I have come to the unfortunate realization that, between D and I, I am the more difficult person to live with. This really shakes up the normal stereotype of a couple, where the wife is the one always putting up with her husband's quirks, patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) and lovingly doting on him as he muddles his way through life while she stands by, the rock who is always right.
Now I, of course, am always right, but that's one of the few things I share with the tv-and-50's wives before me. One of the other things we share is the fact that I'm the schedule and routine keeper in the relationship. If there is an event that D and/or I are attending (be it a birthday party or doctor's appointment), there is a strict process that must be followed.
The Process
Step one: Tell D as far in advace as possible, preferably 3 weeks to one month. Also write event on the calendar that D insisted we buy but refuses to check or even look at.
Step two: Two weeks out from said event, remind D.
Step three: One week out from event, remind again.
Step four: Remind D daily for the last 4 days before event.
Step five: When D still manages to forget, I am able to safely say, "Don't get mad at me, I told you about this." If any of these steps is skipped, I somehow am the one to blame for D forgetting.
Aside from these things, which I use to my greatest advantage and constantly rub in so my own flaws are minimized and ideally ignored, I'm a real pain in the butt wife.
Among D's chief complaints:
* I dig through laundry baskets of clean clothes instead of putting them away. After a few search and rescue missions, the laundry basket is a total mess and the clothes will inevitably be thought of as dirty and will be washed again. This drives D bonkers, and I suspect that he is one load of laundry away from insisting that I fold his clothes and place them in a different laundry basket.
* I am the messy one. I've written countless posts on this, so it should be pretty common knowledge by now. But it still is like a knife to my heart, because the wives are supposed to be the ones who complain about how messy their husbands are and how they constantly have to tidy up after them. When other women complain about this, I just nod my head silently in agreement as if I know what they're talking about. It's my not-so-secret shame: I'm a slob kebob.
* I slam things. Doors, toilet seats, scantily dressed hussies in church...you name it, I slam it. D equally hates both my physical and verbal slammings. But, I will tell you that by consistently slamming the toilet seat for a week, I taught him to put it down after he used the bathroom. I told him that if he refused to put it down, I'd put it down for him and he wouldn't like it. The verbal slammings, I wish he'd just get used to and play along with. It's not fun saying, "Can you believe she is dressed so sluttily?" when D is like, "Who cares and will you please shut up?" Really sucks the fun out of life. Fun sucker.
* I don't really cook. This one was D's own doing, though, so not so much my fault. If I understood how batting averages were calculated, I'd give you a batting average of all the new meals I've tried, but I don't. So I'll just tell you that I'm like 3 for 50 in the kitchen. Now he gets his way and we eat out a majority of the time. Or we just fend for ourselves. I really hope our kids are foodies so I can try new foods and not face a losing battle before I even begin. But with who they have for a dad, I'd say I'm on the wrong end of this sword.
* I watch the most ridiculous shows on TV, which I've also posted about. But I'm pretty sure that D likes some of the shows I watch. Because, for someone who relentlessly makes fun of most of them, he sure does seem to know a lot about the people or characters in them. Like The Bachelorette. If you were to ask him who he liked for the final rose, he'd be like "Um what?" But really, he'd be thinking, "Well, Chris L. is probably the best choice as far as husband material, but Ali and Roberto really seem to have a connection that just isn't there with Chris L."
So there you have it. Never let it be said that I don't have any perspective. I'm a pain in the butt and I know it. But D is also a pain in the butt, so therefore we are a perfect match. The world makes sense again.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
A long, detailed account of a fight that's not even interesting
Just as soon as I finish telling you how I won't be posting much, I post. That's how I keep you all coming back - just have to keep you guessing! But really, this post is because I need to get something off my chest. And it's not even the rant I've been dying to write about the girls I sat behind in church yesterday who wore shorts so short that they would more qualify as bathing suit bottoms than actual apparel to be worn in public (let alone church).
Instead, it's a boring old marriage post. Fighting in marriage seems very much like a game of Stratego. Except I've never played Stratego because it all seems so painfully boring, so I don't really know, but the name implies that there is strategy involved, which is really my point. Marriage fights involve strategy.
If I were a better woman, I'd be much more forgiving and let the minor irritations that my darling husband provides me with just roll off my shoulders. But I'm not, so I don't. Here are the details of the latest battle.
D is currently on vacation, which is great. But that means we actually see each other, which means we have to interact on a face-to-face basis, as opposed to when he is working, where we are more akin to ships passing in the night. And I find that seeing each other tends to leads to fights. As does not seeing each other. I guess there's no way around fighting.
