So...

That little ticker on the side of my blog there → has me freaked out. That stork is getting pretty close to my imaginary cottage.

I did fill out a lot of stuff in my planner and get a few things checked off my list today (including finally making a chore chart), so I feel a little better, but generally, I'm pretty overwhelmed.

On the brightest of sides, Mr. Wolfman and I took another look at our budget and it turns out I can take a year off when the Hobgoblin gets here. So no more night shift insanity for me, at least not the kind you get paid for. I'm hoping I can take that year to make a really solid plan and then actually launch into (the beginnings of) a new career when I do go back to work. If daycare still isn't an option for us, I'll just have to find something I can do from home.

Xmas Woes

Can I just whine for a minute?

So, last night, with daylight savings time, my shift went from 8 hours to 9 hours. Ok, that sucks, but it's an extra hour of pay, so whatever. I only got two hours of sleep yesterday afternoon because pregnancy heartburn has set in and it's kicking my ass. Luckily, it was a pretty quiet night, no extra work for me, so other than extreme tiredness, it was pretty good.

Until my manager showed up. Not that I have anything against her, but I'd asked her for Christmas eve off (not Christmas, just the one day) because my schedule has me working Xmas eve, Xmas, New Years Eve and New Years. So, I thought, hell, maybe she'll see that it's insane and wildly unfair for me to have to work every single important holiday (oh yeah, Thanksgiving, too) in the fall/winter, and I offered to work any other shift that week, or the next week, or whenever the guy who would be taking over for me wanted, if I could just have Xmas eve off. No dice. Apparently it wouldn't be fair because he has to work New Year's Eve, because everyone in my department has to work that day, because we're supposedly insanely busy. So... it's fair for me to work NYE and Xmas eve and Xmas and NYD, but not for him.

She said I can talk to him and if he's happy to switch with me, then she doesn't mind. This guy (the only other person trained in my role) is the biggest asshole. I fully intend to ask him, to be as sweet as pie, to keep my original offer to work literally any other night he wants me to. I'll bake him cookies, I'll bring him dinner, whatever he wants - but I fully expect him to say no. He has no family in town and I'm pretty sure he never leaves his house except for work (we live in a very small town and I have literally never seen him outside of work, ever). Other colleagues have told me he hates Christmas and thinks it's stupid, but he just seems like the type of person to get a kick out of making people's lives miserable. He's rude to our customers, to our coworkers, to everyone. When he trained me, I would ask questions and he would go on 25 minute tirades designed to make me feel stupid (none of which ever answered what I'd asked). Management seems to see him as a loveable grump. If he was my employee, he'd have been fired long ago.

And this is who I have to hope has a little compassion so that I can actually enjoy Christmas with my kid. I don't think I should get special treatment because of the monster, but I'd like to think that if I had a business and one of my employee's regular schedule had them working on every single winter holiday, that I'd move things around so that everyone at least had the chance to celebrate.

Mr. Wolfman and I combine our cultures' Christmases, so we celebrate his way on the 24th (traditional meal, one gift each) and my way on the 25th (stockings, one more small gift, turkey dinner).
Except this year, it will look like:

I go to bed when Mr. Wolfman gets home from work on the 24th (3:30pm). Mr. Wolfman cooks the entire meal alone while watching DS because I need to sleep. 7-8pm, I wake up and we have dinner and one present, then I go to work. Come home at 7:30am. Maybe DS can squeeze his stocking in there, because Mr. Wolfman starts work at 8. Then Mr. Wolfman gets home at 3:30 and I go to bed. No turkey dinner because I have to sleep and I'm not going to ask Mr. Wolfman to cook a way more complicated meal that I won't even have time to eat. And then I work all night and come home on boxing day... which I guess is when we get our Xmas day presents.

FUCK.

I am well aware that this falls squarely in the realm of a first world problem. I know it's just a date. I know that there are people who are starving, people who can't even spend one day of the holidays with their families, people who would balk at 6 presents and a stocking (and an advent calendar) for a family of 3, who would never waste money on two big, elaborate meals in as many days. But it still sucks. And I still ugly cried the entire 15 minute walk home this morning. And yeah, I'm crying right now.

I'm really afraid this will ruin the whole season for me, that I'll lose it every time I look at Christmas lights or someone asks me about my holiday plans. This is the first year that the monster is going to be interested in anything going on around Christmas and his last year as an only child. I wanted it to be really special for him. And part of me knows it still can be, if I stop being a weepy mess, but at the moment, that seems impossible.

