happiness

Well, well, well.

I suppose I got a bit ahead of myself assuming that I would be blogging it up here on a regular basis. I’m not going to lie and say that I’ve been far too busy at work with, well, work. I’ve been working, yes, but I have also been catching up on all of the political news, celebrity fluff and other randomness and fantastical offerings from Google that I missed over the year I was on maternity leave.

I have a small corner office located in a relatively quiet part of the building. I can sort of see a window. I have plants. I have earphones so that I can listen to music and watch you tube videos with sound. I have privacy and freedom from the demands of small, tyrannical children. Each morning I come in, plop down in my chair, kick off my grown up shoes (read: uncomfortable high heels) and drink a HOT coffee until it is done. The demands of my job are spaced out and often, I am finished what I need to do with a few hours to spare each day.

At home, things are wonderful. Hayden has FINALLY starting sleeping all night. I’m still nursing her in the morning and before bed, but she no longer wakes to feed and I am feeling much better for it. Avery sleeps most of the night in her own room and then comes in to join Hayden, the husband and I after that. Eventually, the girls will share a room together, but not until Hayden is a bit older.

We threw a 3rd birthday party for Avery last weekend. She had a blast. I think we had about 10 kids, plus her two cousins, plus the adults and my mother and father in law. It went beautifully. The husband prepared the vegan fare (pizzas, soy hot dogs, pasta and potato salads and a chocolate “princess” cake with pink icing) and everyone enjoyed. I tossed a bunch of toys out in the backyard for the kids to play with rather than having any organized games (can you imagine organizing games for a bunch of three-and-unders?) My girlfriend Karen came to stay for the weekend with her son, and while it was a lot of extra work (more on that later), it was really nice to see her and her 9 month old.

Avery is happily attending pre-school two mornings a week and the rest of the time she is home with daddy and Hayden. My husband is wonderful with the girls and they are all so close. Our marriage is very strong again; we are both happy and feel like the best friends we used to be, before all of the chaos. As the girls are getting a little less demanding and we are getting our evenings back, I’m finding that we almost never argue. After we put the girls to bed, we sit out on the deck and have a glass of wine and talk.

Hayden is starting to talk. She is still pretty whiny and very clingy with both my husband and I, but I know that this too shall pass. The other day the husband had to go have a shower so he asked Avery to keep Hayden happy for a few minutes and Avery replied by saying: “Okay Daddy, no problem. I can make her happy; I have silly faces.”

Avery is so good with her sister. They are both such empathetic and loving people. I have no worries that they will be close for the rest of their lives.

I have a 3 year old, a fifteen month old, a husband, a full time job, and a house and garden to keep but somehow I am finding a balance. This is happiness, and I have been waiting for it for a long time.

the dump

Sometimes I think that any accommodations, sacrifices, and compromises I make in my life, and in particular in my own home with my husband and daughter, are just part of being a wife and a mother, and are nothing special really; just part of the job. And then there are days like yesterday, and today, and a few incidents a few weeks back that cause me to reflect on the way I accept things, and the way I am viewed and treated in light of my accommodations, sacrifices and compromises.

I am very mindful of my husband’s workload these days and try to be accommodating and sympathetic towards him as a result. Though he does have a lot of time off (one of the perks of being a firefighter) I recognize that he also works on the firefighter union board and is currently studying for the captain’s exam that he will be writing in March. He has also been finishing the master bathroom. All of these things require time, effort, and produce a certain amount of stress for him. On the weekends, I take Avery so that he can do any union work or bathroom renovation stuff that he needs to do. He also sends Avery to the babysitter from 9am – 1pm on the days that he is off so that he has time to work and study. When I come home from work in the evenings, I am on full-time mommy duty to give him a break. I do the baths, the bedtimes, the naptimes etc. Okay, so I guess I am making my point here.

My husband has never really made a big deal, or done anything for that matter, for our wedding anniversary. He didn’t really even acknowledge my first Mother’s Day as a mother, which sort of disappointed me given the fact that not only did I give birth to, do most of the care for and breastfeed our daughter for the whole time leading up to that Mother’s Day (and beyond of course), but I also dragged my ass through months of somewhat crippling post-partum depression after Avery was born with minimal support and came through it stronger and better in the end (something I was quite proud of). To not have that acknowledged in any minor or major way sort of sucked.