ANYWAY, this past weekend was blissfully uneventful. I had my cousin's baby shower on Sunday, which was very fun, but that was about it for my to-do list. So Saturday morning rolls around, and L started his wake-up call later than usual, at around 7:30 or 7:45. And without one single word or nudge, D rolled out of bed and went to get him, letting me sleep in until a luxurious 9:15, and thus putting him in the running for Husband of the Year 2010.
The downside was that his generosity made it my turn to get up on Sunday morning. Except enter my parents stage right, to come save the day. They not only got him out of bed when he cried, they took him to church with them, allowing us to sleep in until 10!!! (Here's where I wish Blogger had really cool effects that let me put fireworks coming out of the number 10, because that's how utterly fantastic it was.)
D didn't hesitate to remind me that it was still my turn to get up with L on Monday morning, and I said fine since I was getting up for work anyway. D had to be up to do a zillion errands and mow lawns, so he asked me to wake him up before I left for work. I said fine, and would he mind dropping L off at his mom's for the day so I could take a little extra time getting ready. He said no problem. (I'm sorry to bore you with all the complexities and details, they are key to the inevitable blow-up.)
So last night comes, and we are all out of whack schedule-wise since we'd spent our weekend living hard and staying up until 11. So we went to bed at 10 but weren't sleepy and ended up fighting over what to watch for 2 hours. At midnight, we heard L fussing a bit. This is not unusual for him, so I wasn't worried. But D started to get all head-casey and worried and begged me to go check on him. After saying "no" over and over, I finally gave in to the worry and started to think something might really be wrong, so I went in to check on him.
The unmistakeable smell of a dirty diaper met me as I opened the door. Here's where I'm a bit ashamed. A good mother would have simply changed him and gone back to bed. Except changing L is a real beast these days, and I just plain didn't feel like it. So I went back to bed and told D, "He's fine but he's poopy. Go change him." (I know, I know. I'm the worst. Start dragging out the cross and nails for the crucifixion.)
Unsurprisingly, D balked at this. And got mad. And we started bickering over who would go change the baby. I pulled the trump card (that's not really the trump card because it never seems to accomplish a damn thing) and said, "I freaking BIRTHED that child, I think that earns me a few free passes on night-time poop changes." And then I rolled over and stopped talking.
And then the negotiations began. I gave in about the time when D said "I'll get up with him in the morning if you go change him." DONE.
So I go in and change his diaper, which actually took like 10 minutes. First of all, we have lowered his mattress, which makes it virtually impossible for me to remove him easily, especially when he's asleep. Second, he was still asleep when I put him on the changing table, and he kept rolling to his tummy (side note: that kid is STRONG). When I finally was able to hold him down with one hand and remove his diaper with the other, he was just approaching wakefulness. Then once I started wiping him, he woke up all the way and started kicking both his feet on the changing table really, really hard. I finally finished and put him back in his crib, where he proceeded to roll over and sit up, looking at me like "Excuse me? I want to play?" Went back to bed, fell asleep.
This morning, Sir L decides to call for his breakfast and butt change at 6 a.m. I roll over and nudge D and tell him to go get the baby. And HE HAS THE NERVE to roll over and tell me that our deal was no good because I never officially accepted the terms. I just went and changed the diaper. Oh helllllz no. I was peeved, to say the least. So after a lovely morning battle involving, "you get him", "no YOU get him", "NO I AM SERIOUS YOU GET HIM", D finally stomps out of bed and stomps all around getting the baby up. I don't remember what happened after that because I fell back asleep. ;)
But, he was not happy. Whatever. My mom and dad ended up taking the baby and giving him breakfast, and D stomped back to bed and went back to sleep. I got up and got ready for the day, and when I was leaving, I woke D up because he had asked me to the evening before. And I said, "D, I'm leaving. Get up."
"Why should I get up?"
"........Because I'm leaving and you have to get up and take the baby to your mom's."
"Can't you just take him?"
Steam starts pouring out of my ears because this always, always, always happens. We make an agreement, and then at the last minute he tries to change things up. NO, as a matter of fact, I CAN'T take the baby to your mom's because I didn't figure that time into my morning schedule since we've PREVIOUSLY ARRANGED that you would take him to your mom's and now I have to leave for WORK!
He gets up, pissed of course, since he clearly has a reason to be pissed, and starts stomping around the kitchen getting L's diaper bag ready. I don't even remember what smart-mouth thing he said to me at that point, but I just looked at him and left without saying goodbye.
