Please, don’t cry

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It’s 4.10am and she just stopped crying. She had been crying since a little past 3:00am.

I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’ve tried giving her a bottle, but if I so much to turn her around, instead of holding her tight, the crying gets worse.

We’ve tried distracting her with all the things we use when she’s normally crying, but she wasn’t interested on anything.

We put Frozen on and I started singing. Whenever I stopped singing, she would start crying again. It’s like she couldn’t see us, only listen to me …and feel me holding her.

As I watched the tears going down her cheek I thought of her smile. She’s such a happy, loving baby. I love that smile and the little noise she makes when we find her hiding behind the curtains.

I’m pretty sure she’s hungry because she didn’t take her bottle after dinner like she always does, but she won’t take her bottle. I want to feed her, but I’m afraid she’ll start crying again, she has just calmed down.

It’s neither the first nor the second time this’s happened. It had been a while, though. She wakes us desperate and acts like she can’t see us. Like she’s still sleeping. When I was breastfeeding I’d put her on my chest and she’d calm down. But now, I simply don’t know what to do.

The doctor says it could be night terror.

I think he’s right. It is night time and this IS terrifying. I’ve brought her to the living room so she wouldn’t wake up her sister, who is,  magically, still sleep, even though I’m pretty sure the whole building is up from hearing her crying,

I wonder if she’ll continue to have these episodes when she’s older and tell me what this was all about.

She’s sobbing a little on her sleep, so, I’m staring at her. I cannot leave her alone right now, doesn’t matter how hard I need to pee.

Too much information?

I’m sorry about that

Good night…

Half asleep,


I just wanna be me

Remember high school? When we had our whole lives ahead of us and we thought we could be anything we wanted? Did you ever worry about growing old back then? And also, did you ever worry that time would go by so fast that when you actually got super-old you wouldn’t be prepared to be so close to death and started panicking over that thought at the age of 5? Seriously, people. It can’t be just me.

It’s things like that that had my mom believing I was a very smart kid. She still thinks that, actually, but it’s not a compliment anymore. Meaning: “how could such a smart kit turn into such a stupid adult?”. She’ll never forgive me for not becoming a plastic surgeon. She’ll basically never forgive me for not making all of her dreams come true. I did manage to accomplish a few from her list, in fact.

So, when I was young and weird, I took all these puzzle IQ tests and I read, and I read, and I read, ’cause for some reason it was my job to be outstanding at everything I did. It was God’s gift to me. No, wait! Not to me, to my mom.

It was partially ok, because I actually believed I could be outstanding at everything I tried – we’re not talking about sports here, obviously. – But I was no genius, I was a talkative kid with a decent IQ, and now, whenever I fail at something the results aren’t pretty.

Ok, I’m ready to admit it.

I’ve failed my driving test.

A few times.

Wasn’t I the super genius my mom told me I was, who was good at everything she did, even tests she never studied for and could speak languages without ever taking a lesson? Isn’t THAT my main characteristic? Isn’t that who I am?

How could I possibly have believed my mom so blindly that now I’m lost, trying to figure out what kind of quality is left there inside me that’s real?

I’m not the super smart person who is good at everything she does. I’m a pretty stupid person, specially emotionally, who can’t control herself enough to show coordination during a simple driving exam. That’s who I am.

I had no idea. I don’t know who I am anymore. My whole life I might have just believed what people told me without taking the time to analyze myself and finding out what it is that I like, dislike, can or cannot do.

I say I like the winter, but that’s surprisingly my mom’s favorite season. I like English and watching movies. She’s an English teacher (who’s never taught be a word, let’s make that clear)… who loves movies. I don’t know if there’s a part of me who disagrees with her. I might just be the projection of the things she wanted to do with her life, but was too lazy to do it.

I’m pretty sure I like chocolate ice-cream. That came from inside me. And I like ballet. Ok, so, that’s two things. I’m 33 years old and I know 2 things about me already. I hope there’s more to it. It’s probably impossible for a human being to be that shallow. I’ll find out the rest in the morning, I suppose.

I wonder if I have a quality, though. And I wonder what is is.

Also, it’s cold today… so I took a picture of  the girls wearing their hats. I love the cold! Or DO I, now?

I better find out who I am soon enough… these girls need a centered mom with lot’s on answers and not so many questions.

God, I hope I don’t mess them up.

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Please, take me home.

I was reading this beautiful blog and it got me thinking about things…. The way she describes Canada as her home and also the home of her great, great grandparents with so much love and affection got me thinking about what it must feel like to be home.

I’ve been fantasying about walking into my own house, to find my family sitting by the dinner table, or perhaps just having a video game slumber party in the living room for way too long. The house in my head is not big and beautiful. It’s small and cozy… it’s also ours and it makes us not want to leave.