This year for our fourth wedding anniversary on January 25th, I was expecting nothing. I felt that my general attitude that day of relative ambivalence and perhaps mild irritation would be a good sign to him that I was expecting the usual nothing and perhaps it was best to just get on with the day rather than dwell on anything relating to the event. He did not schedule our babysitter to take Avery for a few hours so we could go out for dinner, he did not get me flowers, or a card. I did not get him anything because, when I did so for our other anniversaries, I felt that he could have cared less given that he did not do anything for me.

So we had dinner at home (he made it) with a restless and cranky toddler and after dinner, I was presented with a cupcake (that was actually quite good) and scrawled on the box was a nice message about how much he loved me. And I thanked him and I felt that given that I was not expecting anything anyway, I should shut up and be happy that I have a husband who loves me, who is loyal, and who makes me dinner. And so it went.

Last night, my mother came over with some gifts for Avery and I. In the recent past, my mother and I have had a strained relationship. We are working through it, though it has been difficult because of her depression and the fact that I do not see her very often. I have however, come to the conclusion that I need my mother in my life. I need my mother to be involved in the life of my children; otherwise, a part of me feels like I am floundering. My mother bought me lots of very nice and much needed maternity clothes. Because of our budget, I have been trying to get by with a few maternity items paired with some bigger shirts that I already own. I have been feeling pretty schleppy as a result. My mother told me not to worry about what she spent; she just felt that someone should be getting me some nice and comfortable things to wear because I was not doing it myself.

She came over so that I could try on the clothes and have them to wear right away. While I was trying them on, my husband was in and out of the room doing something or other and playing with Avery. Every once in awhile I would try something on and ask him what he thought if he happened to be in the room. “Its fine.” is what he would say. He knows I have been feeling like a big fat marshmallow with arms and horrible frizzy hair lately and that is all he could say. He was pouting. He was pouting because it was taking me “too long” to try on the clothes and he wanted to wrap everything up, and have my mother leave so he could plop down on the couch and drink beer for the night. No he didn’t tell me this but it was pretty obvious. When my mum left, Avery was whining because she wanted my husband to sit on the floor and play with her. He was ignoring her demands so I dropped a pillow on the floor and sat down in a bit of a huff.

“What?” he asked

“She wants us to sit with her”

“I know, she’s been whining at me all day to sit on the ground with her”

All day? I thought. He picked her up from daycare at 1pm and then she napped from 2-4pm. Then I was home by 5.

I am so tired and so big now. I’ve got some kind of stupid insomnia that prevents me from getting more than 6 hours of sleep a night and I work all day. My feet are swollen. Before bed, I ask him to get out the bin of shoes I have stored in the basement so that I can have a comfortable pair to wear the next day.

“I’m getting blisters now from the swelling so I need my other shoes” I tell him. He tells me he will bring the box up from the basement later. I go to bed. When I get up this morning, there is no box. It is still buried under stuff in the basement. I stuff my fat feet into my blister shoes.

Over the weekend, he decides to clean out the basement and the garage and take the stuff to the dump. He piles everything into the van and takes it to the dump on Monday only to find that the dump is closed. The good news about this is that I find out, purely by accident when Avery drags out my old empty camera case, that he has put my dead grandfather’s vintage Minolta, along with every camera accessory known to man that was bequeathed to me into a garbage bag and was planning on taking it to the dump.

I ask him why he would throw that out. He tells me that it was just sitting in a box in the basement. I say, well gee honey, I don’t have a lot of time for hobbies anymore so I was storing it until I am able to use it again one day. Also, it has sentimental value. Oh yeah, and photography was kind of a hobby of mine until the bondage of motherhood claimed it. He tells me he will go through the bags the next day before he goes to the dump and make sure that he puts the camera and all of the accessories back.

He called me at work this afternoon and asked me if I needed anything.