And now here's the hard part. I'm sitting at work today, not even mad anymore, but my pride is getting in the way of calling D and being totally ok with everything. I did call once, with a plan to pretend like nothing even happened and see how he responded, but he didn't pick up. I know he's probably out doing lawns, but in my current frame of mind, him not picking up the phone is a hostile action. And now I'm all like, "Well, I tried, the ball is in his court now."
I think they should require some sort of maturity test before they let you get married. I probably would have failed.
Instead, it's a boring old marriage post. Fighting in marriage seems very much like a game of Stratego. Except I've never played Stratego because it all seems so painfully boring, so I don't really know, but the name implies that there is strategy involved, which is really my point. Marriage fights involve strategy.
If I were a better woman, I'd be much more forgiving and let the minor irritations that my darling husband provides me with just roll off my shoulders. But I'm not, so I don't. Here are the details of the latest battle.
D is currently on vacation, which is great. But that means we actually see each other, which means we have to interact on a face-to-face basis, as opposed to when he is working, where we are more akin to ships passing in the night. And I find that seeing each other tends to leads to fights. As does not seeing each other. I guess there's no way around fighting.
ANYWAY, this past weekend was blissfully uneventful. I had my cousin's baby shower on Sunday, which was very fun, but that was about it for my to-do list. So Saturday morning rolls around, and L started his wake-up call later than usual, at around 7:30 or 7:45. And without one single word or nudge, D rolled out of bed and went to get him, letting me sleep in until a luxurious 9:15, and thus putting him in the running for Husband of the Year 2010.
The downside was that his generosity made it my turn to get up on Sunday morning. Except enter my parents stage right, to come save the day. They not only got him out of bed when he cried, they took him to church with them, allowing us to sleep in until 10!!! (Here's where I wish Blogger had really cool effects that let me put fireworks coming out of the number 10, because that's how utterly fantastic it was.)
D didn't hesitate to remind me that it was still my turn to get up with L on Monday morning, and I said fine since I was getting up for work anyway. D had to be up to do a zillion errands and mow lawns, so he asked me to wake him up before I left for work. I said fine, and would he mind dropping L off at his mom's for the day so I could take a little extra time getting ready. He said no problem. (I'm sorry to bore you with all the complexities and details, they are key to the inevitable blow-up.)
So last night comes, and we are all out of whack schedule-wise since we'd spent our weekend living hard and staying up until 11. So we went to bed at 10 but weren't sleepy and ended up fighting over what to watch for 2 hours. At midnight, we heard L fussing a bit. This is not unusual for him, so I wasn't worried. But D started to get all head-casey and worried and begged me to go check on him. After saying "no" over and over, I finally gave in to the worry and started to think something might really be wrong, so I went in to check on him.
The unmistakeable smell of a dirty diaper met me as I opened the door. Here's where I'm a bit ashamed. A good mother would have simply changed him and gone back to bed. Except changing L is a real beast these days, and I just plain didn't feel like it. So I went back to bed and told D, "He's fine but he's poopy. Go change him." (I know, I know. I'm the worst. Start dragging out the cross and nails for the crucifixion.)
Unsurprisingly, D balked at this. And got mad. And we started bickering over who would go change the baby. I pulled the trump card (that's not really the trump card because it never seems to accomplish a damn thing) and said, "I freaking BIRTHED that child, I think that earns me a few free passes on night-time poop changes." And then I rolled over and stopped talking.
And then the negotiations began. I gave in about the time when D said "I'll get up with him in the morning if you go change him." DONE.
So I go in and change his diaper, which actually took like 10 minutes. First of all, we have lowered his mattress, which makes it virtually impossible for me to remove him easily, especially when he's asleep. Second, he was still asleep when I put him on the changing table, and he kept rolling to his tummy (side note: that kid is STRONG). When I finally was able to hold him down with one hand and remove his diaper with the other, he was just approaching wakefulness. Then once I started wiping him, he woke up all the way and started kicking both his feet on the changing table really, really hard. I finally finished and put him back in his crib, where he proceeded to roll over and sit up, looking at me like "Excuse me? I want to play?" Went back to bed, fell asleep.
This morning, Sir L decides to call for his breakfast and butt change at 6 a.m. I roll over and nudge D and tell him to go get the baby. And HE HAS THE NERVE to roll over and tell me that our deal was no good because I never officially accepted the terms. I just went and changed the diaper. Oh helllllz no. I was peeved, to say the least. So after a lovely morning battle involving, "you get him", "no YOU get him", "NO I AM SERIOUS YOU GET HIM", D finally stomps out of bed and stomps all around getting the baby up. I don't remember what happened after that because I fell back asleep. ;)
But, he was not happy. Whatever. My mom and dad ended up taking the baby and giving him breakfast, and D stomped back to bed and went back to sleep. I got up and got ready for the day, and when I was leaving, I woke D up because he had asked me to the evening before. And I said, "D, I'm leaving. Get up."