It is a sad thing to not feel at home where you live, to not have your own house. It’s a feeling of abandonment. You want to go home, but home is nowhere to be found.

Ever since I was a young girl I wanted to leave this place. I remember opening my window and crying over the view. I was seven. Everything was deteriorated  and poor and just plain sad. I didn’t belong here. It wasn’t the worst place in the world, it was just not where I wanted to be. I can’t really put my finger on the reason why I’ve never liked it in here… but it’s there, lost in my memory somewhere.

That same window has been threatening me for 33 years now. I haven’t moved an inch, but things are about to change. We are leaving, finally.

People say I should stay and fight for this place, but I don’t think it’s really my battle to fight for a place I’ve never loved. I think I’m lucky to leave. I’ve never wanted to stay.

I just need to be somewhere where I can open my window and smile even if the sky is gray. Specially if the sky is gray, actually. I seem to find the winter rather poetic and welcoming. I’ll finally see the snow.

I hope we all find our homes… and I also secretly, or not so secretly, hope the people in this new place don’t see us as intruders. I hope my girls are well accepted… I’m not really worried about me, as long as they are fine.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes up. A better life is about to start.

Wish me luck,



Because I’m happy

My words probably won’t make any sense, still, I needed to sit down for while, even if it’s 1A.M. and the kids will be up soon, unless I’m lucky and they sleep through the night tonight.

It’s quite ironic, actually… For over an year I’ve dreamt about the day they’d sleep for more than 2 hours straight and, now that they do, I’m the one who can’t sleep. I choose to stay awake and take this time to myself. I have an urge to write, because I feel like it’ll help my organize my thoughts. I’m a pretty happy person, and that’s new to me.

Our lives have changed a lot in the last couple of years (mine and my husband’s). I have changed a lot too. And, although everything that’s happened to us is wonderful, I’ve lost parts of myself along the way. I don’t know who that red haired old woman staring at me in the mirror is. She is also super fat and has a terrible memory… there’s no way she’s me. I’m just the woman suffocating inside her.

I do not miss being who I used to be completely. There’s no me without my husband and children anymore, but I also don’t wanna settle for whom I’ve become. That makes me feel like an ungrateful bastard… specially when I read my own words. That’s why I’m a big believer in writing. It helps making things clearer for ourselves, in my humble opinion.

It all started when I was a kid… and went down all the way through my 30th birthday. I have always been terrified about the idea of going through labour. I never really thought I’d survive it. Anything beyond that moment just sounded too good to be true. Too good to be real life. That might be the reason why I sometimes  stare at my daughters wondering if this is really happening to me. I was the girl who was never meant to be someone’s wife, I was used to being alone and I had accepted that… I had let go of all my dreams. I had no reason to get a good job or my own house. I had no motivation. It was just me in my world.  And I believed that for so long that when my perfect family filled with people came knocking on my door, it took me a long time to realize it was real. I didn’t know what to do! What kind of music should I listen to? Up until that moment Damien Rice had been the soundtrack for my life.  I got lost.

Even though there were so many things missing in my life before I had my own family, that was the life I was familiar with and that place was comfortable… well, maybe not comfortable, but there were no big surprises.

So, I survived all the panic attacks that came along the way, but I’m still learning how to live inside this butter commercial. Part of me believes people shouldn’t be completely happy. That’s something my grandmother always told us “don’t be too happy ’cause if you’re happy today it means there’s something terrible coming your way tomorrow” and I think she was ridiculous for saying that, but the damn thing got stuck in my mind for ages! I had several panic attacks growing up, which don’t seem to strike me anymore.

And now , here I am. I still worry about the world and blame myself for being so shallow, from time to time. But the truth is, in my small world, my small things matter… and I’m so lucky for living in it. There are no big issues here, I am not surviving a war or fighting a disease. I am just me learning to live with the disturbing thoughts in my head… and the happy ones too. I hope we all understand my grandmother was wrong from the way she spelled pizza to her pessimist quotes. It’s time for bed now.

Thank you for listening, Miss Internet.

Love, Shelly

What’s with that weird title?

Hello, world.

I needed to write and it had to be in English.

As you may have noticed, English is not my native language. I’m using this blog for practice, so, don’t be mean. I mean, you can be mean if you want to… that just says more about you than it does about me actually. I’m the person struggling to blog in a different language and you are the one dealing with your own issues by being mean to strangers on the internet. I hope you feel better.

Loving the way these mid-night posts are cohesive and make all this sense.

This will probably be super fun to read in the morning.

Take care, world.

Love (is all you need),