FUCK.

Update

• Day 2 of work was pretty ok. 
• Mr. Wolfman got the monster to sleep without me (yay!); the monster woke up to nurse when I got home and went right back to bed.
• I bought the monster a toy dinosaur today, assuming he'd love it. He hates it. That was the last of my cash from selling his bouncer chair.  Booo. I hope I haven't turned him off dinosaurs, because he's getting a dino colouring book for Easter.
• I sold something online for a friend for $200 more than he paid for it, so that was cool.
• I met the guy who will be training me for work next week. He's a dick.
• There's a potty training plan and explanation in my head, but I'll save that post for another day.
• SLEEEEEEP

Welp.

I'm heading back to work, after over a year and a half.

It's only part time, and once I'm done my training, it'll be overnight.  So I'll get to spend my days with the monster.  But still.  Tomorrow will be the longest I've ever spent away from him.

Tomorrow is also the start of 2 weeks of training, wherein I'll be working in the daytime 6 days one week, then 4 nights the following week (and, while my body gets used to this, that means sleeping most of the day, while Mr. Wolfman is home).

I know it needs to be done, and a little part of me is excited to get out of the house. A much bigger part of me is excited to have a little bit of money, to clear the debt that's been mounting the last couple of months, to save for school, to think about buying stuff that I want, rather than only stuff I need.

But, damn.  When the monster was maybe 4/5 months, I would have jumped at a full time job. Not that I didn't love spending time with him, just that I was likely suffering PPD and PPA and needed to get the Hell out of the house. Now? I just want to snuggle him and play with him and watch him grow and bask in the wonder that is witnessing him learn new words and concepts and develop his personality.

I'm scared I'm going to miss stuff. I'm scared Mr. Wolfman won't remember to message me every time the monster does something new or cute or silly. And, of course, even if he does, I'm not going to be playing on my phone or Facebook or whatever while I'm at work.

I know this is kind of a whiny post, which is silly, considering my last whiny post was about how badly I needed/wanted a job.  I am grateful that I found something, especially something that fits with Mr. Wolfman's schedule and doesn't require outside childcare. It's just that I miss him already.

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.

Can Someone Please Just Hire Me?

The job search continues.

Honestly, I didn't think it would be this hard to find something after the monster was born. I've bounced from menial job to menial job most of my life, but I'm good at writing resumes, and at finding things to help me get by.

This time, when I actually have a plan - namely work some crap job until I can save enough for further qualifications, then get a slightly less crap job - everything falls apart. I keep having all these promising things come up and then at the last minute, kabloohey. I was all but promised a bookkeeping job, only to have the guy flake on me at the last minute, then offer me a serving(??) job at a cafe for "slightly less" (the commute would have made this useless financially). I got most of the way through the interview and training process for an online job, only to fail the final test because their results were totally arbitrary and they refused to acknowledge bugs within the tests. I had an interview and was told I'd hear back on Wednesday; crickets. Called Thursday and was told I'd definitely hear something within the week... so here's hoping that that's true, because the lady seemed really surprised to hear from me on Thursday.  Of course the job market sucks right now. It doesn't help that I live in a town that does whatever it can to avoid paying people a living wage.  I have to look for part time work, because I won't be able to afford childcare, with my (lack of) education.

Mr. Wolfman decided to work two jobs last summer, despite my protests. He earned more than the cap for individual earnings for our subsidized housing, and now, even though I don't work and we have zero money, we're probably going to have to move somewhere less nice and more expensive. I have been telling him for 5 years that he needs to figure out where he wants to be and what he wants to do, so we can go there and work toward him doing it - and so that I can finally put some serious work into doing what I want to do, without having an impending move / start everything over / whatever hanging over my head.  I've been begging him for over a year to sit down and make a 5 year plan with me.  I guess it's a four year plan now? He doesn't seem to get that I don't want to be starting a tide us over career at 30. I want to actually have a fucking plan of what I'm going to do with my life. Because right now, I'm very well on my way to being that mum whose whole world implodes the minute her kids move away, because she doesn't have any kind of life of her own. His plan, right now, is to wait and see where we are in Summer 2017 and then make a plan - and apparently I'm nuts for thinking that waiting ANOTHER FUCKING YEAR before starting to make a plan is a really dumb idea.