"Why should I get up?"
"........Because I'm leaving and you have to get up and take the baby to your mom's."
"Can't you just take him?"
Steam starts pouring out of my ears because this always, always, always happens. We make an agreement, and then at the last minute he tries to change things up. NO, as a matter of fact, I CAN'T take the baby to your mom's because I didn't figure that time into my morning schedule since we've PREVIOUSLY ARRANGED that you would take him to your mom's and now I have to leave for WORK!
He gets up, pissed of course, since he clearly has a reason to be pissed, and starts stomping around the kitchen getting L's diaper bag ready. I don't even remember what smart-mouth thing he said to me at that point, but I just looked at him and left without saying goodbye.
And now here's the hard part. I'm sitting at work today, not even mad anymore, but my pride is getting in the way of calling D and being totally ok with everything. I did call once, with a plan to pretend like nothing even happened and see how he responded, but he didn't pick up. I know he's probably out doing lawns, but in my current frame of mind, him not picking up the phone is a hostile action. And now I'm all like, "Well, I tried, the ball is in his court now."
I think they should require some sort of maturity test before they let you get married. I probably would have failed.
This Day....This Week....This Life
It's definitely getting to be the busiest time of the year for me, job-wise. Things are insane at work, and when things get insane at work, they always seem to get insane at home as well. In keeping with that, this weekend is the big Family Reunion. So that should provide for some fun posts. Or at least one.
But anyway, the point of this is that I don't have much time to write right now. Today and tomorrow, the higher-ups are deciding specifically which positions to eliminate, which will likely impact my job. Meaning, I might not have one in the span of a month and I'll have to figure out a new name for this blog.
Either way, hang in there with me and I promise not to totally abandon you!
But anyway, the point of this is that I don't have much time to write right now. Today and tomorrow, the higher-ups are deciding specifically which positions to eliminate, which will likely impact my job. Meaning, I might not have one in the span of a month and I'll have to figure out a new name for this blog.
Either way, hang in there with me and I promise not to totally abandon you!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
They really should be called Whoremones because they are so awful
You know how when you're about to get your period and you turn into a raging lunatic and everyone around you is afraid to breathe the wrong way for fear that you will kill them in their sleep with a dull spoon and a severe verbal lashing? (Please tell me this isn't just me.) That's an example of hormones.
Hormones are no joke. I am seriously thinking about starting a petition to make hormones admissable to court as a legal defense, right alongside mental insanity. Because in case you didn't know, hormones make you (but I really mean me) a total whackadoo.
Multiply period hormones by pregnancy and you get me. We haven't reached the raging lunatic stage yet - that's reserved for the third trimester. I actually felt the need to apologize to my co-workers when I returned from maternity leave because sitting back at my desk brought back (in a huge flood of awareness) all the rude and biting things I said before I'd left. I had no patience for anything or anyone, and I was generally unpleasant to be around.
But currently, I'm in my first trimester - the Land of Fatigue and Worry, right next to the Pond of Nausea and Eating Remorse. This stop is also brought to you by Hormones. Thanks to my hormones, I'm left worrying that the aspartame from the diet pop I accidentally drank (thinking it was regular caffeine-free) has permanently and irreversably damaged my tiny baby's budding brain. Thanks to my hormones, I fall asleep in my car during my lunch break and wake up to realize that I'm running 15 minutes late getting back to the office. Thanks to my hormones, I experience these random and intense boughts of general discontent with everything in my life.
And the sad thing is, so many people think hormones are just an excuse. Let me tell you something - they are REAL. REAL. ALIVE AND REAL.
Example: After L was born, I experienced some hard-core baby blues. I know it wasn't post-partum depression because I've read a lot of things written by women who actually have PPD and can honestly and gratefully say that what I had was not that. But my hormones were crashing all around me and I was seriously bummed out. On top of that, since I was only pumping exclusively (which only added to my depression because pumping sucks royally) and not actually nursing L, my period decided to return about 5 weeks after L was born.
I clearly remember the day before it came because it is the only day I can ever remember feeling like this. Every single tiny thing D did annoyed the living crap out of me. I don't think I have the words to describe the irritation I felt towards him. Everything he said or did made me look at him and wonder why the heck I married him. I think it's safe to say that he was genuinely afraid of me. The next day, when I laughingly told him my period had come, he was like, "I knew it was coming. You were pure evil yesterday."
