Trial By Fire

In my last blog (aka my Lazarus like rise from the dead) I revealed some major things that have happened since you last heard from me. Namely, I had a kid.

Seriously, what was the man upstairs thinking when he decided I would make a suitable parent? I’m pretty sure if nothing else this blog has served as a forum of overwhelming proof that I am by no means the most understanding, patient, or forgiving person on the planet. C’mon we all remember my previous posts about binge drinking, neglecting to pay my bills and picking unwarranted fights with the Boo. Granted I have grown up a wee bit since then (ahem) but still. Anyone who has previously conducted their life in such a manner and does so with such overwhelming sarcasm and complete disregard for the way in which it affects others should by no means be responsible for raising another human being.

My point being…I hope I don’t screw this kid up.

When we first found out I was pregnant it was a complete shock to the Boo and I. It was definitely a surprise but a good one at that. (And no, there is no cute story about how I lovingly revealed my positive pee stick in a wrapped up jewelry box with a bow on top. True to form, I simply ran into the living room in my Hanes night shirt, disheveled hair and morning breath and announced “Holy Shit! I’m pregnant!” Classy, eh?)

But after the initial excitement and Facebook proclamations had worn off, the anxiety set in. How in the hell was I going to pull this off? Was I honestly capable of carrying, birthing and raising a precious baby girl without scarring her for life? I mean, let’s face it, she’s already got the short end of the stick to begin with since she is carrying my DNA and all it’s proclivity to facial hair, thick thighs and the inability to think before speaking. But more so, was there anyway I could not mentally scar this child with my complete and utter lack of knowledge and sarcastic, sometimes caustic, demeanor?

And then I saw her.



Quinn Isabella was born on October 30, 2011 and the instant they laid her on my chest I knew I would figure it out. Yes, it may be trial by fire. Yes, I may suck a big one at first. And yes, there may be times when I make my 12 week old baby do inappropriate booty shaking dances from BET music videos but that’s neither here nor there.

The point is she’s mine. She has my eyes, my blood and, God bless her, my DNA. Without even trying she’s already taken over my entire heart and filled it up with slobbery kisses and toothless grins. Without even trying I know I will raise her as best as I know how and hopefully she will grow into the beautiful young woman I know she’s destined to be.

The other night I laid on the bed just staring at her as she played. She was exploring the world around her and when I bent down and kissed her I didn’t get a grin. She rolled her eyes at me.

She is so my daughter.