Sunday, December 27, 2009

The baby

When I was five years and one month old, my mom and step-dad dropped me off at my grandmother's. The baby was coming!! I was there the entire weekend. While I was having fun at Grandma's, I was anxious to see the baby. I was very excited when they came to get me. June 25th, 1975 would change my life. I now had a purpose. I had a little sister!!! She was very cute. As she got a little older, I would put socks on my hands to hold her cold bottle for her... looking back, if she wasn't old enough to hold her own bottle, it should have been warmed milk, but I didn't know that at the time so whatever. I was a big sister and I was important!

My mom became more and more involved with the church and soon we moved to a one bedroom run-down house. We all slept in the same room. There was an attic bedroom, but I was afraid to go upstairs. Babies are expensive and moving was fine with me. I didn't want to be around Della anymore anyway. Besides, we had to hide from my dad's parents who knew my mother was a complete psycho bitch. Then again, they had high standards and how things "looked" was very important to them. I never thought of my mom as crazy, I felt I had to be on her side. I couldn't betray her. She was my mom. If you didn't make her mad, she would ignore you. I don't really know what was worse... being ignored when I so desperately wanted her to be proud of me or being hit and screamed at.

My sister was a very sick baby and my mom was always nice to sick people. I began staying with my mom's parents more and more while my sister spent a lot of time in the hospital. She had "Aunt Flacktic Shock". This was serious and my sister was in and out of the hospital all the time. She was allergic to everything coming and going. The bleach would get stronger and stronger in the house to prevent any further episodes of the anti-phylactic shock. I would try to make my sister smile when I was with her because my mom was more and more stressed out. Stressed out was never good for me. If mom got stressed out, that was one thing, but if she pissed Mr. Asshole off, that was another.

I was glad we slept in the same room because it was less opportunity for him to touch me. But I lived in fear all of the time. One night I slid my hand between my bed and the wall. The wall was cool to my touch and I was very hot from the kerosine heater. My mom constantly bitched that kerosine wasn't good for the baby. Asshole asked my mom what that noise was and I listened as they began arguing over it. My mom knew it was me and said so, but he said it wasn't. I was afraid to speak up because one of them was going to "punish" me. I finally said it was me and waited for some smart remark to come. Nothing else was said, but I lay there wondering if he would find an opportunity to punish me when mom went to the grocery or something. It was very hard for him to find times alone with me in that house, but it was also a hard house to hide in. I learned to watch their faces for signs of what was to come and prayed several times a day. God was important in our house now. We were Mormons. Mormons with a few secrets.

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