When you become a parent they don't tell you it's going to be hard, I suppose that's some sort of unspoken rule. I didn't ask to be a fully mature adult by 17, but shit happens I guess. But I suppose I'm learning more from Violette than she is from me.
Lesson one: everyday you're a parent is a struggle.
Sometimes I do believe that I'm going to run clear across the Canadian boarder into America and not look back. It started out as a joke that Jonesy made, and I fancied it, I even took a map and highlighted the route. Jonesy found it and didn't think it was very funny, and that's where the joke ended. I run, it's what I do. I started running the day I found out I was pregnant and haven't stopped since, only after Violette was born I got constructive about it and started running physically to escape what I felt emotionally. It started with me gasping for breath halfway around the block with my hands on my knees, doubled over and panting, but now has progressed to at least three miles a day, most days five. Emma bought me a jogger stroller, and although I prefer to jog alone, I did and sometimes still do take Violette with me a lot of the time, mostly to prove to Jonesy that I'm not still crazy. Post partum depression was a rough go, I needed zoloft to even me out. Looking back, I'm surprised Jonesy stayed. I mean, I love him but fuck does it take a lot to raise a family. I did move back in with my mom once, after a stupid fight. Those raging hormones, you gotta love em. This was when Violette was nine weeks old and poor Jonesy wanted to go watch a Leaf's game with Jude and I snapped. School had just started back up and he was already playing hockey for the team and he wanted one Sunday night to himself and I went apeshit crazy on him. He stormed out, saying something about how I'm a bitch and I don't do shit, so I called my mom screaming when he left, packed my favorite things, ripped up a couple of pictures of us because I was very mature about it, and left with Violette. Good thing the only people home were Robbie and Diego, but at the time I'm pretty sure the whole family could have been on the front lawn and I still would have left. Later that night Jonesy dove over mad as hell saying I had no right to take Violette and we got into it. I beat Jonesy, that's no lie and most of the time he deserves it, but that night all I could do was scream at the top of my lungs. I wonder what my parents thought. He screamed back and then Violette started screaming, and then it turned into a free for all. An hour later I was back at his house, we were both exhausted.
But I digress. It's now almost February 2011, Violette is 18 months and I'm set to get married in six months. God help me I don't want to, and chances are I wont, but time is ticking. I'm almost 19, I have a daughter and I live with Jonesy, isn't that enough? I decided against Banting and got a full ride scholarship into University of Toronto. I didn't want to be too far from Emma after all she did for us when we were seniors in high school. My parents got us a two bedroom apartment close to the Galleria, which was good since I still wok at the Tacky Barn. But back to the marriage ordeal. July 21st is D-day, and marriage wont change anything but my last name. Jonesy doesn't have shit, and he expects my parents to pay thousands of dollars for a glorified piece of paper that says I'm a Garcia and if he dies I get his life savings? I don't want his last name and he doesn't have a life savings. And yeah, I know I should speak up now or else I'll get an awkward epilouge when I'm weaing my Reeboks at the wedding running away screaming "I'm not ready!" and embarrassing the shit out of Jonesy. He has a fragile ego. But the thought of speaking up and risking him telling me that he's not ready either scares me just as much as marrying him. Jonesy stays at home playing 'Mr. Mom' and Violette is a tried and true daddy's girl. Daddy was her first word, this was right before we moved out of his parents house. We were in her room packing and she stood up, pointed at Jonesy and said 'daddy.' He actually teared up. Now shes an 18 month old brat who can say 'Yes, No, I want, Mine, Look, Stop, and GIVE ME.' The last is usually aimed towards me, since Jonesy gives her anything she wants. She can say a few other things like 'this, that, up, me, cookie, bye, ball, car and of course Mama.' She inherited the Garcia puppy dog eyes and pout, which automatically makes her a naughty girl. The look suckers me too, but I have the self control to not look. Juggling a family, work and college isn't so hard, but a family, work and high school was a mess. I have to admit I really was lucky that I had a "good team" as Mr. Mathews said once upon a time. Without Jonesy, and more importantly Emma, I would have really lost it, and all the zoloft in the world probably wouldn't have helped.
And here I am, still running. It's what I do.