Part Two

This is what it's like to have... whatever I have.

• Doing anything sucks. It's physically difficult for me to do simple everyday things, like:
• Put the brown sugar away. I thought to myself: Wouldn't it be easier just to take two seconds and put it in the cupboard now? That way it won't contribute to a bigger mess. You have do do it sooner or later anyway. Put the damn sugar away. Put it away. Don't leave it there. Don't walk away. You can do this. Your husband shouldn't have to deal with the pointless messes you make. It's easy. Put. It. Away.  It's still on the counter.
• Call the clinic and set up an appointment for the hobgoblin. He needs an appointment. Nothing bad is going to happen to you if you call. He's overdue for a checkup. You don't have to go out right now. You don't have to wrangle your children. You just have to pick up the phone. Just pick up the phone. I haven't called.
• Wash the dishes. It's not that hard. I don't get grossed out by the dirt in the sink, at least not enough for it to be a big deal. I'm just lazy. Lazy to the point that I'm fighting off tears because I want to be able to do this stuff without it turning into a big deal. I want to be like a normal person, who doesn't start shaking at the idea of doing a boring chore that I don't care for. The dishes aren't done.
• Call my Dad for father's day. Like, why? Why is that hard? Yes, conversations with my Dad can be awkward, but I don't dread them. I'll see him. Say, Happy father's day. How's it going? Show him the boys. No big deal. I didn't call.
• Downloading the software I need. I need it. I literally cannot work on anything to even attempt to have a work-at-home job without this software. It's not that expensive, not really. I tell myself, just boot up Windows and download the software. But I'm lazy. I'm so fucking lazy that the 30 seconds it's going to take to reboot the computer doesn't seem worth it. Nothing seems worth it. Because I also tell myself, You're going to fail at this, the way you've failed at everything. You can't focus, you can't complete anything. You've given up on school, not only when you dropped out, but a second time, before you even got close to going back. You are going to work menial crap jobs the rest of your life. Just download the software and try. But I don't. I still don't have the software.
• Doing things that are actually difficult is impossible. Things like:
• Editing my book. Yeah, I wrote a book. I've written several, actually, published two. I try to be proud of that, but it feels like I'm faking. And this particular one I finished in... I'm going to say 2011? Maybe 2012. And it's been sitting, unedited, on various hard drives for over half a decade.
• Work on my other books. Intellectually I know what I have to do: decide which one to focus on; commit to putting the others on the back burner; plot; write; plan artwork; make artwork; edit. Instead what I do is: nothing. After all, I don't even have the software necessary for the artwork. 
• Cleaning my closet. Yeah, no. I can't. I can't even contemplate that mess without shutting down. I'm kind of regretting thinking about it at all, actually, because I may have just ruined my whole day.
• Going to the store. You maybe think that going to the store belongs in the category above, of simple, everyday things. If that's the case, I assume you don't have a baby and a toddler. Because it's not just going to the store, it's a hurricane of chasing said toddler, changing said baby, putting on clothes, feeding, burping, getting spit up on, taking off clothes and putting on new ones, changing the baby again. Negotiating toddler clothing choices, pee breaks, finding keys, stocking the diaper bag, weather-appropriate considerations, where are the damn keys? Put your socks on. Put your socks on. You have to wear socks. Stand still, I'll do it. Forgetting my own socks. Where are the keys now? Forgetting the shopping list and deciding to wing it. Forgetting the baby blanket and giving up my jacket. Forgetting my sunglasses and feeling overwhelmed by my purse and the sun and the diaper bag and the jackets and hats and sweaters and everything else in the world and HOLY FUCK, THE REUSABLE GROCERY BAGS GOT LEFT AT HOME AGAIN. Still, I know it's doable. I know lots of people do it. No. It's better just to stay home.
• I'm not sleeping right.
• I'm always tired, but sleep is elusive. Sometimes I just have to stay awake until my physical exhaustion overpowers the noise in my brain.
• Once I'm asleep, it's deep. I feel physically heavy when I wake up. Like something is dragging me into the bed and pulling my eyelids closed.  Like I'm struggling to climb out of a hole with barbells tied around my ankles. 
• I can't finish anything I start. Not even this list.