So that is my rant for this evening.  I've spent today trying desperately to find something that fits with Mr. Wolfman's schedule, and applying for everything I find. If I don't get something soon, I'm pretty sure he's going to start making noise about how he has to work two jobs again... 'cause, you know, ruining my last two summers just wasn't enough.

On Being Poor & "Must Be Nice"

Possibly I'm extra emotional about this today because my kitchen is a disgusting mess*. I grew up with a kitchen that was a perpetual disgusting mess, and this is dredging up all sorts of childhood unpleasantness. But I don't want to talk about messy kitchens, I want to talk about being poor (and yes, I recognize that there are plenty of poor people with clean, not disgusting kitchens).

This post was sparked by a couple of threads on my birth board, but I already know it's going to be waaaay too long for Babycenter, which is why I'm putting it here - that, and I'm not really looking for advice.

The first thing, was the assertion that poor people don't home school - and by extension, poor kids don't get home schooled (and have better access to post secondary, more opportunities, etc, etc.).  The second was a comment basically saying that parents who advocate no screen time for toddlers must have hired help to prepare their meals and clean their house.

To both opinions, let me just say, Fuck you.

I hate this attitude that if you make decisions for the benefit of your family (and I have no intention here to wax poetic on the joys** of being homeschooled, or the evils of watching TV - not what I'm getting at right now), if you make sacrifices and take what you believe to be the high road / better path / worthwhile detour / what the hell ever - then, somehow, you must have had the cards stacked in your favour. You must be some sheltered, middle class, lucky bastard, because how else would you avoid handing your toddler a tablet? How else could you make decisions regarding your kids' education on anything other than convenience?

I was raised poor. Dirt fucking poor (and yet, still nowhere near as poor as a lot of kids elsewhere in the world. This isn't a pity party). So poor that Mr. Wolfman, after being with me for 5 years, is still shocked by stories from my childhood. We were frequently without food, hot water and heat. I took out massive student loans to go to university, loans which, 10 years and no degree later, still haunt me.

So the it must be nice attitude really gets to me.  Because everything I have (not a lot, materially speaking), I worked for. We have a nice, modest apartment, nicer than anywhere I've ever lived before. We have heat, hot water and food on the table - and honestly, those things alone make this the best living situation I've ever had. Mr. Wolfman and I have worked hard for this, and we work hard to raise the Monster the best way we can.

So yeah, it is nice that we have a child who can entertain himself (usually) long enough for us to cook dinner, but then, we raised him that way. And yes, it is nice that I've been able to spend as much time home with him as I have, but I worked and saved and budgeted to be able to do that, and now that that option is no longer financially viable, I'm looking for work.

I'm sure it's nice for those parents who want to home school to do that, but I'm equally sure that it's not without sacrifice. It's not an option that's just magically available to them; they have to work for it. Just like I'll work to get the monster into extra curriculars, just like Mr. Wolfman and I will always work, as hard as we need to, to do what we feel is best for our child(ren).

So you can take your hired help and well-off theories and shove them up your ass. If you want something in this world, you have to be willing to work for it. At least that's how it's always been for me.

*My dishwasher broke and sprayed dirty food all over the load that was in there. I thought it was a freak thing, and tried again... so now there are 3 loads worth of dishes piled on the counter, 1 that came out dirty and 2 that built up during attempts to get the first load clean.  And yeah, I could wash them by hand, but I actually feel an anxiety attack coming on every time I go in the kitchen, right now.

**in my opinion, all but nonexistent

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).

While The Monster Sleeps

Damn.  It's already evening, and I have done nothing today.  Yesterday was supposed to be my getting stuff done day, but I barely slept and then I was all-caps ILL.  I ended up throwing up, and then when I went back to the bathroom to throw up again, had time to call out to Mr. Wolfman that I was going to pass out, before falling on the floor and doing just that.  The last thing I remember is the door hitting me in the head as he burst in to rescue me.  Had a small seizure, Mr. Wolfman said it only lasted a minute (it was the first of mine he's ever seen).  He handled it like a champ (cold water on my face, so nice.  Who knew?) though he was pretty alarmed by the colour I turned. Woke up punching the bathroom scale, causing the monster to cry.

So now Mr. Wolfman is on his 16 hour days from Hell and I'm already massively stressed and still feeling pretty assy.

