Baby Mamma Drama Final Draft

Josie Baxter
Sonia Begert
English 101
January 30, 2013

     When my husband and I first learned that we couldn’t have children, it was a pretty big shock to us. We cried a lot, we got frustrated a lot, we even took refuge in our private little studio apartment for a few months and then finally we learned to live with it. When one learns reproducing isn’t as easy as it seems to be, you start to think about so much more than just “should we have a baby?” I started thinking about the things it meant to me on being a mom. Does it mean I should be the one giving birth? Does it mean I should be there from the beginning of his or her life? Would I even be good at being a mom? Can I be patient or understanding with a non-speaking human that cries almost constantly? At first we started to talk about surrogacy and we even had a few people offer to be surrogates for us. Then we discussed adoption. Whoa- adoption. Can we even afford to adopt? No, probably not. We should revisit adoption in a few years, or decades. That was that, and we began living our life with the understanding that we wouldn’t have children on our terms but more on “the world’s” terms, whatever that meant.
    I remember the day like it was just yesterday. Devon and I were driving down the road talking about what we needed at the grocery store, and then out of nowhere he tells me someone had called him and asked him if we were interested in adopting their child. “Wait, what?!” was my first reaction.  Someone wants to give us a baby? They want to give us a baby that we have been trying for 3 years to have on our own? Of course we want their child! Unfortunately the sensible man I’m married to talks about finances, our small studio apartment, work, and all of the other perfectly rational reasons why this would probably never work. And so begins our talk about whether or not we could even consider adopting. Well five, long, miserable, drawn out minutes later we decide that hell yes we wanted to adopt this little baby.
    A week later, we sit down and meet the birth mother. We talk about her health and why she decided to put her baby up for adoption. There were many tears, laughs and nervous silences. But at the end of the day we all decided this was the best choice and that Devon and I were going to adopt a little boy. After that meeting, it took us about another week to decide to tell our parents that they were going to be grandparents. Of course, there were some uncertainties about the adoption. It was going to be an open adoption and yes our son was going to know his biological mom. It seems as though many elderly people find adoption unsettling. We got many questions like “Why does he need to know his birth mother?” and “Are you sure you want to adopt another woman’s baby?” and of course the most common one “When will it be finalized?” It seemed as though many people were afraid to open up their heart to this amazing little boy, my son, until they knew for sure that he would be ours. At the beginning I was even a little nervous about saying we were adopting. I myself asked similar questions like, “Will he love his biological mom more than me?” and “Will he feel rejected as a boy knowing that his biological mom gave him up, even if it was for good reasons?” and the most common question I kept asking myself “What if she backs out of the adoption at the last minute?”
   Two weeks after we met with this amazing woman, who wanted to bless us with her unborn son, we received a phone call at 5:30 in the morning saying her water broke and she was going to the hospital. Holy Shit! He’s coming 6 weeks early and we are totally not prepared. What do we do? First step is buying a car seat. So on the way to the hospital we stop by Wal-Mart and purchase a newborn’s car seat, and a little cushion meant for holding a newborn’s head more still in the new car seat.  By the way, this is a pointless purchase because the hospital staff is trained to take them out, throw them on the ground, and use a receiving blanket instead. Wow, this is really happening. We waited at the hospital all day, stressing, freaking out and running to Target buying anything we can possibly think of that we might need. My friends came to the hospital and threw me a small baby shower with lots of diapers, clothes, bottles, and twice as much of everything else as we could possibly need. Devon and I were beyond blessed and neither one of us could believe what was happening. Our son, Josiah Ray Baxter was born at 7:25pm that night.
   Over two and half years have gone by since that day and man oh man have I learned a lot. I always thought that parenthood would be like a perfect little fairy tale, that there wouldn’t be any problems, ever. Ha! I was in for a big shock. Growing up, I thought the world was a perfect place. People didn’t argue back and forth all the time, babies didn’t poop on their moms in the shower (which YES, YES, YES they do!!!) and beautiful, perfect little boys didn’t get upset with their beloved mommies. Thinking back, I see how our amazing, independent son has taught me so much in these very short couple of years. I have learned from this innocent, curious little boy how to be patient, love uncontrollably and especially how to adapt to wildly imperfect and downright strange situations (like poop in the shower).
   At the beginning, it was so hard to figure out the best parenting skills to use. There were so many books on different ways to parent your child. By the time we got into a few chapters of any one book or magazine or web article, whatever the author was saying just stopped making sense.  Devon and I decided the best thing to do was just love the snot out of our little boy.  We decided to teach him everything we could think of, to keep playing with him when we were tired, to enjoy every last minute.  The rest has fallen into place nicely.  He has structure, but his life isn’t built on discipline. He gets to snuggle and sleep with mamma from time to time, but he knows when it’s time for “night night”.  He gets away with things every once in a while, but he sure does get tired of time-outs sometimes too. 
   In the end, I’ve found that I love being a mom.  I love giving 110% when I’ve run out of energy.  Adopting wasn’t that hard, or expensive, now that the dust has settled.  And hey, even getting pregnant seems to be an obstacle we can overcome, because after 5.5 years of trying, the doctors say that I’m 6 weeks pregnant today. Who knew!  The timing of our lives may not have been our first choice, but I’m starting to get the picture that it couldn’t have been much more perfect, and maybe there’s someone out there who is helping us along the way.  The biggest lesson I’ve learned?  Being a mother isn’t always cupcakes or PTA meetings, but it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and I’ll never give it up.