Them there are hormones, people. The fact that my husband can always tell when my period is coming is proof that hormones are real. In real life, I wouldn't cry when I hear Lady Marmalade on the radio (true story). In Hormone Land, that's reasonable and expected.
So the next time you want to discount hormones as some sort of "excuse", think twice. Because really, do you want to be messing with someone tripping on that kind of "excuse" in the first place?
Hormones are no joke. I am seriously thinking about starting a petition to make hormones admissable to court as a legal defense, right alongside mental insanity. Because in case you didn't know, hormones make you (but I really mean me) a total whackadoo.
Multiply period hormones by pregnancy and you get me. We haven't reached the raging lunatic stage yet - that's reserved for the third trimester. I actually felt the need to apologize to my co-workers when I returned from maternity leave because sitting back at my desk brought back (in a huge flood of awareness) all the rude and biting things I said before I'd left. I had no patience for anything or anyone, and I was generally unpleasant to be around.
But currently, I'm in my first trimester - the Land of Fatigue and Worry, right next to the Pond of Nausea and Eating Remorse. This stop is also brought to you by Hormones. Thanks to my hormones, I'm left worrying that the aspartame from the diet pop I accidentally drank (thinking it was regular caffeine-free) has permanently and irreversably damaged my tiny baby's budding brain. Thanks to my hormones, I fall asleep in my car during my lunch break and wake up to realize that I'm running 15 minutes late getting back to the office. Thanks to my hormones, I experience these random and intense boughts of general discontent with everything in my life.
And the sad thing is, so many people think hormones are just an excuse. Let me tell you something - they are REAL. REAL. ALIVE AND REAL.
Example: After L was born, I experienced some hard-core baby blues. I know it wasn't post-partum depression because I've read a lot of things written by women who actually have PPD and can honestly and gratefully say that what I had was not that. But my hormones were crashing all around me and I was seriously bummed out. On top of that, since I was only pumping exclusively (which only added to my depression because pumping sucks royally) and not actually nursing L, my period decided to return about 5 weeks after L was born.
I clearly remember the day before it came because it is the only day I can ever remember feeling like this. Every single tiny thing D did annoyed the living crap out of me. I don't think I have the words to describe the irritation I felt towards him. Everything he said or did made me look at him and wonder why the heck I married him. I think it's safe to say that he was genuinely afraid of me. The next day, when I laughingly told him my period had come, he was like, "I knew it was coming. You were pure evil yesterday."
Them there are hormones, people. The fact that my husband can always tell when my period is coming is proof that hormones are real. In real life, I wouldn't cry when I hear Lady Marmalade on the radio (true story). In Hormone Land, that's reasonable and expected.
So the next time you want to discount hormones as some sort of "excuse", think twice. Because really, do you want to be messing with someone tripping on that kind of "excuse" in the first place?
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A grown-up dilemma
As if there are any other types of dilemmas these days. Don't know why I'd expect an easier dilemma since I'm now a grown-up, but a girl can dream.
I'm very blessed that my job pays very well - way above average for the position I currently hold. I also have unbelievably good benefits that I don't pay a dime for. I promise I'm not trying to brag. The pay and benefits are actually like the nails in my coffin. I don't like my job. It rarely challenges me, and it's not even on the same planet as the field in which I hold my degree. But I stay because a) the economy sucks, and b) I can't in good conscience voluntarily leave this job that anchors my family to security and well-being.
However, my job has been at risk for a while now. Not because I'm less than awesome, but because I work in a union and have a contract and all that, and my organization has been hit pretty hard by the economy. I am low on the totem pole seniority-wise, but my contract language regarding lay-offs and bumping could manage to keep me safe in spite of it. It's confusing and makes my head hurt, so I won't go into all the details.
Tonight, I happened upon a job with a non-profit that looks like it was tailor-made for me. It is exactly the job I was hoping to land while I was working towards my degree. Better yet, all it says is that the ideal candidate should have a degree and 6-12 months of experience.
It is not as close geographically as my current job, which is a drawback, and it does require "occasional" nights and weekends (according to the ad), which is not always optimal for family life. Also, there's a very solid chance that I'd be taking a substantial pay cut. Plus, I'm pregnant. And I was doing some research on the organization's website and one of their biggest annual events falls like 3 weeks after my due date.
Should I even apply for this job? I feel like I should, because you never know until you try. Plus, I don't have to take the job if it looks like it wouldn't work. I don't know, it's always scary to try to imagine the unknown. The cons always seem to be endless, since the pros are more difficult to imagine when you only know limited details about the position.
And there's a part of me that wants to get laid off and just stay at home with L for a while, maybe until after the new baby is born, and then get back in the job hunting saddle.
What do you think? What would you do?