I was going to go to the dollar store for supplies for a sparkly water bottle thing, and a doorstop so that I can use the building's laundry room without worrying that someone is going to open the heavy metal door into LO's head.  But I'm pretty sure they're closed.  So, yeah. Tomorrow, I guess.

Other than being a clingy fuss face, the little monster is doing so great.  He's walking most of the time now, pointing at stuff, playing jokes on us (his favourite, to stick his finger in his mouth, then try to stick it in mine and laugh evilly at my reaction) and just being generally wonderful.

I'm looking forward to my parents coming, and I'll admit that a huge part of that is to show off how great my son is. I am a little nervous about possible confrontations, because anything that comes up will likely be something I've been mulling over for a while, but to them, it's going to seem like it's coming out of left field.  IE: if my father uses the term milk wagon to refer to me, he'll get one warning and if it happens again, he'll be asked to leave.  If he accuses me of being crazy for not wanting him flashing a camera in my sleeping baby's face, same thing.  Grabby hands, and hand the kid over will be shut down. It's not likely to come up, but forced affection, discipline of any kind, feeding without asking first, sharing food, same thing.  

All that, I know is reasonable.  But I am going to have to keep myself in check, because after their last visit, I'm pretty sure that them even looking at my monster wrong is going to set me off.  So I'll probably have to replay things in my head and possibly be liberal in dispensing benefit of the doubt. The nice thing, though, is that he doesn't need to be held, so they can't act like they're doing me a favour by taking him. He can play in his play area (aka the entire living room) and they can sit and watch or play with him, but they don't need to (and he probably won't let them) hold him all the time.

Also, since Mr. Wolfman decided to take on the extra hours, and then, despite my telling him I 100% NEEDED to be driving before my parents' visit, did not get the license necessary to teach me to drive our standard car (which we've now had for a year and a half), so I have no transportation for my parents' visit, which means either relying on them (not thrilled as they're not good drivers and never have a reliable car) or not going anywhere outside of walking distance. So, yeah, there's that.

Ugh, wasn't intending to turn this into a whiny post.  I've had enough of those lately, and will likely have more in the nearish future (got some terrible news recently that I need to work through) and my aim for this one was not that.

Ok, enough for now.

 

Finally

I finally set up an appointment to see my therapist.  It's not until the 26th (thankfully, that's the day before my parents arrive, so I won't need to have that conversation.  I'm realizing, slowly, that it would be a conversation, since "I have an appointment" would, at the very least, be met by expectant stares).

I really, really need that appointment, especially with Mr. Wolfman going back into the insane work schedule for another 5 weeks, as of today.

And now I need to cut this short. I'm getting irrationally mad at my toddler (he toddles, officially a toddler) for pushing boundaries, specifically, pulling on the power cord and opening the DVD drive repeatedly.

Extract Foot, Insert Humble Pie

This has been a long time coming.

I grew up with two parents who worked* and whether intentionally or not, they instilled in me a disdain for mothers who opted to stay at home.  When I was younger, I would use derogatory terms for them, like Suzy Homemaker and swear I'd never be one. I needed more from my life.

When my sister had her first, and became a stay at home mom, I was shocked by how messy her house always was, how she could spend days playing video games instead of doing fun activities with her daughter, how sometimes dinner didn't get on the table until 8:00pm.  Taking care of her house and child was all she had to do, after all.

Frankly, I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about - and neither does anyone else who's never been a stay at home parent.

It's hard to put into words the sheer emotional drain that's caused by being needed every second of every day, of waking up one morning and realizing that you're actually looking forward to taking a poo that afternoon, because it is the only time you'll get to yourself.  Of knowing that, no matter how drained you are, how little sleep you've had in the past week (or, let's be realistic, year), no matter how much you just want to curl into a ball and do nothing for, like, ten seconds, you need to buck up, suck it up and bring your A Game, Princess. Of knowing that this is your life, now and forever, no backsies.

Not that I want to take it back.  I love my son, and I'm so, so glad that I get to witness his milestones as they happen, and cherish those quiet moments that are completely insignificant to everyone outside of my family, rather than having them disappear into history unobserved.  Right now, my monster is asleep in my lap, 99% calm, 1% sensing my agitation, but comfortable, content, and loved.  My Dr. Pepper is getting flat and warm out of reach, and there's stuff I need to do around the house, but I'm the luckiest Mum alive, and I know it.