There's so much to do and I just can't. 

When I Grow Up...

Firstly, I guess Whine in your blog and you shall receive is now a thing. The job I interviewed for where the manager was surprised to hear from me after not calling me back - I got it. My new boss said she knew she wanted me right away, but her bosses wanted her to interview more than one person, so she did that, then hired me :) It's not my dream job, but it's one I've done before and it's part time graveyards, so Mr. Wolfman doesn't have to bugger up his schedule except for my training, and I still get to be home with the Monster.

That kind of works as a segue into what I want to talk about, which is what I want to be when I grow up (aka, now).  When I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist and a writer. Maybe a jewelry maker or a carpenter, basically, I wanted to do something creative and work with my hands.

By the time I was 9, I wanted to have a highly technical engineering job, the title of which I didn't understand, even a little, and which no person I had ever heard of (real or imaginary) held. Translation: my mother convinced me that this mystery job would be the perfect thing for me, because, I assume, she thought it made her look good to have a kid who wanted to be a _______. When I told people that's what I wanted to be, they were always amazed or incredulous, and either one fed into my ego quite nicely. When they would ask what that job was, I would act like they were dumb, and tell them it was probably a little difficult to understand.

When, as a teenager, I stopped painting, because my hands shook too much when I tried to do detail, my parents just accepted it. They didn't, you know, try to find out why the fuck a teenage girl's hands shook uncontrollably (knowing what I do now, I'm guessing extreme anxiety, but unlike my parents, I'm not big on self-diagnosis). No, they just kind of collectively shrugged while I gave up something I had always loved and was kinda good at.

By the end of high school, one specific class with one fantastic teacher had me wanting to write again. But when I told my parents that I didn't think an English degree was going to help me in terms of becoming a published author, my mother convinced me to major in something totally different. Neither of us had any comprehension of what kind of jobs you could get with that major (spoiler: one other than teaching - and I didn't want to do it or teach), but she talked me into it, nonetheless.

Anyway, all this ranting and woe is me stuff aside, I started thinking a couple of days ago about joining the local artists' guild; about doing some paintings and possibly, when I've gotten good enough, selling them. I've been seriously wanting to make jewelry again since 2012. I've written and illustrated one children's book and I'm working on another... and today, walking home from the store, it hit me: I should just effing do it.

I grew up. Now it's time to be who and what I want. I want to write. I want to paint - and I'm going to.

Happy New Year (resolutions and so forth)

Wow.  So it's 2016.  The year I turn 30.  And the third year the little monster will live in.

I tend to waffle back and forth on the idea of resolutions.  In 2009 I made 52, one for every week... I think I've done most of them, now.  This year, I went ahead and made some.  Only 3, but they're kinda complicated.

1. Take better care of myself (body and mind)
• Get into and stick with therapy.
• Eat less crap
• Exercise regularly
2. Work on my writing
• Finish writing, editing and illustrating 2 children's books & publish both
• Create from scratch at least one additional children's book & publish it
• Edit first draft of existing novel; get it professionally edited & published. 
• (Ideally, get at least 3 of these published before my birthday.  I want 5 published books before I'm 30)
3. Work on my education
• Complete at least one of 2 auxiliary courses and figure out and implement a long term plan to complete my university degree.

I also have some Monster-related resolutions, but they include effort from both Mr. Wolfman and the Monster, so they're not 100% up to me.  But what I'd like to see:

1. Potty train the monster before the end of the year.
2. Wean the monster before the end of the year (or, you know, right now would be good)
3. Get the monster in his own room
4. Not really a resolution, but I would really love it if the monster would be sleeping through the night before 2017.

So, that's me.  Step one, call for a therapy appointment and a regular Dr. appointment* first thing on Monday.  I've already finished my last Dr. Pepper (from last night) and only put one of my normal 2 sugars in my latte this morning.

I think I'll go fold up the playpen so I can get going on MonsterResolution #3.

PS, I'll probably post a decent amount about the resolutions in the coming months, just to keep myself accountable.

*The symptoms I was experiencing were a false alarm (kinda bummed), but obviously something's up, so I need to see the doc and find out what (maybe thyroid?).  Dr. Illegible is away, and I got stuck seeing Dr. Condescension (and will have to see him again for the results of my bloodwork).

