AKAtashakay

I am writing a book about the joys of raising millenial women. My daughter and I are friends now and have been since she graduated from highschool in 2006. I am writing this book because I want to share what it was like to be a good mom who was a poor mom. I did not have a lot of financial resources when I was raising my girls. I have started a draft of the book. Can you help me refine it and write more? Here is what I have so far: What else was happening in the world the day it stood still for me? At 11:11 am everything I thought I knew ceased and suddenly there was a new me. I had given birth to a baby girl whom I had dreamt of only weeks prior to her arrival. I am told she was all gray when she took her first breath of atmosphere. I had a gaping holed in my midsection that the surgeon was in a panic to close but he lost count of the gauze he used after he sliced me open. Evidently, I was awake during all of this drama yet I have hardly a recollection of it. I remember they had to bring her to me once I was back in the recovery room. I remember writing in my paper journal given to me by my good friend Anita that I still didn’t feel like a mom.

I learned to breastfeed in the hospital stay at the time that was allowed to be five days. I loved the attention and I really appreciated being heard. so now what? How did I figure out how to make the next step? I do not know. I knew that I wanted to be a good mother. I knew that I want to build a life with her dad that would be amazing. What I didn’t know it that I was the only one of us that wanted to build. I often describe myself as an employee that likes to build. I am a builder. There is the employee that is the maintainer. I am not that. I like to see something that need to be conceived and help bring it about and then I want to be a able to move on the the next new thing. Perhaps it comes from the years I spent working for temporary agencies. Now I am thankful for that work history, at the time I was embarrassed by it and I longed for a solid college education like everyone else and I just wanted a job where I could be for years and years. I used to take her to get her picture taken. I took every picture of her that I could. I still do. She is such a physically beautiful person and always has been. She has sparkly eyes and round plump cheeks and the luscious ribbon like lips that make me cringe with adoration. When she was a toddler I thought she was so cute that it caused me physical pain. She didn’t mean to be my best friend but she was. I was hopelessly unable to take care of her a few times during our budding friendship. Firstly, we were forced to move back in with my mother and step father for the first nine months of her life and when I went back to school she spent far too many days and nights with my parents.

At 11:11 am, on a day that would forever change my life, the world seemed to stand still. I had just given birth to a baby girl, a dream I had only conceived of weeks before her arrival. They tell me she was born gray, her first breath a moment of pure vulnerability. Meanwhile, I had a gaping hole in my midsection, a surgical necessity. The surgeon, in a hurry to close me up, lost count of the gauze he used after slicing me open. I was awake through this ordeal, yet my memory of it remains hazy.

In the recovery room, they finally brought her to me, this tiny new life that was now my responsibility. I remember scribbling in the paper journal my dear friend Anita had given me, "I still don't feel like a mom." It was there, in those early moments, that my journey into motherhood truly began.

Learning to breastfeed in the hospital was a learning curve, and during those five days of stay, I reveled in the attention and the feeling of being heard. But as I held my newborn daughter, I wondered, "So now what?" How would I navigate this new role? I was determined to be a good mother and build a wonderful life with her father. However, little did I know that our desires for that life would diverge.

I often describe myself as a builder, an employee who thrives on creating and moving on to the next new thing. It's a trait that may have been born from my years working temp jobs, which, looking back, I now appreciate. At the time, though, I yearned for the stability of a traditional college education and a long-term job like everyone else.

In those early days, I would often take my daughter for photoshoots, capturing every moment of her growing up. She was, and still is, a physically beautiful person with her sparkling eyes, plump cheeks, and luscious lips. She didn't intend to be my best friend, but she became just that. There were times when I couldn't adequately care for her, like when we had to move back in with my mother and stepfather for her first nine months. I longed for single motherhood, where I could work and care for us both, free from the judgment of others.