“Did you remember to take my camera and stuff out of the garbage?” I ask him.

No, he did not. He threw out my fucking camera – the camera that my grandfather gave to me, and all of the really cool shit that came with it. How in the fuck did he forget something like that?

And this is where I am now. I got off the phone with him and almost started crying at my desk. I am heartbroken about the camera because it was smashed and destroyed this morning before we could call and see if they could retrieve it. I can’t even think about it because it hurts so much. But really, I am astounded at the fact that he didn’t even bother to remember something so important for me.

After everything I do. After everything I try to be considerate of.

I don’t even know what to say to him.

To me, this shows lack of fucking care and consideration. This isn’t forgetting to pick up some corn flakes for me at the grocery store.

I am pregnant, overworked, tired and stressed. I don’t do anything for myself. I feel fat and gross. My hair is horrible because I don’t have the time to straighten it when I wash it. If it weren’t for my mother, I would be looking extra shitty in my cheap, oversized crap clothes. I don’t go out for drinks when the girls from my mom group go because my husband has a hard time putting Avery to bed without me there. I don’t do anything and I have accepted this for so long that it has become the norm. When my husband mentioned that he was going out for beers after work on Thursday I flinched a little, but I didn’t say anything. When he tells me to stick to the budget he designed, I do. When I am at home with Avery all day by myself, the house is clean and dinner is on the table when he gets in. I ask for nothing. Not backrubs, not a day off and away by myself.

What the fuck am I doing wrong?

this is going to be a long one...

As I heaved my pregnant body out of bed this morning and tried to waddle as quietly as I could out of the room so as not to wake Avery and the husband (yes she still sleeps in our bed – tsk tsk away if you must) the floor groaned underneath me as the weight of the day to come settled itself on my shoulders. As usual, I spend my time in the shower worrying and washing. I go over my to-do list while I blow dry my hair, and by the time I get in the car to head to the office, I feel overwhelmed.

It is silly, because I have a lot to be thankful for and not much to worry about. I just find that things start to get unmanageable at this time of year. I think this all began when my mother called the other day and began telling me how I have never done anything for her and I should be getting more involved in the ongoing divorce saga between her and my father and he is such an evil man and how can I still talk to him…and her psychiatrist thinks that her children should be doing more for her and don’t we understand how sick and depressed she is….blah blah blah. This was all while my daughter screamed and cried in the background for her dinner and husband was just coming in the door from work and my uterus was hardening itself up against the enormous amounts of stress hormones that my body was beginning to pump out as a result of this phone call. I think I am beginning to hate my mother.

This is a fairly usual conversation that my mother and I have. To get into the details and history of the relationship and the circumstances of everything on this blog would be a tremendous undertaking and one that I am not willing to put effort into. Suffice it to say that my mother is wrong and very selfish and I am pregnant, tired, looking after a toddler and truly do not need to put up with her shit anymore.

Next item:

Avery has become very obsessive about dirt. She does not like it on her hands (by dirt I mean food particles, marker, fluff from the carpet…I could go on) and the other day she took a cloth down from the countertop and began wiping the floor with it, grunting away on her hands and knees, saying “dirty, dirty” over and over again. At first, I thought it was really funny and got out the video camera. Then I started to wonder where she would be getting this from. I certainly never get down on my hands and knees to wash the floors. I am definitely not a clean freak either. I can only assume that she is getting it from her daycare provider – my girlfriend who lives next door. This woman has convinced my daughter that dirt, poop and wet socks are horrible things and Avery has absorbed all of this. She has truly become obsessed. Also, she is afraid of feathers (in particular the down feathers that sometimes escape from our duvet) and fluffy things on the carpets. I have to remove the offending feather or “fluffy” from her sight and flush it down the toilet where we stand and say goodbye to it while Avery furrows her brow and asks me 500 times if it is gone yet. Is this normal? I AM NOT encouraging this. I try to make it out like it is not a big deal but she remains upset. I don’t know what to do.

Next item:

Secret (fucking) Santa at work. You draw a name; you spend $20 on a gift for this person. I got the name of a contract employee who I do not know very well and who will be gone in a few months. I have left this to the last minute and now must run out at lunch and get something for Thursday this week. For fucks sake.

