS!" "WHAT NOT TO SAY TO YOUNG MOMS!" WHAT NOT TO SAY TO OLDER MOM'S!" WHAT NOT TO SAY TO ANYONE WHO LOOKS AT YOU!"

And also different from the "Mommy is allowed to drink wine"  "Mommy is allowed to plop kid in front of the TV" posts-which I am guilty of too. I'm not saying tthey are all bad. It's just,everything is SO sarcastic, including my own writing, and I thought something genuine would be a nice switcharoo.

So anyway, I submit and I get an email back that "Thank you, but it is not quite right for Babble" That's fine. Whateves, I tried, and I understand that people aren't always going to like what I write. I wasn't mad or anything...I'm still not mad. I barely proofread my own blog. 

BUT if THIS is what Babble is selling, I'm not buying, and I refuse to read anything or go to their website again and I am defriending them on facebook. Calling your kid a pussy in your blog is not okay. It's a stupid, trashy, low rent way to get blog hits. I would never do that to Georgia, let alone ever think that about her-and if that is the new, cool way to parent, I do NOT want to be part of it!

Reiterating, I do NOT think I am the best writer, or that I deserve to be on a parenting website. But that post pretty much disgusted me. And I am not disgusted by much.

*Hairflips out of babble!

I do realize that by linking to the website, they are getting more hits-should I copy and paste also and take the link off? I still don't know much about linking, live links, and all that jazz.

Georgia is turn...

Georgia is turning 1 year old in 2 months. I am totally beside myself with excitement for the future, with a dash of  sadness because ...well...where is my little baby going?

 I seriously always thought it was stupid when parents said things like that. I would be all, "DUH-your kids grow up dumbass, get over it" and get annoyed by the whole thing.  I totally didn't get it-but then, as a woman who had never had a child, I really should  not have been expected to.

So, what is this "it" I speak of? I don't know if I can put it into words. I think "it" is the big frying pan of love that smashes you in your face as soon as you have your baby. I remember when I took her home, the thought of her turning 10 months old made me sob. I would miss my teeny tiny infant. And now when I think about her being a toddler, I want to cry because I will miss my little baby. And I'm sure when she is a toddler I will think about her being a big girl and I will cry about that too..it goes on and on I guess, although I don't remember my mom ever getting very emptional about me growing up. Obviously, Georgia will not remember me crying over her now too small "coming home from the hospital outfit", but I can still see myself crying when she graduates 6th grade, so IDK, I think I'm just destined to be one of those sobbing mothers.

But anyway, crying aside, a first birthday party is in order. I don't really want to have anything big. I'm just not up for it. As long as she has a cake to smash around, we should be good. In some respects, I think I'm a great mom, but as far as sending cards,pictures, parties... things like that-I suck. I did not do those Christmas cards that everyone does-the baby looking adorable in some type of Holiday ensamble sitting under the tree, or in a quaint little park filled with snowflakes-parents gazing adoringly. Nope-coudn't get it together for that. Maybe next year. I thought i would be all over that shit. Didn't happen.

The other things that has suprised me about myself is in regards to G's wardrobe. When I was pregnant, I KNEW I would not accept hand me down clothes. I was totally against it, thinking that I could provide for my own child, and that she would  be dressed in her "Sunday Best" every single day. Sure-dumbass. There is a reason why other mom's do not do this. You are not the only clothes loving mother who has ever had a child.

 Picture this. A dress from Janie and Jack. $80 dress for a 2 month old girl. Cute matching bloomers for $10, $20 baby headband, and $10 baby tights. I forget how much the shoes were. Anyway this one night we go out to dinner for my cousin's graduation party. I put Georgia in her Academy Award worthy get-up from Janie and Jack, not really thinking anything of it. I always overdress, why should my daughter be different?

As soon as we get to the restaurant she pukes all over both of us. I only have a minor freak out. It can be wiped off! The Janie and Jack dress can be salvaged! I take her to the bathroom... lo and behold! A changing station! This will be easy peasy! It is my first experience at the "changing station".  Little did I know.

I'm trying to wash her dress, and keep her from falling of of the changing station. OMG WTH!! Riiiiiiip! She busts ass like nobodys business and I smell a funk so bad, I thought I was going to pass out. Poop. She freaking pooped. Ugh. I lift up the dress. There is shit EVERYWHERE. How did this baby make that much shit? It was all over her tights, all over the shoes-I rip them off, take off the diaper-all of a sudden the poo is flying out of her like a machine gun. OMG! SHE IS POOING AGAIN! DUCK! I'm avoiding poo spray, trying to hold her on the little changer, trying to fish the wipes out of the diaper bag, now there is shit all over her dress, she throws up again. I'm like what is samhill is going on? it was all so fast! I'm also traumatized because I actually saw the poo come from her butt and for some reason that really made me feel sick. The Jack and Janie dress is my last concern, as I try to change Georgia and clean the bathroom of the projectile poo. Then she pees everywhere. I thought people peed before they pooed? Now there is PEE all over the changing table and on the floor-I'm practially SOBBING at this point-I have no idea what to do. I did  not bring myself a change of clothes-I'm wearing a white top, I'm holding wipeys, my hand is on Georgia on the changing table, there is pee all over everything now. What the fuck?