Today, Mr. Wolfman let me nap while he cleaned the kitchen.  A gold star moment, one would think. I got up and told him thank you for the glorious nap.  He told me he doesn't know what I'm doing all day, the baby was paying quietly and he managed to get the whole kitchen clean. He can't even understand where the mess on the counter came from**.  It felt like I got punched in the gut. May as well tattoo inadequate on my forehead right now.

Yes, I'm mad at him. Yes, I've told him.  But I can't work up the red hot ire that's become part of my day-to-day the past few months, for a couple of reasons. 1) I don't have the energy and 2) He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. Oh, the baby was good for you for a whole hour and you got the kitchen clean? La-dee-frickin'-da. Now try not having a full night's sleep in over a year, spending months not being able to walk properly, give up half-your caloric intake to someone else and while you're at it, scrape some teeth across your tender nipples like ten times a day, and then clean the fucking kitchen.

Pity partying and ranting aside, it got me to thinking about how judgmental and ridiculous I was before having the monster and how completely ignorant I was about stay at home parenting. So I'd like to take a moment to sincerely apologize to every stay-at-home parent who I secretly judged, thinking that they had it easy, thinking that I had it harder as a working singleton.  Please forgive me; I knew not what I did.

Honestly, I feel like being a working parent would be easier in a lot of ways, but in no way can you quote me on that; I'm done with making assumptions and talking out my ass.

*My mom was and has always been a huge workaholic, my dad has always worked long shifts to make ends meet.

**Um, that would be from cooking pasta sauce from scratch at your request, only to have you order takeout, decide to eat it later, then not eat it later, as well as cooking a separate batch for the monster without salt or onions, only to have him throw it all over the floor the second it was placed in front of him, thankyouverymuch.

That about sums it up

So, I saw this yesterday evening, when I really needed to see it. It gives me hope, but it also drives home that I need help.  I can't get out of this on my own.

I don't believe I have chronic depression, but the way he describes the loud room, and all you can do is deal with how loud it is - that pretty much sums up how I've felt since getting back from the hospital. Actually, no.  How I've felt since my parents' visit.  I was tired as fuck, but I was coping pretty well before they came.*

There have definitely been moments of pure joy, but mostly I am just overwhelmed.  The monster is truly amazing, but I get hung up on his neediness and it's all I can do to just get through the day.

I don't know if I need medication, but I definitely need to go back to therapy.  I haven't been back since my last post - everything is just getting on top of me.  I was going to call today, and instead ended up scrubbing diarrhea out of my carpet.  So there's that.  Now I have to clean the kitchen and cook dinner and throw myself off the balcony.

OK, not that last part, but damn.  I need something.

Mr. Wolfman only has 1 more 16 hour day, then tomorrow is an 8 hour, then one day off.  But he's already said he's spending tomorrow afternoon sleeping, so I guess I don't get a break?

This was supposed to be a relatively upbeat post because of how much that video helped me last night, but now I'm just pissed off at the situation I'm in.  Mostly because I feel like I should just be able to snap out of it, but partially because I feel like I shouldn't have to.  I mean, if I had two jobs, but only needed one and Mr. Wolfman was telling me daily that he was struggling, not coping, drowning, needed help - I'd fucking quit one of my jobs. Or at the very least, call in sick for one day and try to work through it - or something.  I sure as shit wouldn't be signing up to take on extra hours in the fall.

I get that he just wants to provide for the family, and I get that with me not working, that must be a lot of stress on him.  But fuck.  I don't know how to get him to understand that I'm just not handling it well. I'm not cut out to be a stay at home mum generally and/or I have postpartum depression.  And, even though I know this likely isn't the case, I feel like a bath (alone, and without a crying baby on the other side of the door) and 8 hours of sleep could easily solve everything.

That's a pipe dream, of course.  It isn't going to happen.

Right.  Cooking and cleaning.  Time for myself is just a silly idea, and I should put it out of my head.


*Not saying my parents gave me PPD, but their visit was ill-timed and certainly didn't help matters. And I do think that all their baby-hogging and all of my Dad's weird, passive aggressive comments and shit did a number on my brain.

Ok, so she's a therapist...

... and I had to cancel my last appointment.