Next item:

The potluck, also this Thursday, at our office. I have volunteered to bring potato (fucking) salad. When am I going to make this? Husband is on nights and I have barely enough time to get dinner and bath done with a very demanding toddler at night. I have found a solution: I will buy a giant tub of potato salad from the market after work tonight and add some chives and possibly slices of kosher pickles to make it look authentic.

Next item:

Christmas (fucking) cards. Haven’t even started them. Was informed by husband that I need to get on this because we have received a bunch from some of the Captains and even the Chief of his department so I had better send them one as well. Ugh.

Next item:

Christmas day dinner at my father’s house with his girlfriend’s half-retarded family members, Avery and no husband because he is on day shift. My father asked that we do not do gifts this year, which is fine. He called me the other day to tell me that he hopes I will not be upset but he did get gifts for his girlfriend, her children (22 and 25) and MY OWN BROTHER but the whole “not doing gifts this year” still applies to me.

Next item:

Boxing Day with the in-laws. The only thing that is going to light up this day is the absolutely horrible gift I will be giving to my mother in law, which I still have not put together yet. But I am looking forward to that. As for the rest of it, I can only say that if I were not pregnant, I would be half in the bag by the time they came over to our house.

I think that about does it for now. I am going to muddle through this week and then try to mentally block out the holidays and soon it will all be over!

Fa la la la la.

Last night I had a dream. It scared the shit out of me.

I’d like to think that I’m not a complete wimp, but my sub-conscious decides to give me a reality check every once in awhile. I guess I thought I was just mildly upset about finding out I had gallstones. And I guess I was more angry than anything else initially about it because it’s one more fucking thing I have to deal with and now I have (almost) two babies to take care of and I can’t afford to be out of commission. Also, going under with anesthetic scares me.

Anyway, last night I dreamt that I was having my c-section. The husband was there and when they took Hayden out, he followed her over to the little “baby cleaning area” to take pictures, leaving me alone on the table. The nurse pulled the blue sheet that obscures ones view of the carnage away and I looked down to find that they had forgotten to stitch me up. Instead, the nurse had just covered the opening into my abdominal cavity with a white towel. At this point, something told me that I didn’t have much time so I called to my husband to bring the baby over to me but he wasn’t listening. It was all very dramatic. When I woke up from the dream, I was very upset. It was about 3am and I didn’t get much sleep after that. I kept worrying about dying and leaving my babies, and gallbladder surgery and anesthetic and infection in the hospital and blah, blah, blah.

I know that everything will be fine. I think that I have reached that point in my life when the realization that none of us are invincible has hit me. I am not invincible. I am meat and chemicals and brain and things can go wrong with those parts. I guess it didn’t bother me before because I didn’t have children who needed me. It’s so strange to feel so necessary and needed. Some days it takes my breath away. Some days I don’t even think about it.

The other night the husband and I were debating whether or not to stop in at a friend’s Christmas Party this weekend. We could drop Avery off next door for a couple of hours and drive the 40 minutes to our friend’s house, have a drink and a quick visit and then leave. We eventually decided that it wasn’t worth it. Then my husband said something that I had totally been thinking but was too afraid to say out loud for fear that he would think I was crazy. He said: “What if we got in a car accident on the way home and both died? You know, there are lots of drunks on the road at this time of year. Who the hell would Avery have if she didn’t have us?”

Holy shit. We are never getting in a car together again. Well, that’s a bit extreme. But obviously, both of us have seriously grown up a hell of a lot. And both of us are deeply connected to and in love with our baby. And it’s nice to know that I’m not the only crazy one in the house. It will be one of those fragile days for me I guess. Like I said, there are days when I do feel invincible still, but more in a determined way, not in an ignorant self-important way. Those are the days when you feel like a lion watching over your pride – you are big and strong and can protect your family from anything that comes along. I like those days the best.