  

Baby Mamma Firtst Draft

When my husband and I first learned that we couldn’t have children, it was a pretty big shock to us. We cried a lot, we got frustrated a lot, we even took refuge in our private little studio apartment for a few months and then finally we learned to live with it. When one learns reproducing isn’t as easy as it seems to be, you start to think about so much more than just “should we have a baby?” I started thinking about the things it meant to me on being a mom. Does it mean I should be the one giving birth? Does it mean I should be there from the beginning of his or her life? Would I even be good at being a mom? Can I be patient or understanding with a non-speaking human that cries almost constantly? At first we started to talk about surrogacy and we even had a few people offer to be surrogates for us. Then we discussed adoption. Whoa- adoption. Can we even afford to adopt? No, probably not. We should revisit adoption in a few years, or decades. That was that, and we began living our life with the understanding that we wouldn’t have children on our terms but more on “the world’s” terms, whatever that meant.

I remember the day like it was just yesterday. Devon and I were driving down the road talking about what we needed at the grocery, and then out of nowhere he tells me someone had called him and asked him if we were interested in adopting their child. “Wait, what?!” was my first reaction.  Someone wants to give us a baby? They want to give us a baby that we have been trying for 3 years to have on our own? Of course we want their child! Unfortunately the sensible man I’m married to talks about finances, our small studio apartment, work, and all of the other perfectly rational reasons why this would probably never work. And so begins our talk about whether or not we could even consider adopting. Well five, long, miserable, drawn out minutes later we decide that hell yes we wanted to adopt this little baby.

A week later, we sit down and meet the birth mother. We talk about her health and why she decided to put her baby up for adoption. There were many tears, laughs and nervous silences. But at the end of the day we all decided this was the best choice and that Devon and I were going to adopt a little boy. After that meeting, it took us about another week to decide to tell our parents that they were going to be grandparents. Of course, there were some uncertainties about the adoption. It was going to be an open adoption and yes our son was going to know his biological mom. It seems as though many elderly people find adoption unsettling. We got many questions like “Why does he need to know his birth mother?” and “Are you sure you want to adopt another woman’s baby?” and of course the most common one “When will it be finalized?” It seemed as though many people were afraid to open up their heart to this amazing little boy, my son, until they knew for sure that he would be ours. At the beginning I was a little nervous about saying we were adopting. I myself asked similar questions, “Will he love his biological mom more than me?” “Will he feel rejected as a boy knowing that his biological mom gave him up, even if it was for good reasons?” and my most common questions I kept asking myself “What if she backs out of the adoption at the last minute?”