I was ready to take my white top and turn it into a surrender flag full of poop, when thankfully, my cousin walked in the bathroom. 

 "Can yo go get my mooooooooom" my 33 year old self sobs to my 17 year old cousin. Meahwhile Georgia is just sitting there drooling like a mental patient. UGH!

So anyway, my mom comes in and helps me. And that was the last $80 dress I bought for Georgia. It is hand me downs from now on people!  no bows, no tights, no nothing. Girlfriend is destined for a life of second hand baby tracksuits and I am okay with that!

Is there anybody out there...?

Soooo, it's been about 2 months since I've written anything. I keep THINKING about writing, but turning on the computer and trying to get my thoughts together (after work) just seems like the BIGGEST chore ever. I would rather clean my bathroom.

I've been feeling kind of funky for a while, and writing seemed  too hard. I didn't know what I wanted to write about. I've been having anxiety attacks left and right, waking up in a cold sweat thinking someone was going to break in and steal Georgia, thinking ridiculous thoughts like a car was going to fly up onto the sidewalk and hit the stroller and Georgia and I would go flying in the air.  I am rational enough to know that these things were most likely not going to happen. Regardless, the crazy part of my brain was winning a battle with the rational part, and it was exhausting. 

I was losing focus. I felt very disconnected at work and at home-kind of like I was a ghost just floating through life. Yes, I smiled and did my best 'Miss America" wave for everyone, but people were starting to notice and I was tired of thinking about stupid things like how I would save Georgia if  the earth spun out of orbit.  I made an appointment with a therapist who specializes in post partum anxiety, and I started taking St. John's Wort-you know-to promote mental health.

So it's been a month and I feel MUCH better. The waking up at night has stopped, the weird thoughts are few and far between, I think I look better (Although that might be due to the fact that I splurged and bout a bunch of clinique skin care products. I was lookin' bad yall) It's really great to be able to sit in a room and talk about yourself for an hour without worrying how bored the other person is. The therapist is getting paid to hear me talk! It doesn't matter! I can talk about whatever the hell I want and she has to listen! I recommend therapy for everyone.

So, that is where I am right now in  life, and why I've been too exhausted to write. I know you are all on the edge. of. your. seats. waiting to hear about the results of the botox on my vocal cords-so I'll post about that journey soon and I have LOTS to say about what's going on in baby world. AND I'm still trying to get the energy together to makes some changes to my blog ,so hopefully now that I am a mentally stable woman I can focus on that too!

I will talk to you soon!

With songs they have sung

So on September 2nd I am going to get a botox injection in my vocal cords. I've been (finally or not finally) diagnosed with spasmodic dysphonia, and botox is the only procedure used to treat this voice disorder. Before finding this out I have had two cysts removed, a blood vessel hemmorhage lasered off, and another nodule removed that would not go away with voice rest and therapy, and an injection to make them vibrate properly because one side was paralyzed. All of this was done starting in 2005 ending in 2007  under anesthesia in outpatient procedures. It took  a few years for the swelling to go down. 6 years later-my vocal cords look as good as new! There is nothing on them, my new doctor said you can't even tell I've had surgery-let alone three!

So why can't I sing? Why can't I speak properly? I've been told that it's mental, that I just need to get out there and do it, that I'm being a baby, that "who cares you aren't a professional singer anyway".  I've tried yoga, meditation, acupuncture, voice rest, voice therapy, singing therapy, singing lessons, Alexandar Technique classes, Fitzmaurice voice technique classes...I have spent THOUSANDS of dollars trying to fix my voice. It's been totally mentally exhausting. Sometimes I want to give up. Sometimes I just want to forget I ever loved music. Sometimes I want to hate music for breaking my heart.

But then! 

All of a sudden, I will hear a song that I want to sing.  A fire lights inside of me and I'm like " I DO NOT ACCEPT THIS!" I do not accept that I will not sing again. 

I know I will never have a career in music. That dream is smashed. It sucks to have a dream smashed. We all have dreams. Especially musicians. Even when they are 70 years old they probably still dream of thousands of people loving their song that they wrote 50 years ago. They still dream of being able to make a living doing what they love.  Dreams get us through the monotony of life. Because I lost my voice, I can't have my dream. I know it is not possible to be a professional singer without a working voice.

