On Fairy Godmothers, Excavation Projects and the Dewey Decimals— B.G.
August 16th, 2022:
Today Mommy didn’t come over.
Luckily I saw her yesterday, so I didn’t go totally crazy.
But it was the worst that she didn’t come today, because for once, she had told me…invited me…to call her and tell her to come! Early!
I’m never allowed to call and tell her to come over! I’m always supposed to just be patient! (Which is outrageous, according to baby girl.)
I was so excited.
She started off by telling me I could call her at 6am, which is early even for baby girls. I didn’t care though, I was all, “I’ll set my alarm for 5:45 and call you, wake up wake up wake up mommy!!!”
“Maybe seven,” she corrected immediately, and Mistress Me felt a bit relieved.
“Seven-thirty,” she amended a moment later, and I still thought that that was an acceptable replacement for our normal plan of, I sit at home and wait for her to arrive whenever her grownupping is done.
Her grownupping takes SO LONG. It’s the most ‘nnoyingist thing in the universe.
After she left yesterday, I went to the grocery store and bought a bunch of food that I was completely incapable of cooking on account of how very high I was suddenly feeling.
When I’ve been with Mommy I feel that way. Like I’m floating in the clouds. Like I’m one with the universe. Like…like…like…
Also the weed helps.
I became overwhelmingly sleepy. I never even lowered the drawbridge…I just ate some uber-lame leftovers and went straight to sleep.
(PS “Lowering the drawbridge” is Fairy Princess speak for, “Turning off your phone.” It’s a big secret, you see: Our phones come with off buttons. Did you have any idea?! AND, if you turn OFF your phone…you don’t have to talk to anybody!! I can’t believe nobody realizes this. Needless to say, I like my drawbridge. I keep a nice big ol’ moat underneath it.)
This morning I woke up groggily, wondering if it was time to call Mommy yet. The drawbridge was still up though, so I couldn’t check my phone to see what time it was.
I wandered into the kitchen instead to look at the stove clock: 5:45am.
I told you so, Baby Girl, whispered Mistress Me rather loudly, rolling her eyes. Now can we please go back to sleep?
Luckily Baby Girl complied, and our internal clock woke us back up at exactly 7:30, because even our subconscious is submissive to Mommy.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” I wrote in impatient text as soon as my phone flickered on, “Is it time to come over yet? Huh? Bounce bounce bounce!”
And…nothing.
Mommy has trained me to distract myself while waiting for her so as not to have any mental breakdowns, and I’m proud to report that that worked this morning.
I went about my day, trying not to panic as the clock slowly ticked to 7:40, 7:50, 8am…
I had totally trashed the house the evening before and during my prior date with Mommy, so it needed a deep clean. I had left the mess to clean up in the morning on purpose; I tend to wake up with a bit of inertia, and find housework to be therapeutically distracting enough to get me out of bed.
I decided to strip the sheets. As I started the first load of laundry, I admired my terrace, petunias dewey and fresh in the half-light of the morning sun.
8:30 disappeared and I had barely finished the kitchen. Mommies? Ha! Who needs Mommies!
9:00 and I was sweeping the floor. (How the hell does so much hair get there?? I could never commit a crime. My DNA would be everywhere.)
I found a Mommy hair while I was sweeping…It was amazing. I almost put it in my diary but threw it in the trash instead.
I will find the perfect one and frame it, though. Mommy’s hair is insanely gorgeous. It goes down to her knees. I’m not kidding.
And…
It is bright purple.
I can’t even handle how perfectly wonderful Mommy is.
Did you know that I manifested her???
Oh my god I know that sounds pretentious but I swear it’s true.
I realized it yesterday while I was excavating. I had decided to embark upon a research project, you see, because for literally years I’ve been wondering what our anniversary is.
I’m usually nerdily good with dates. Like, I still remember it’s peoples’ birthdays who I haven’t spoken to in 20 years. It becomes almost creepy that I know the birthday at a certain point. Like, it would be actually weird for those people to receive a happy birthday text from me, the random person they knew a jillion years ago.
All that to say, obviously I usually remember anniversaries.
But with Mommy, I had no idea. Neither of us knew when we had first met, or hung out.
So yesterday, we were texting like crazy because that’s what we do pretty much nonstop when we’re not together.
Okay I exaggerate. Sometimes a day goes by, and sometimes even a few.
At the beginning, months went by. That was the worst and I did not like it AT ALL.
Luckily now I get to talk to her lots and lots, most of the time, unless one of us is busy.
Mommy says that I’ve broken ALL her rules by WORMING my way into her heart.
Gah gah gah gah well…I warned her that I would! I said that’s what I do, and I did it!
She says I seem way too smug about that, and will pay for it one day. She says she’s keeping a list, a REAL list. Then, when I’m ready, I’ll get what’s coming to me.
Not now, though. She says I’m not ready yet. Outrageous.
I think I’m ready for naughty fun with lists NOW, but she’s all, healing from trauma establish trust know your boundaries consent consent consent blah blah consent blah blah yada yada.
Mommies, right?
Anyway. We were texting, talking about approximately 500 different topics at a time as per the usual, when she said something about how it was good we don’t have an anniversary because she would likely forget it, because Mommies can be forgetful I guess, weird.
And I was like, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!
The thing is, I basically have a record of my life, in the form of, I’ve kept an almost daily diary since the age of 7, and only ever lost one, when my backpack got robbed in Barcelona. So if we want to know ANYTHING that has happened in my life, I can likely find it for you.
Until yesterday, I had never actually tried to use my diaries to find anything, but…I did and it worked!
I started with my Google Calendar. It was like that…what did they used to have in libraries in the olden days? Dewey Decimal? I don’t know, but my Google Calendar was the tool I could use to find the book in the library. Like the reference librarian!