Two weeks after we met with this amazing woman, who wanted to bless us with her unborn son, we received a phone call at 5:30 in the morning saying her water broke and she was going to the hospital. Holy Shit! He’s coming 5 weeks early and we are totally not prepared. What do we do? First step is buying a car seat. So on the way to the hospital we stop by Wal-Mart and purchase a newborn’s car seat, and a little cushion meant for holding a newborn’s head more still in the new car seat.  By the way, this is a pointless purchase because the hospital staff is trained to take them out, throw them on the ground, and use a receiving blanket instead. Wow, this is really happening. We wait at the hospital all day, stressing, freaking out and running to Target buying anything we can possibly think of that we might need. My friends came to the hospital and threw me a small baby shower with lots of diapers, clothes, bottles, and twice as much of everything else as we could possibly need. Devon and I were beyond blessed and neither one of us could believe what was happening. Our son, Josiah Ray Baxter was born at 7:25pm that night.

Over two and half years have gone by since that day and man oh man have I learned a lot. I always thought that parenthood would be like a perfect little fairy tale, that there wouldn’t be any problems, ever. Ha! I was in for a big shock. Growing up, I thought the world was a perfect place. People didn’t argue back and forth all the time, babies didn’t poop on their moms in the shower (which YES, YES, YES they do!!!) and beautiful, perfect little boys didn’t get upset with their beloved mommies. Our amazing son is so independent and has taught me so much in these very short couple of years. I have learned from this innocent, curious little boy how to be patient, love uncontrollably and especially how to adapt to wildly imperfect and downright strange situations (like poop in the shower).

At the beginning, it was so hard to figure out the best parenting skills to use. There were so many books on different ways to parent your child. There is Authoritarian Parenting, “which is essentially built upon structure, blind obedience and authority. Authoritarian parents believe that children thrive in a home where there is structure, boundaries, strict routines, firm discipline, and high levels of well-defined parental authority.” (Lowe 1) Then there was Permissive Parenting, “which is essentially the opposite of authoritarian parenting. Permissive parents tend to be much more relaxed and flexible in their style of parenting, and aren’t too worried about structure or authority.” (Lowe 2) And then there was Attachment Parenting. “Attachment Parenting focuses on the nurturing connection that parents can develop with their children. That nurturing connection is viewed as the ideal way to raise secure, independent, and empathetic children.” (WebMD)

By the time we got into a few chapters of any one book or magazine or web article, whatever the author was saying just stopped making sense.  Devon and I decided the best thing to do was just love the snot out of our little boy.  We decided to teach him everything we could think of, to keep playing with him when we were tired, to enjoy every last minute.  The rest has fallen into place nicely.  He has structure, but his life isn’t built on discipline. He gets to snuggle and sleep with mamma from time to time, but he knows when it’s time for “night night”.  He gets away with things every once in a while, but he sure does get tired of time-outs sometimes too. 

In the end, I’ve found that I love being a mom.  I love giving 110% when I’ve run out of energy.  Adopting wasn’t that hard, or expensive, now that the dust has settled.  And hey, even getting pregnant seems to be an obstacle we can overcome, because after 5.5 years of trying, the doctors say that I’m 6 weeks pregnant today. Who knew!  The timing of our lives may not have been our first choice, but I’m starting to get the picture that it couldn’t have been much more perfect, and maybe there’s someone out there who is helping us along the way.  The biggest lesson I’ve learned?  Being a mother isn’t always cupcakes or PTA meetings, but it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and I’ll never give it up. 

** Work Cited Page to be included in  Final Draft**

My Fav Essay

Between all three essays that I’ve read by Benjamin Franklin, Malcolm X and Mike Rose I seem to be stuck deciding my favorite between Rose and Malcolm X. Benjamin Franklin’s essay seemed to be drawn out and I constantly felt myself having to reread his sentence to try and figure out his point. When it comes to Mike Rose’s paper I felt as though I could definitely relate to his experience in having shitty teachers when growing up. It seems as though, not many people are keen on wanting to become teachers. Many of my classes in high school were taught by PE teachers. Who ever thought that a PE teacher was a prime teacher to have teaching World History was vastly wrong. Having so many dysfunctional teachers growing up, is the main reason I am in school now to become a teacher. Mike Rose’s thoughts on disoriented schooling hits home with me a lot.  However, when it came to Malcolm X’s paper, I felt as though an awaking was happening inside me to want me to pursue my own goals I’ve put on the back burner. Malcolm X shows how going after what he wants changes his life completely. His excitement seems to encourage me to not just live life. But to go for things that I never thought could happen.