Monday, July 19, 2010
Oh, the guilt
Guilt as a parent is inescapable. I've actually gotten pretty good at brushing things off and realizing that different people do things different ways, but sometimes that guilt just finds a way to fight through and stab relentlessly at your brain.
Today is my Mommy's Day Off. I have been planning this for months. I had L scheduled to go to daycare, and I had made plans to get a manicure, go to lunch, and just basically enjoy to feeling of having a day to myself where I answer to no one else but me. I didn't even schedule it out much because I wanted to savor the freedom of being able to say to myself, "Now what?" and then being able to do whatever my self answered.
As this day approached, I got more and more excited. I started talking about it incessantly to D. Honestly, I think I was more excited about today than I get about Christmas. Just the possibilities and the freedom. I'm getting tingly just thinking about it.
So this morning started off pretty good. I forgot to turn on the baby monitor in our room and, as a result, my parents got L up and took him with them on their walk. I got to sleep in until 7:45. (And I'm not being sarcastic when I say "sleep in".) Heavenly.
Then I got up and got him ready and loaded him up into the car. I already knew what I was going to do after I dropped him off at daycare - I was going to go to the local bakery and get a salt bagel for breakfast.
As I drove to daycare, I enjoyed the feeling of listening to my favorite radio morning shows without the usual dread and sadness that accompany the shows when I'm listening to them on the way to work.
I pulled up to my daycare lady's house (Brenda, if you recall), and noticed that the house seemed rather dark. I went to open the door and it was locked. So I peered in and saw only a light on in the very back of the house. I knocked and waiting. Nothing.
Knocked again. Nothing.
Of course, I'd left my cell phone at home, so I could not call back to my dad and have him check the schedule to make sure I'd actually scheduled Brenda for the day. In my mind, my Mommy Day was going up in flames.
I didn't know what to do. Finally, I just decided to ring the bell. After a couple minutes, I saw Brenda come downstairs, somewhat disheveled.
She opened the door and said, "I'm not scheduled for today!" My heart sunk. I was 99.7% certain that she was scheduled for today, but that .3% of self doubt seemed to be a lot bigger at that moment. So I just said, "Are you sure?" and she let me in so she could check her schedule.
She looked at the calendar that she had made, which included all the other kids she watched, and it showed no kids for today, L included. But I still as pretty sure that I'd scheduled her, so I said, "Do you have the schedule I made?"
As she went to look for it, she said, "Well I can take him today, I don't have anything else going on. I just realized when I woke up this morning that I had nothing going on, so I decided to go back to bed." Enter Stabbing Guilt.
She found the schedule and sure enough, I'd scheduled her for today. A huge part of me wanted to say, "You know, that's ok. I'll just take him home. I'm not working today, it's no big deal." But then I realized that she might be annoyed that I'd scheduled her in the first place on a day I wasn't working, and I didn't want her to think I made a habit of bringing L to her when I had the day off. She might be further annoyed that I rang the doorbell and woke her up when I could have easily turned around and went home and let her sleep.
So I said, "Are you sure? I'm so sorry." And then I kept apologizing. And she said it was ok, it was her fault, etc. By then, the guilt was absolutely raging and I was completely torn.
Add that to the fact that I had planned on telling her I was pregnant, but I thought the better of it. It didn't seem like a good time to tell her that I was bringing more day-off-ruining spawn into the world.
So I came home, looking for a little reassuring from my parents, but instead I got the looks like, "You should have just brought the baby home with you but we don't want to say anything because we don't want to start something." Didn't do much to appease me.
So I went upstairs and woke D up and told him my story in brief, hoping for him to say, "You've been talking about this day for months, you had her scheduled, it was her mistake, not yours, now go enjoy your day." Instead he gave me a similar look and didn't say anything. By that point I was near tears and said, "You think I should have just brought L home?" and he said, "Well, yeah, you could have just seen if your dad would watch him while you went to get your manicure."
As if that's what this whole day is about! Let me tell you, I was not excited about this day because of the stupid manicure. I mean, yes, I am excited to go get my manicure. But that's not the point! The point is that I had a day all to myself, a day that is only mine - not my bosses', not D's, not L's, not my parents', not the house's; mine. Call me selfish, but when a day like that is in my grasp, and someone snatches it away and offers a manicure as a consolation prize, it doesn't seem like much.
I'm not even going to re-read this post before I publish it because I know I'm going to realize that I sound like a spoiled, whiny brat and I don't think I can take that self-awareness in my fragile state of mind (so please excuse any typos). I'm just going to wipe this morning out of my memory and go about my day. And I'm going to make myself enjoy it.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The news that may or may not be new
If you're not my friend on facebook, then this news will be new for you. If you are my friend on facebook, this won't be news, but you might still be in shock so it might seem new because of all the shock you're in.