But today, I am a rabbit.

the plastic baby bin

The other day, the husband and I were discussing our plans for the birth of number #2, or “the egg” as we now call him/her. Since I have to have a c-section again, I know I will be in the hospital for at least 2 nights. Originally, the husband suggested having my father stay over at our house overnight with Avery for those nights so that he could stay with me in the hospital. I realized immediately this would not work as a) Avery sleeps in a bed with us and there is no way in hell my dad would be able to put her down and go sleep somewhere else, and b) my dad is an alcoholic (between the hours of 3pm – bedtime) and I really don’t think that jives with taking care of my daughter.

A funny thing happened to me after I had a baby: I stopped being a total pussy. I waved my husbands suggestions of him staying with me off and told him that he could stay home with Avery and I could manage by myself in the hospital. I really do feel cool about that. When I was in the hospital after having Avery, I was terrified to be alone. Mostly because the surgery seriously restricted my movement, but also because I had a brand new baby and I didn’t know what to do.

This time, I could be abandoned on a desert island and I know I would be just fine. The only thing I have to worry about is being assertive enough with the nurses who insist I keep the new baby in that little plastic bin beside the bed while I sleep. Hell no sister. First of all, the bin is not right beside the bed, secondly, when the baby cries, I will have to page and wait for a nurse to get him/her for me. Fuck that shit yo. I’ll do what I did with Avery – the baby sleeps on me, I prop pillows around us so no one falls out of bed. What other mammal, or even animal for that matter has a baby and then leaves it on the other side of the nest/cave/in some bushes around the corner?

Anyway. I have an ultrasound next Thursday. This is the one that makes me nervous because we are seeing for the first time if everything is okay. I’m sure it is based on the fact that I have been so sick, I am beginning to look 5 months pregnant rather than 3, and I’m totally serious about this: I can feel some tiny little movements in there. Crazy, I know, but true.

We’re going to bring Avery with us so she can see the new baby, not that she’ll really care, but this is more for us than her I guess. My husband wanted all of us to be there because “it should be a family thing.” I think that is really sweet of him.

In other news: I have yet another cold and I am literally dragging myself through the day here at work. I have a feeling I will not be returning after lunch.

a snapshot of family life

Each time I pick up the camcorder to record something Avery is doing, and husband is not in the room, I call out “I’m recording!” and then procede with my filming. So at the beginning of every single one of our home movies, you will hear me yelling out this warning. Every single one. I call it a warning because this is exactly what it is. I am trying to preserve our precious memories in such a way that they are free from ‘daily occurrences’ in our house that might either, a)embarrass us in the future when we are watching these videos, or b) render them completely unwatchable due to any one or even all of the following:

Language peppered with the word “fuck” in its various and varied forms.

Brief nudity (usually this occurs when husband come out of the kitchen to offer me a taste of what he is preparing for dinner and either has his pants pulled down to display his ass when he walks away, or the other form which involves the front of his pants and a zipper. I won’t go into this one, suffice it to say that these happen regularly enough to warrant my concern over them showing up on video).

Mother-in-law insults. Example: On one of our Christmas videos, I say “Sounds like what your mother does every night” in response to my husband instructing me to “put some alcohol (rubbing alcohol) on it” in reference to the cleaning and disinfecting of Avery’s high chair.

Our wrong and sometimes wholly inappropriate way of joking around with each other.

Arguments, name calling etc.

As careful as I am with this one part of our private lives, it did not stop me last evening from walking out onto the back patio, with baby in arms, while telling husband that I thought he was “a dick” and that I was “sick of listening to his shit” to the auditory delight of all of our neighbors who were outside barbequing their dinners.

Classy.

making it all worthwhile...

The other night the husband and I were sitting on the floor, watching TV and playing with Avery. My husband had Avery on his lap and they were looking at one of her books. At one point I glanced over at them and saw my husband nuzzling the back of Avery's neck with his nose. It was the sweetest thing I have ever seen.

Having a baby with my husband has made me fall in love with him all over again. Although I would never admit this to him cause I'm such a hard ass. Though having Avery has made things stressful at times and put a strain on our marriage some days, watching my husband hold her and care for her is like an aphrodisiac.

Makes me want to have another baby. Almost.