Rose, Malcolm X and Franklin

Franklin’s essay was very dull. His form of writing is outdated and it confused me and even frustrated me that I had to read it. Franklin talks about his pursuit of wanting to further his education on printing. However, his essay was aimed more towards a particular audience, that I am just not part of.

Rose seemed to be aimed to a diverse audience. No matter where you are from or what kind of schooling you got, it always seems to be a reoccurring problem that somewhere in the mix, there is a grammar school teacher who is uninterested in their students lives and aren’t very encouraging. Their focus is elsewhere and it makes you wonder, “Why the hell did you want to become a teacher?”

Malcolm X’s essay was about his experience in prison and teaching himself how to read on his own. He gives you examples about how he would read his dictionary by light in his jail cell and how the reading affected his life forever. Malcolm draws you in with his writing and even seems to help encourage people to go after their wants and dreams. I loved how Malcolm X shows his determination to better his own life.

"I Just Want to Average" Questions

Pondering of the Questions:

1. In Rose's paper he describes his life in Voc. Ed as a part of his life that he wasn't thrilled about. His teachers were either abusive, such as his PE teacher , ("He routinely had us grabbing our ankles to receive his stinging paddle across our butts")  or were run over by the students, such as his Spanish teacher Mr. Montez ("Mr. Montez's tenuous authority was finally ripped to shreds, and I think everyone felt a little strange about that."). When I was in school, I had teachers that weren't necessarily run over by the students, but just didn't give a crap about the class, so let the students run the class and do whatever they wanted. This is not how a class should be run nor how a teacher should dedicate their life.

2. It seemed as though Voc. Ed formed the students into who they grew up to be. Whether it be a teacher who is fighting to help correct the system, a man who grew up to be a bully because he was never taught how to behave or a person who is shy and intimidated because he was picked on throughout his whole school life.Just like Rose, I feel as though if your teacher doesn't make an effort to help you figure out a good learning strategy then of course you are doomed  to fail any class, especially math. 

3. High school feels disorienting to almost everyone, especially Ken Harvey. There are multiple classes, multiple "cliques", decisions on what to wear, how people will judge you, and one of the most important questions student are beginning to ask themselves, "How the hell am I suppose to learn in a class where there is so much disrespect and bullshit happening?" Ken seems to cope with this disorientation by sliding by, not really caring about too much, just making a passing grade and getting on with his life. I have seen others cope with the pressures of school by using drugs, becoming shy and closed off or worse coming to hate the school there at and all the people that are in it." You can't really teach a kid anything: you can only show him the way and motivate him to learn it himself" - Dave Cullen, Columbine

4. When it comes to college, I feel more confident. I know who I am, I know I am paying to be there and I know how to get shit done. I don't mind asking a teacher a question when I am struggling and if they shrug me off and say it's not their job to dedicate more time to a disoriented student, I am quick to point out that I am paying tuition to make sure I get a good education, and if they don't' seem willing to help,  then it's quit easy to drop their class and resume with a teacher that is more opt to show encouragement and willing to help with struggles if they appear.


5. My educational experience seems to contrast more than anything with Mike Rose's. Rose seems to be more laid back in his approach when first entering school. More scared to speak up and ask a question or see why he is in an English- Level D class instead of an English- Level A class. My experience is more question oriented. I am constantly asking questions, taking classes and learning new ways to become a better mom. Once we adopted our son, I was scared, much like Rose. But I stuck my neck out, joined groups and involved myself in his schooling, to make sure that I was able to better provide for my son.

Stratergies for Development

My Education Experience: Continually learning how to be the best mom I can be.

Describe it:

Wikipedia likes to define a mother as:  A mother (or mum/mom) is a woman who has raised a child, given birth to a child, and/or supplied the ovum that united with a sperm which grew into a child…

I however, would describe a mother as someone who raises a child, who would die for a child, one who would go to the moon and back for their child. I did not give birth to my son, but I am the best mother that he has even seen. Even though he was not formed in my womb, he acts likes me, has characteristics like, and definitely has my love of fashion. He is a huge snuggler, sticks his tongue out when he concentrates and enjoys being a genuine person.

Associate it:

                Motherhood is learning who you really are. You watch carefully what you are teaching you children. When you cuss out a driver for driving stupid and your soon sees that, is that something that you want to pass down?? When he asks why he has to brush his teach at bedtime, you automaticailly think Just because, but then realize there is a good health reason and that you are teaching him good hygiene.