Mr. Wolfman has decided to work 2 jobs again this summer, despite the fact that I made it pretty clear I'd rather he didn't. Again.  I mean, he can obviously make his own decisions about what he does with his time, but, as I pointed out to him, he's also deciding what I'm going to do with my time, because now I'm 100% responsible for the monster, 100% of the time.

Plus 100% of the housework (although Mr. Wolfman did clean on his singular day off, so I just have to maintain the status quo).

This is a wonderful (not quite) paradox.  The more Mr. Wolfman works, the more stressed I get, the more moments of anger and anxiety I feel, the more I need therapy.  But, the more he works, the less time I have for therapy.  He only has one day off (not my regular appointment day) and everything non-work-related or that needs a car, needs to be done that day.  Woo fucking hoo. Still, I'm going to call and see if I can move my appointment to that day.

On top of missing out on therapy, the farmer's market which I've been looking forward to all winter is now a no-go, because even though Wolfman has that day off, it's (as above) his only day off.  And even if I wanted to be mean and tell him, too bad, you can spend 5 hours looking after the monster that day, I can't because I have no time to make anything to sell, no time to pump, no time for anything.

We'd also planned on being really outdoorsy this summer, going hiking and such. Yeah, no.  Looks like I just get to push the monster around town in the stroller and occasionally go to the park.

Ok, this is getting a little woe-is-me, so I'm going to cut myself off before I launch into the rant about not being able to drive anywhere... ugh.

My First Mother's Day

Well, fuck a duck.  I went to bed at 10 because I just wanted it over, if that's any indication.  The highlight of my day was a little girl in line for the bathroom telling me she liked my hair.

Mr. Wolfman had to work, which is fine. I'm glad he didn't do breakfast in bed or anything, because he would have had to wake me up ass early, which I wouldn't have liked.  I'd been on the couch with the little monster since about 2am anyway, so I'd been sleeping pretty poorly for most of the night.

He didn't say anything to me, which is less fine, but I figured, whatever.  I think mother's day is a different day in his country (although, come to think of it, his mother messaged me to wish me a happy mother's day, so maybe not).

I didn't have much planned.  It was a beautiful day, and I thought about taking the monster to the park, but I figured it would be crazy busy. I sent my mom a happy mother's day message and she responded a little while later, so I asked her to Skype, but she was still out with her mother (I can picture her just sitting at the table playing on facebook, instead of talking to my grandmother) and would be home in an hour.  I told her to enjoy the rest of lunch.  I did not tell her I'd be home in an hour, but she assumed I would be.

I decided to go to the store and get myself lunch. I spent forever getting the monster ready, because he's somehow hitting the terrible twos at 7.5 months, and was having a meltdown every 10 seconds, most notably because I made him wear socks. I didn't put sunscreen on him, so by the time I realized that just because my mother was expecting me to be online when she got back from lunch, it didn't mean I had to be, we were already half-way to the grocery store.  I didn't want to keep him out in the sun too long, so I ended up going straight home after shopping anyway.

I Skyped my mom, said hello to her and my gran, then heard my cousin's* voice from another room.  My mom informs me that said cousin has come to take her to tea, and my computer promptly dies.  I get my computer booted up less than five minutes later, and my mom has left.

Ok, whatever.  So I feed the monster and putter around the house, generally having an unproductive, stupid day, trying to figure out what I want to do when Mr. Wolfman gets home. Because I'm ridiculous and a glutton for punishment, I actually call my mom back and talk to her (she says hi to the monster before me, and ignores me in favour of him for most of the call) and I don't tell her that she's just blown me off, mid-call for the 3rd time in a week.  There was also a lot of her going on about how they couldn't afford to visit this month like they'd hoped and a lot of what I can only assume were hints that they should stay with us.  They were horrible house guests last time, so I just agreed that it sucked they can't come now, but maybe in the fall and blah, blah, blah.

Mr. Wolfman came home during the end of this convo. and told me that his boss had invited us for a BBQ.  I asked if he'd forgotten what day it was, and was surprised that he hadn't. I told him I didn't think we'd be spending mother's day with his boss.

Said goodbye to my mom, finally got to use the bathroom (the monster had been crazy most of the day, and didn't want to sit in his playpen for any length of time, unless I stayed in the room and stared at him) and by the time I came out, it had been decided that we were going to this BBQ.

I didn't want to let it ruin the day, so I said fine, the only thing I wanted for mother's day was a family picture, so we were going to do that first.