That's right, kids. I'm pregnant. Again.
"But Katie!" you might be shouting. "Didn't you just have a baby 8 months ago??"
Why, yes. Yes, I did. And now, I'll have two babies. Under the age of 2. Please excuse me a minute while I vomit from the panic. And from the nausea of being pregnant, which has been an unexpected and unwelcome symptom of this pregnancy.
Go ahead, you know you want to ask. "Did you plan this?"
I know that's what you're thinking. Because I know this is what I'd be thinking if I was in your shoes and you were in mine. (Hey, that reminds me. Anyone want to trade shoes?) And the answer is, no we did not plan this.
Don't get me wrong. I am not one of those idiotic girls from 16 and Pregnant who are all, "Why meeeee?!?! How did this happpennnnn!??!" I know how this happened. We knew it was a possibility and that the risk was there. We didn't actually think it would happen, but that's another story.
At first, I might have flipped just a little. I found out the weekend before we moved into my parents' house. Worst timing ever. Except maybe also the best, because I was so stressed and preoccupied with the planning and packing and yelling and crying that I didn't think much about it. It was something I would just deal with at another time.
Oh, fun side story for you. You might be wondering (if you're a fellow mom who loves to hear all the gory details, or if you just like gory details) what led me to take a test in the first place. Did I suspect I was pregnant? Yeah, not so much.
See, here's the thing. I am addicted to taking pregnancy tests. When D and I were trying to get pregnant with L (well, not with him specifically, because we didn't know him yet, but we're glad it turned out to be him), I got a little bit.... psychotic about trying to get pregnant in general. I more particularly got psychotic about peeing on sticks. Ovulation tests, pregnancy tests - they were all good in my book.
After a few months of trying without success, D started yelling at me about literally peeing on a small fortune every month. So I found this website that sold the most basic ovulation and pregnancy tests in bulk for cheap. And in bulk I bought them. And bought them. And bought them.
So by the time it got to the point in my cycle where I could take a pregnancy test and possibly expect a positive result, actually taking the test was like an exciting reward. I would sit in eager anticipation, holding the test up to the light, looking for that second pink line to appear.
When it finally did appear, and I realized I was pregnant with L, I still had like 8 tests left over. So I did what any normal person would do. I went out and bought the expensive pregnancy tests to confirm, then I proceeded to take the other "cheapies" every day after. Because seeing that second line come up was so unbelievably rewarding and exciting.
Once L was born and things got back to normal, I realized how much I missed the thrill of pregnancy tests. So I returned to my trusty website and ordered some more tests in bulk. And at the end of every cycle, I'd take a few. Only this, time I was kind-of hoping for the opposite result. But, as they say, you play with fire, sooner or later you're goin to get burned.
It was only a matter of time before one of those pee sticks turned up two pink lines again, thus turning our lives upside down.
Only, you know what? Our lives really don't feel upside down. I had my first ultrasound today, and D was able to come with me. And when I saw that little bean with its little flickering heartbeat, my own heart immediately swelled with love and joy, and tears came to my eyes.
And it hit me - I'm pregnant. With a baby. A baby who will cuddle me and sleep on my chest instead of wiggle around until I put him or her down like L does now when I try to get a good snuggle. A baby who might look like me, but will more likely look like D's clone, just like L. A baby who will probably share the same blue eyes that D and I gave to L. A baby with its own personality and quirks.
And this time, I feel more prepared. L totally kicked my ass, I'm not going to lie. But this time, I know to expect raging hormones that will make me feel a little depressed. I know to expect my boobs to leak uncontrollably, and I'll know to wear 2 or 3 shirts to avoid embarrassing wetboob in public.
But I'll also know to truly cherish having a baby who is so small that it can literally curl up on my chest or stomach and sleep. I'll appreciate that the baby sleeps all the time, even if its waking up every 2 or 3 hours. And now that L is fully mobile, I'll really, really, really appreciate having a baby who stays in the same place I left it and doesn't immediately find the most dangerous thing possible and put it in its mouth when I leave the room for 2.5 seconds.
So no, this certainly wasn't planned, but it is one of the best unplanned things to ever happen to me. And it's one of those many times that makes me really glad that Someone else is making the plans instead of me.
And sorry everyone, but I don't think we're going to find out boy or girl this time either. But FYI, D and I decided to just refer to the baby as "he" for simplicity and clarity, and to avoid calling the baby "it", which just seems so very wrong. (Oh, and also, I'm due Feb. 26 for anyone that might not know.)