Apply it:

                Motherhood constantly teaches me things. Like how to clean up an explosive diaper without vomiting, what types of laundry detergent are out there and what is the best for your baby? Yes, I have tired at least 5 types of freaking laundry detergent. And even things like how you are going to react when another child hits yours. Should I tattle tale to his mother on him? Should I let my son hit him back? Should I look at him with a mean face and secretly let him know I disapprove? Or should I calm down and teach both children that hitting isn’t fun and there are other ways to communicate? You best believe I have wanted to show my snarky mean witch face, but then slowing calmed down and used the situation as a stinking learning experience.

Analyze it:

                I analyze being a mother as someone who chooses to love you no matter what. One who understands that it isn’t always going to be ice cream and trips to the zoo.  A mother is a person who shows their child the difference between right and wrong. Someone who sits for 2 hours and play calls Elmo because their 2 year old wants to talk to their favorite Sesame Street character. A mother is someone who values their child’s life and puts it before there’s no matter what. Someone who provides, loves, supports, encourages and teaches constantly.

Cubing What I Want

Since I wasn’t in class on Thursday, I choose Associate It as my strategy and chose to write about Marijuana. 

Marijuana. Weed. Herb. The great escape.  Good? Bad? Healthy? Gateway Drug? I have heard plenty of {wanted and unwanted} opinions about Marijuana. Is it healthy for someone to smoke a joint? What if they have cancer or a cronic disease? What if there are children in their home? I strongly believe that people are entitled to their own opinions.  I for one enjoy giving mine. My opinion on Marijuana is that it should be legal. Not just medically legal, but carry it in my pocket and sit at the bus stop while smoking a blunt legal. I am not a smoker (cigarette or weed) but if I had to choose to sit beside someone smoking, I would prefer to sit by the person smoking a doobie. When talking about whether Mary-Jane should be legalized I could go on and on about how herb is healthier (yes, I am using the term healthier lightly) than alcohol. The way that smoking weed calms people down and makes them presumable more friendly compared to how alcohol seems to make people more aggressive and even abusive. Health risks even seem foolish to compare. Alcohol is the main cause of Cirrhosis and even linked to cardiovascular disease and anemia. Whereas marijuana seems to be the drug that helps all these horrible diseases become bearable. When it comes to Marijuana, opinions vary greatly so now [unwanted or not] you have mine to add to the mix.

Benjamin Franklin VS Malcolm X

After reading both autobiography’s of Malcolm X and Benjamin Franklin, I personally felt as though  they had a common love for reading and writing. They both took furthering their ability to read and write into their own hands. However, I did not feel as though their ways of writing were in the least bit similar. I enjoyed reading Malcolm X’s autobiography and getting wrapped up in his personal excitement about learning to read. While reading Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography I noticed it was hard to stay focused. His style of writing was hard to understand and sometimes left me reading the sentence multiple times to try and figure out what his point was. Noting the footnote in Franklin’s autobiography, I understand “that many of the spellings and ways of speaking which were correct in Franklin’s time are different form our own”. However, I still felt uninterested in his autobiography. While reading about Malcolm X’s educational experience, I felt the want to further tackle my own goals. I felt the need to open a book and read just because. I respect Ben Franklin; however his [time era’s] writing technique is just not something that interests me.

My Past Pre-writing Skills

In the past, I have used many pre-writing skills. My favorite technique was clustering. Clustering is where you begin your planning by writing your main topic in a central circle and then branch out with related topics. For example, if I were to have My Family as my main topic some branches that I would have coming out would be vacations, forts, sport activities and travel. For visual people like myself, Clustering can be a fantastic way to begin a writing project. After creating a Cluster I would then follow up by writing a first draft. First drafts for me are a way of combing all your thoughts into paragraph form. Once on paper, it is easy to rearrange the sentences to flow more effectively. I usually end up writing multiple first drafts, due to the fact that I enjoy exploring different ways for the paper to come together. When producing my paper, I try to find someone that I can read my paper to aloud, like my husband or a friend. After further suggestions from them and getting a good grammar check, I feel much more confident in my drafts. Finally, I bring my paper together and create my writing masterpiece.