Again with getting ready taking 100 years. The food I'd gotten for lunch made me feel sick, so I wasn't hungry, but Mr. Wolfman was, so he got food and then we got dressed, got the monster dressed, etc.  So the beautiful day had turned into an overcast day by now.  Or partially cloudy, I guess.  The sun was getting lower, but we apparently needed to go to the grocery store for snacks.

We get to a beautiful spot for taking pictures, then sit in the car and watch the light disappear as Mr. Wolfman eats the icecream he'd bought.  So, of course, by the time we actually go to take the pics, I'm in a shitty mood and the sun is behind the clouds and it's cold.  When it was still sunny, I'd dressed the monster in a cute outfit with short sleeves and I was wearing a dress that I bought 2 years ago and had been waiting for a chance to wear.

So we're standing around, in buggy air, horrible light, and cold.  It was too late when the sun did come out from behind the clouds, so the light was really harsh, and Mr. Wolfman seemed to think I should be shooting sunshine out my ass because we were getting to do what I wanted, so I said let's just forget it.

Mr. Wolfman was pissy because he said the pics we got were good and why wasn't I happy? I told him it didn't matter at this point whether the pics were good or not, because I'm just going to look at them in the future and be reminded how shitty my day was.  Wrong answer, I guess.  I told him let's just go to this stupid BBQ and then he didn't want to go with me like this.  But I told him we're going, and I'll pretend to smile and be nice to his work people.  As I see it, my day was already ruined, I wasn't going to let it be ruined for literally nothing. He said we would just go and say hi.  We were there for 2 hours.

The BBQ wasn't horrible.  It wasn't even remotely enjoyable, but I could have easily and happily withstood it on any other day.  The worst part was that the sun came back out, it got warm again and it turned into an absolutely perfect evening, weather-wise.  And I spent it listening to my husband's blowhard boss and his friends blather about nothing, try to give me food after I'd told them no thank you repeatedly and come up to me one-by-one to ask the same questions about the monster, over and over again.  Including what solids he's on, which is a major sore spot for me because, if you remember my Easter post, these are the same assholes who likely gave him the stomach bug which, a month ago, caused him to stop eating solids when he'd been eating really well. He still won't touch them.

We went for a short walk and went back to the car, whereupon Mr. Wolfman suddenly realized that I was upset (I told him I'd pretend to be happy for his work people and I had) and spent the rest of the night trying to cheer me up, and then being sad because I was sad.

That pisses me off. Like, I didn't give a shit about what you wanted to do today until the last minute.  Why are you so saaaaaad?  The worst thing is that he's genuinely upset that I'm upset, so now I feel guilty for being sad.  But fuck.

I don't even care about mother's day.  Not on the whole.  I think it's a dumb, made-up holiday.  I'm fairly certain that this was the only mother's day that will ever have mattered for me, because it was my first.  Because it was supposed to be some kind of... I don't know.  I don't even know. It wasn't supposed to be this.



*I don't talk to her at all.  She's never seen or met my son and never will.

This is Why I'm an Introvert

I went to a work dinner with Mr. Wolfman on Sunday.  The new owners of his business, a group of mostly-childless retirement-aged people, decided that Easter Sunday was a good day to get together with business partners and employees.  Since Mr. Wolfman and I aren't religious, and it meant I didn't have to cook, I figured whatever, so I went.

The little monster was asleep when we got there, so I parked his stroller in the corner, out of the way, and stood close by.  Probably ten times, various women either came up and asked if he was awake yet, or went and poked their head in the stroller.

When he did wake up, this woman, who I'd met when I came in maybe 20 mins before (and who I hadn't even spoken to beyond exchanging names) rushed over.  Then she held out her hands to take the monster from me.

I was so shocked, I just stared at her.

With her hands still stretched out, she said, "Oh, he looks so happy." and then, moving to take him from me, "Maybe he can come to me." 

I dodged her and said, "He's just waking up." Which was all I could think to say.

She stood there with her hands out until a colleague of my husband's, N* suggested maybe later.  Grabby Hands gave me one more pleading look, then got all butt hurt and wandered off.  

She was the worst, but everyone just kept coming up and touching his hands and looking longingly at him.  As a result, the people who I would have let hold him didn't get to, because I knew it would turn into a round of pass the baby.