Dream. Smashed. Move. On.

In spite of this, I still want my regular voice back. I want to sing to my daughter. That's all I want.

I don't know if the onset of the dysphonia happened when I was 24 years old, and that is what caused the cysts and hemorrhages, or if having so much vocal stress FROM the surgeries caused the dysphonia to onset. I guess I will never know really. I do know that I've read a lot of literature about it, and everyone says that their regular voice has come back three weeks after the botox injection.

Spasmodic Dysphonia is a movement disorder of the vocal cords. My vocal cords spasm involuntarily, causing skips, breaks, hoarseness, and a strangled sound in my voice. I have trouble talking on the phone, I have trouble with word pronunciation, sometimes I get so worked up about speaking, that I lose the ability to speak. Botox freezes the nerve that causes the spasm.

So, I am seeing a new doctor. I do not need to see the world renowned voice  surgeon that I've been seeing for the past 5 years. Botox is a pretty standard procedure, and I can go somewhere that my insurance will cover 100%-I don't need to see a singing specialist, I don't need to walk into a waiting room and see crying singers who think their careers are over, only see them a month later with smiles as big as the world on their faces when they are told they are as good as new. It makes my stomach hurt that I am never one of those people-and I won't be ever because there is no cure for this disorder. But I do have hope. I am told my voice will resolve and that resolution most likely includes my singing voice. I will have to get the shots four times a year. I can handle that. The speech therapy is also working-I did get through two songs the day I had the hour-long therapy session. My voice is still "there".  I can hear it sometimes.

I can tell it's there.I can hope. I can wish, wish, wish.

Oh say can you sing?

So, I'm sure that all two of you heard or (if you were lucky) have heard ABOUT Christina Aguilera's Super Bowl snafu, in which she  disrespected the land of the free and the home of the brave by messing up the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner. I thought she pretty much disrespected America in 2001 with those STD riddled assless chaps, and that stupid single "Dirrty", but whatever. Americans are serious about their national anthem. I think that's nice.

So before I get to what I want to talk about, I have to say, that sometimes when you are singing you DO forget your place. Granted, the times  that I lost my place when I was singing, i was in a bar and no one was paying attention to me. I was NOT in front of hundreds of millions of people singing the most famous song in America. But anyway-there have been occasions mid-song where I start thinking about what I'm going to do tomorrow, did I remember to turn off the stove, is that weird ugly guy that comes to every show a stalker or is there just one like him in every bar? And all of a sudden I'm like "Damn, I lost my place." Now with THAT said-if I were singing the national anthem at the Super Bowl, I really wouldn't try to think about anything else. I would concentrate on the lyrics and concentrate on what I was doing.  Because I'm paranoid like that. Christina was probably like, "I got dis, you vocally challenged mortals"

I am really convinced that most singers don't know what the fuck they are singing about when they sing the SSB.  The only thing they know is that they have to make the note "free" " REALLY long, and  add that interval that everybody adds on the melody.  I don't know what it is-even though 13 years ago I did get an A in my sight singing and ear training class, and could recognize the intervals when they were played. But-yeah that was a long time ago, and I haven't used those types of skillz  in forever. I'm sure if I took a refresher course, I would be a star student again (haha-sarcasam) but anyway-I'm talking about when the singer sings " O'er the land of the free-EEEEEEEE"  and the audience goes all crazy, and claps, and screams and wooo-hooos. Yes-THAT PART, to a lot of singers, is the most important part of the song.

Lyrics? What lyrics? Oh, there are lyrics?  Yes, dumbasses. There are lyrics, and if you actually took a minute to read them, and become familiar with the actual story you are singing about, I don't think people would lose their place. And did you look up "rampart" before you sang it? That is another thing-I would never sing a song unless I knew what the hell I was singing about. If I was going to sing a cover song, I would at least try to get some background on the song to see where the writer was coming from, and if I could somehow relate and interpret it to my own life and experiences. Like, I love the song Creeque Alley by the Mamas and the Papas, but I would never sing it, because it has nothing to do with anything I've ever experienced. It's about how they made it to LA. Why would I sing about that?

So my point is, if singers took the time to think about what Frances Scott Key was actually saying, I think they would sing the song differently. Oh and a rampart is like a protective wall for defensive purposes.  I know this because I sang the SSB once in high school and I was like 'what the fuck is a rampart?" so I looked it up in the tablets of stone dictionary. Listen to the story, and THEN interpret the song. Don't just go for the money note.