Waaah, Life is Hard

I'm sick.  The monster is sick.  Mr. Wolfman is sick.

I don't know what we've got, exactly, but it's an achy-jointed, sore-throated, fevery, sleepy, sweaty mucous-fest up in here.  Those sayings, death warmed over, feel like I got hit by a truck - they apply.

My sister and her family have the same.  Who caught it from whom is unknown and unknowable and unimportant.  We're all miserable.

Through it all, the monster is in good spirits. Mostly happy to play by himself or look at his books.  He did spend about three hours refusing to be put down yesterday.  Not easy for me, since he's 25ish pounds, but what can you do?

I ran into an acquaintance yesterday, on my grocery run for ginger ale and Halls (I forgot the Halls, goddamnit). She has a little one a couple of months older than the monster and we looked like we were going to be mummy friends, but I had to take a step back, because despite the fact that I was able to keep my mouth shut about her questionable parenting choices, she was not able to offer me the same courtesy.

So, she's chatty, and we're friendly.  She was out with her baby and I told her I don't want to get too close, because the monster and I are both hella sick.  Her response, "Oh, she had her vaccines."

WHAT?  Like, lady, I don't have rubella.  I really doubt your baby has been vaccinated against what I have.  WTAF?

So anyway, I move a few feet away to chat with her, because even if she doesn't care, I don't want her tiny little daughter to get sick.

So then we get talking about what I have, and I explain we have had fevers etc, and she recommends a home remedy against coughing and sore throat which sounds like it could work.  Honey and black pepper and stuff.  And then she tells me that I can give it to the monster, which I just kinda blink at because, no.

But it's fine, she tells me.  People say not to give honey to babies, but she's been giving her daughter honey since 5 months and she's ok.  OF COURSE SHE FUCKING IS. SHE WOULD BE DEAD IF THE HONEY HAD BEEN CONTAMINATED.  Babies don't have the ability to fight off botulism, or whatever kind of botulism bacteria that may be present in honey. It isn't always there. It isn't even usually there. If it is there, they will die. Fucking read a book, woman.

And yes, her kid is now at the one year mark they recommend waiting until - she's the size of a 5 month old, but she's technically old enough.  Now.

So yeah. That's my fever rant.  I wish I could say that I'm going to bed, but alas.

Mr. Sicky Pants

I'm going to make this short, because I need to clean and do a better job of baby proofing. Most of the cleaning is laundry, because my monster puked everything yesterday.  He puked so much that puke became a transitive verb.

We were in the ER until after midnight, the second time we've visited in just over a week.  The poor little monkey turned into that creepy muppet from The Exorcist, and sprayed the couch, me and himself with vile puke water.  He had to get a suppository in the hospital, which he pooped out with vile sulphurous poop within a few minutes.  If he starts throwing up again today, I have to give him another one.

All in all, I think this is harder on me, than him.  We got home last night and he nursed and went to sleep, then I stayed up and cried, freaked out about everything.  But when he's not actively being sick, he's a happy, active baby.

Timeline-wise, I'm convinced that he caught this thing from Mr. Wolfman's bosses and their baby-grabbing grossness.  It was the day after the company dinner that he first refused solids, and he's been getting sicker since then.  I seriously want to injure whoever did this to my baby.

What?!

The little monster just took his first unassisted step.  Just one, but whoa.

Someone please tell this kid he's only 6 months old; he seems to have missed the memo.

Yesterday was a terrible day.  Monster was fussy all night the night before and despite actually making a schedule and sticking to it, the day came unhinged pretty early.  10 was to be oatmeal AM, but he turned down solids for the 4th straight day, then got sick.  Like, vomitty sick.  After calling a hotline for help, he started puking up bile, then he went all limp and for a second, I really felt like I might lose him.

He perked up enough that I just took him to the ER instead of calling for an ambulance.  Luckily, Dr. Illegible was the ER doc, so he knows us and the monster put up with being examined.

Today, other than the occasional sicking up, you'd never know there was anything wrong with him. He's just a happy, amazing baby. He's going to be a (wonderful) handful when he's feeling 100%.