Now please excuse me while I go throw up from the panic.
That's right, kids. I'm pregnant. Again.
"But Katie!" you might be shouting. "Didn't you just have a baby 8 months ago??"
Why, yes. Yes, I did. And now, I'll have two babies. Under the age of 2. Please excuse me a minute while I vomit from the panic. And from the nausea of being pregnant, which has been an unexpected and unwelcome symptom of this pregnancy.
Go ahead, you know you want to ask. "Did you plan this?"
I know that's what you're thinking. Because I know this is what I'd be thinking if I was in your shoes and you were in mine. (Hey, that reminds me. Anyone want to trade shoes?) And the answer is, no we did not plan this.
Don't get me wrong. I am not one of those idiotic girls from 16 and Pregnant who are all, "Why meeeee?!?! How did this happpennnnn!??!" I know how this happened. We knew it was a possibility and that the risk was there. We didn't actually think it would happen, but that's another story.
At first, I might have flipped just a little. I found out the weekend before we moved into my parents' house. Worst timing ever. Except maybe also the best, because I was so stressed and preoccupied with the planning and packing and yelling and crying that I didn't think much about it. It was something I would just deal with at another time.
Oh, fun side story for you. You might be wondering (if you're a fellow mom who loves to hear all the gory details, or if you just like gory details) what led me to take a test in the first place. Did I suspect I was pregnant? Yeah, not so much.
See, here's the thing. I am addicted to taking pregnancy tests. When D and I were trying to get pregnant with L (well, not with him specifically, because we didn't know him yet, but we're glad it turned out to be him), I got a little bit.... psychotic about trying to get pregnant in general. I more particularly got psychotic about peeing on sticks. Ovulation tests, pregnancy tests - they were all good in my book.
After a few months of trying without success, D started yelling at me about literally peeing on a small fortune every month. So I found this website that sold the most basic ovulation and pregnancy tests in bulk for cheap. And in bulk I bought them. And bought them. And bought them.
So by the time it got to the point in my cycle where I could take a pregnancy test and possibly expect a positive result, actually taking the test was like an exciting reward. I would sit in eager anticipation, holding the test up to the light, looking for that second pink line to appear.
When it finally did appear, and I realized I was pregnant with L, I still had like 8 tests left over. So I did what any normal person would do. I went out and bought the expensive pregnancy tests to confirm, then I proceeded to take the other "cheapies" every day after. Because seeing that second line come up was so unbelievably rewarding and exciting.
Once L was born and things got back to normal, I realized how much I missed the thrill of pregnancy tests. So I returned to my trusty website and ordered some more tests in bulk. And at the end of every cycle, I'd take a few. Only this, time I was kind-of hoping for the opposite result. But, as they say, you play with fire, sooner or later you're goin to get burned.
It was only a matter of time before one of those pee sticks turned up two pink lines again, thus turning our lives upside down.
Only, you know what? Our lives really don't feel upside down. I had my first ultrasound today, and D was able to come with me. And when I saw that little bean with its little flickering heartbeat, my own heart immediately swelled with love and joy, and tears came to my eyes.
And it hit me - I'm pregnant. With a baby. A baby who will cuddle me and sleep on my chest instead of wiggle around until I put him or her down like L does now when I try to get a good snuggle. A baby who might look like me, but will more likely look like D's clone, just like L. A baby who will probably share the same blue eyes that D and I gave to L. A baby with its own personality and quirks.
And this time, I feel more prepared. L totally kicked my ass, I'm not going to lie. But this time, I know to expect raging hormones that will make me feel a little depressed. I know to expect my boobs to leak uncontrollably, and I'll know to wear 2 or 3 shirts to avoid embarrassing wetboob in public.
But I'll also know to truly cherish having a baby who is so small that it can literally curl up on my chest or stomach and sleep. I'll appreciate that the baby sleeps all the time, even if its waking up every 2 or 3 hours. And now that L is fully mobile, I'll really, really, really appreciate having a baby who stays in the same place I left it and doesn't immediately find the most dangerous thing possible and put it in its mouth when I leave the room for 2.5 seconds.
So no, this certainly wasn't planned, but it is one of the best unplanned things to ever happen to me. And it's one of those many times that makes me really glad that Someone else is making the plans instead of me.
And sorry everyone, but I don't think we're going to find out boy or girl this time either. But FYI, D and I decided to just refer to the baby as "he" for simplicity and clarity, and to avoid calling the baby "it", which just seems so very wrong. (Oh, and also, I'm due Feb. 26 for anyone that might not know.)
Now please excuse me while I go throw up from the panic.
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