Which brings me to my next subject. Melisma. I one hundred and fifty thousand percent blame Mariah Carey for the overuse of melisma in pop singing.  First of all-yes, I am a fan of melisma. Yes, I have done it before when appropriate. Yes, it's really fun to do. But Jesus Christ, you don't do it for every freaking note in the song. Just do it sometimes. Or how about just ONCE at the end for dramatic effect?  Aretha Franklin and Janice Joplin are two of my favorite singers. While they do use that style in their songs, they never sounds like the melisma fairy flew in and barfed all over their melodies. They do it for subtle, but impressive dramatic effective. It works.  One of my other favorite singers, Judy Garland, did not use this style at all and I am convinced she is one of the greatest vocalists of the century. I'm pretty sure she does not have a three octave voice, but she can emote so much in her straight forward style of singing that she doesn't need to have one. it isn't about the notes for her ( well, I mean of course she wants to hit the right notes, but I'm talking about how emotional she is when she sings) Frank Sinatra probably never covered two octaves in any of his songs-but it is  his turn of phrase that I think drew people to his voice.  Does anyone do this anymore?

Singing, to me, has become a lost art (thank you American Idol) and now has turned into a big melisma screaming  crap festival, where people don't care  what they are singing about, they just want to be the highest and the loudest.

I didn't mind so much that Xtina messed up the words, everyone screws up sometimes. But I really hated HOW she sang the song, and I'm surprised that more people didn't comment on that.

oh Have yourself a merry little pity party

Well, Thanksgiving is over. Which I'm happy about-but only because it means that I am thismuch closer to giving birth! I've never wanted to rush a holiday season so much...I mean, except for maybe when I was little and of course I wanted Christmas to come NOW because I was a greedy  little thing and want to open all of my presents.

We did have a lovely time in New York (near Saratoga) with Chris's family. It was really relaxing-I had a horrible cold which started last Thursday so it was good just to lay around and do nothing. Oh-and did I mention the COACH outlet? YES! I got a Coach bag at an outlet store in Vermont for $95-originally $378. Don't be jealous.

So...moving on to Christmas. Christmas sometimes makes me sad, because of course since I lost my singing voice 5 years ago I obviously can't sing Christmas songs. I have had some great voice lessons here and there over the past five years ( along with three surgeries) but for the most part, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I will not ever sing or perform again. I've tried to sit down and write about it a few times, but I usually just end up deleting everything because it hurts too much, and I'm still at a point where I'm pretending that I will sing again. Not quite ready to pull the plug-but I'm getting there. The one thing that is very upsetting is that I will not be able to sing to my daughter. That thought just rips my heart out.

A lot of times people say to me "Well, I'm sure you still sound a million times better than me." And I just smile and laugh (hahaha) while inside my heart wants to scream at them. It isn't about how I do or do not sound. I physically CAN"T sing. It isn't that I have a bad singing voice. The sound just doesn't happen most of the times. It doesn't sound hoarse, or out of tune, or have a bad tone. It's just-nothing. The only way I can describe it is like trying so hard to push open a locked door.Nothing happens because it's locked.

Now, on days when my voice DOES feel good-I sound very pretty, my high notes are all there, tone is good-I'm in tune. But it only lasts for like a half hour AND during that half hour I'm not singing songs-I'm just vocalizing and doing exercises.  My head voice is much better than my chest voice,I can sometimes get through part of a classical piece, but for the most part-I just try to pretend that I never loved anything as much as I loved to sing.

I want to bring my daughter to music classes-but I think if I have to sing songs with her I'll most likely just cry. I always thought I would sing to my children. I thought we would put on plays together, dress up, sing musicals, and I would teach her how to belt like Judy Garland and Etta James, and kick her ass if she wanted to sing some shit like High School Musical or whatever that movie is.  But for whatever reason, I'm not meant to sing anymore. I still can't figure out why this happened to me. I hate when people say "Everything happens for a reason" because there really is no positive that has come out of it. I'm just really sad. I wake up every morning STILL and I feel an empty, hurt in my stomach and heart because of it. It's beyond "straining my voice too much".

 I actually was going to have a botox injection in my vocal cords in August (I might have something called spasmodic dysphonia), but then I found out I was pregnant so of course that has to be put on hold. I might have it done after the baby is born, mostly because whatever I have has started to affect my speech, even though most people say they can't hear it.

So yes, when I hear Judy Garland singing "Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas" on the radio I want to throw a shoe or something and turn the music off because that was my favorite Christmas song to sing. I want to cry when I think about music classes with my daughter because she's going to wonder why her mom sucks at singing so bad. I mean, my mom has the worst voice ever, but at least she can get through a song. I'm just a dancer with a broken leg.  Or a pianist with a broken hand. Except no one can see my break, so they think it's just all mental in my head. I hate it.And I hate when people who can't sing, try to be singers, but that is another blog another time.