Despite the challenges, I cherished those moments with her, reading to her whatever I could find, from food labels to billboards. I remember the day she recognized the letter A on a billboard that read "TAILOR" when she was just two years old. Those small, precious moments bonded us further.

Our friendship deepened as she grew into a woman. Separations due to travel, school, and work often brought tears, and I feared missing something crucial. Our bond was evident, especially when she cried real tears for me after dropping her off at college. Knowing that I was her first love, and that she still loved me with all her heart, brought me immeasurable comfort.

I've witnessed other mothers of Black girls who were too hard on their daughters. I knew that society and culture would try to harden my girls, so I resolved not to contribute to that. In recent years, reflecting on my choices as their caregiver, I've acknowledged moments of regrettable behavior. But I'm grateful for the gifts of forgiveness and repentance, and my children's resilience astounds me.

I believe that as they journey toward healing, I must be a part of that process, offering support in whatever way they desire. It's a stark contrast to parents who defensively claim, "I did the best I could." I reject that notion. We, as parents, have a universal responsibility to guide and protect our children. They exist for us, not the other way around.

Instead of seeking validation for our shortcomings, we must acknowledge our role in shaping their lives, understanding that "doing our best" doesn't excuse harm or neglect. I set early goals to raise my children as happy, healthy, well-rounded citizens of the world, guided by my faith and the principles of the Bible.

To build upon what you have, you might consider:

Adding Descriptive Details: Paint a vivid picture of the moments you're describing. Describe the sights, sounds, and emotions you experienced during those significant times.

Character Development: Dive deeper into your relationship with your daughter. Share specific anecdotes that highlight your bond and the challenges you both overcame together.

Themes and Messages: Clarify the central themes or messages you want to convey in your book. Is it about resilience, the importance of motherhood, or overcoming financial constraints? Make sure these themes are woven throughout your narrative.

Chronological Order: Consider organizing your memoir chronologically to make it easier for readers to follow your journey from childbirth to present-day friendship.

Dialogue: If you can recall conversations you had with your daughter during key moments, including snippets of dialogue can make your story more engaging and authentic.

Reflection: Add moments of reflection where you share your thoughts and feelings at different stages of motherhood, acknowledging your growth and learning.

Editing and Structure: Review your draft for clarity and flow. Ensure each section transitions smoothly to the next, creating a cohesive narrative.

Incorporate Your Goals: Connect your personal goals, like your desire for your daughter to be a well-rounded citizen, to the broader themes in your book.

So here I am in a place that I never thought I would be. A time that I never thought I would be. I weigh more than I ever imagined I could let alone that I would. I have been forgiven a lot of awful behaviors that I wish to God I had never engaged in. I suppose in search of true love and hope and honor and success. How do I get out of this? How do I make the supernatural transformation that I need to continue this life abundantly? I am really lost right now. I am deeply concerned about my mother's health and moving. Perhaps that is why my weight is so out of control.

I am committed to trying again. There comes a time when trying again and again is all that we have.

There are these pesky medical bills from a time when I had pretty good health insurance through a previous employer. I feel put upon although actually I know that I am not.

Reinvention, if not now, when?

I have been thinking about the melding of fashion and technology for nearly six years. It started shortly after I left the telecomm wholesaler in Tulsa. I wanted to develop an app that would use a womans own clothes to choose her outfit of the day. I think what I have seen to do this for women is inadequate for what women who really like fashion actually want.

I think of when I first had the idea and the apps that were available that cost the user too much time and effort for usership to remain at any feasible level. The idea that I would take a photograph of each item that I use as fashion in order to load it into an app is a tough one to swallow. I was immediately trying to think of ways that my users could do this with enough effort build a following (acquire ownership) yet make it fun. I thought of using the MNIST database of image recognition because there is an app that identifies dog breeds. The reason that app has such high usership is that it is fun to point and shoot to identify a dog. So what about clothing pieces? What if you could take a picture of a person fully clothed and the app could identify a shirt or pants or a dress or a jacket. That could be fun.