And there it was. Her name, appearing in my calendar for the first time in 2015.
It was mightily confusing because we had a bunch of false starts and then ended up cancelling for one reason or another so it wasn’t clear which date was the one we actually met.
But.
We could cross-reference it with my diaries, and BINGO! Anniversary achieved.
I wasn’t done yet, though.
The next date I found was the real date date. Not the “Let’s meet at a café and make sure this isn’t a terrible idea” date. The real date.
For that one, I had to cross-reference two possible journals.
Luckily, they were dated, because I’m a major nerd and I labelled them all a couple months ago.
And on page 21 I found it.
The day I met her and played for the first time.
There are two entries. One right before I had met her, and one right after.
Diary entry number one starts with Yada yada, what I got up to that day boring stuff that doesn’t matter…
and at the very end it says,
I feel like I’m finally untangling my feelings. From a dreadlock to just some knots. And this morning I’ve gotten myself all prettied up for the date with the Domme Lady, and it’s exciting and fun and I missed that, and I get to have it, and how great is that??
Meditation time. — Lorelai
“The Domme Lady.” I laughed out loud when I read that, because that’s so not what I call her now.
Afterward, on that same day, I wrote,
That was perfect. So good. I got to be subby, and get attention, and serve someone who was so happy to be served, and so dommey, and so hot. I think she’s really attractive, and I love her breasts. God it was just so much fun! — Lorelai.
Later in the day when Mommy was here, I read her those entries and we giggled, a lot.
Then, I did one last excavation project: I searched searched searched, dug down into my email, and found our very first checklist.
I found it in like 30 seconds, cuz I’m the speediest baby girl in the universe.
It was a beautiful thing, that checklist. All our best hopes and intentions, laid out right there.
A few obvious misunderstandings, too. Shit that we can laugh about now, because it all makes sense. So funny to watch us, Baby Girl and That Domme Lady, carefully negotiating our ways into each others’ hearts.
We had no idea what we were in for, that day. But it’s all right there, in the list. The path that led the way.
Mommy and I have spent the last few years building a fortress around our relationship and it’s pretty fucking strong now.
There was a bit of an earthquake this weekend, though. A domino effect of too many accidental triggers overwhelming baby girl at the same time.
I had to figure out what I was feeling, then allow myself to feel it, then remind myself that I was allowed to tell Mommy and she wouldn’t be mad…
Feelings used to not be allowed, you see. And I forget but sometimes I don’t realize how very scared I am of certain ones.
So I told Mommy and i cried because, what if she didn’t like my feelings…
And she said, “Kitten…I wish you had told me sooner. I would have reminded you how much I absolutely love you. To the stars and back. You need to tell me when you feel like this, okay?”
And all my sadness and distrust just flowed away because there were logical, kind and exciting responses to every single one of my fears. I felt held, and very, very safe.
I’ve never felt a trust like this before. It’s a trust that I didn’t even mean to manufacture. When it cracks, I feel the tremble, but it heals back even stronger than before.
I’ve never felt a foundation like this.
It’s the fairy tale I kept trying to write…only it wrote itself.
My fairy godmother, appearing when I needed her the most.
Two days before I met her, in that same diary, I write of a firm, unshakeable belief I had, that if I dug deeply enough, I would find calm. Peace. Love, and freedom.
February 19th, 2017:
Yesterday’s therapy was really good. It never ceases to amaze me, how allowing my feelings to exist makes me feel better.
Last night while I was high I kept trying to think out what I was feeling and remember it for later, and finally I told myself, “Just feel it.”
So I did. I just felt it. I felt sadness, I felt power, I felt excitement, all pulsing within me.
And, I had a thought: Part of what I’m craving is that feeling I’ve had with certain guys before. Like I could let go, like I was sexy, like I was enough. I keep looking for that in men. Like only they can make me feel that way. Then I get disappointed when I don’t find it. But I wonder, (I hope) that maybe it has been me the whole time. Like if I can access that confident part of myself I will feel free, sexy, and enough. — Lorelai
And then just like that, Mommy stepped into my life.
See? I did manifest her, I DID.
My fairy godmother.
The one who is never mean.
Oh, she’ll call my bluff. She’ll make me humble. She’ll make me eat my words if I mis-step.
But only if she can logically show me why. She won’t take things personally. She won’t hold my feelings against me.
I’ve never experienced a love like this. Somebody who wants the best for me…just for my sake. Even if I have to spend less time with her as a result. Even if being my best self means that I grow in unpredictable ways.
She doesn’t feed her ego, she feeds my confidence.
She makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
But it’s not her making me feel that way. It’s her guiding me to access the part of me that can provide that validation for myself.
And then she’s there to remind me, whenever my “self” is feeling a bit tired and needs the reminder.
Anyway, around 9:30 today her husband texted me:
Hey Lorelai, Mommy asked me to tell you that she’s horribly sick this morning and puking her guts out. She probably isn’t going to be able to make it to you.
So I didn’t see Mommy, which is the worst. I don’t know why the universe had to make her feel so sick today. Something about sleeping on muscles wrong and dehydration blah blah blah.
But it was okay. When she woke up and started feeling a tiny bit better, we talked on the phone for like four hours straight. I read her all my writings and then we watched terrible reality TV together on Youtube.
Did you know that there is a show called How Far is Tattoo Far? Frenemies plant revenge tattoos on each other. Super graphic terrible ones, that they have for life.
And people think Mommy and I are the weird ones.
This world, man.
Anyway, I survived the Mommy-less day with only a bit of Mommy, and this weekend, we’re going to the fair!!!
LOVE,
Baby Girl