The other weird thing that happened at the dinner was some weirdo trying to give the monster an egg to play with.  Like, an actual egg.  There were these loaves of bread as centre pieces with dyed hard-boiled eggs in them.  A new colleague of Mr. Wolfman's (not N*) who I hadn't met before pulled a bright orange egg, covered in bread bits out of the loaf and held it out to the monster from across the table.

I thought she was showing it to him, which I thought was weird, but whatever, I'm not going to police what someone shows my baby from a distance.  

Then she starts waving it around and going "Here, here" and leaning closer, so I told her, clearly, "He can't have that."

She kept holding it out to him, while N repeated that he couldn't have it, and said it was covered in stuff.  I probably repeated twice more that he couldn't have it, while she kept holding it out to him.

She got really indignant and said, "It's just bread!"

I said he can't have bread, or eggs, so she starts picking all the bits of bread off it, then tries to give it to him again.  My monster wasn't even remotely interested in it, or I would have said or done more.  But it was so weird, that even after I'd said no repeatedly, she just kept trying.  I learned in the course of dinner that she has a kid, so I guess that makes her an expert on what is/isn't safe to give to my 6 month old baby.

Eventually, N just took it from her, and put it on her own plate.

Chick got all sulky and muttered "Fine."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I hate people.  I seriously need to dig out my mama bear and get her claws shined up. The next person who doesn't listen when I say no is going to have Hell to pay.

Lift Off?

Well, not quite yet.

I know only about 4% of women go on their due dates, and I never really had an expectation of being one of them, so I wasn't really surprised to wake up this morning feeling much the same as I did last night.  A little snugglier, maybe, and a little more tempted to try to convince Mr. Wolfman to skip work.  But generally good and healthy and not crazily impatient.

I think part of this calmness stems from the fact that I have so much to do.  Normally, this would be a cause for great anxiety, but I think all the stuff that I need to get done is balancing my impatience to have my baby, and it's put me into a state of near neutrality.  Which is good, because if I was panicking right now, I definitely couldn't get the kitchen cleaned up and the laundry started, which I need to do before the little one gets here.  I'm so not going to be doing housework for at least a few days after the birth.

Today we have an appointment with Dr. Ladyhouse, to set up an appointment for an induction next week, if the little monster doesn't appear before that.  I still need to do some research on membrane sweeps to decide if I want one, but if I can avoid being given oxytocin, that would be a major plus.  Not looking forward to the exam, which I'm sure will be necessary today.  I'd really rather keep my lady parts between me and my husband, but what can you do?  More of that to come, anyway.

Anyway, we decided we'd better pack the car as if this is it, because the hospital is 40 mins away, so if I somehow go into labour on the way there, we're not going to be able to turn around pick up our go bags.  I'm going to bring my knitting, too, in case I do end up in the hospital.  I'm positive for Group B Strep, which means the first thing they'll do when I do get admitted is give me antibiotics for 3-4 hours.  It would be nice to get something done in that time and the blanket I've been working on is somewhere on my list of things to get done before the little one gets here.

Mr. Wolfman asked me to pack a bag for him for the hospital.  Little does he know, I bought him a new one and packed it weeks ago.  It's been hiding in the Little Monster's closet forever :)  It's supposed to be a surprise, though (I'm 90% sure he doesn't know the address of this blog), so I'm thinking I'll walk it over to his work and sneak it into the trunk of the car before he gets done... and just hope he doesn't need anything out of the trunk before he gets home.  I wanted to get him some comfy pajama pants for it, but there's nowhere around here to buy some.  If I can sneak away for a few minutes after we've seen Dr. Ladyhouse, I might have more luck.

So, that's it.  Or at least that's it for now.  Tempting as it is to sit here and play around online (which is all I feel like I've been doing since work ended), I actually do have things that need to get done, not the least of which is taking a shower.  I'm really wondering if my next post will include a baby or not.  Only time will tell.

39+1 (6 Days left)

So after my last really depressing post, I was ready to write a really cheerful one yesterday.  I was in such a good mood (despite some gross news at the Dr.'s) and I kept putting writing it off in favour of other things.

...and then Mr. Wolfman came home and announced that instead of having the next two days off (the last time off he'd have before the arrival of the little monster, the first days off he would have had in 5 weeks), he's decided to stay at his second job until Sunday.  Which means no days off and 16 hour days all weekend.  He won't be off again until my due date.

So, I have to apologize, but this is not going to be a happy post.

Went for my (hopefully final) prenatal checkup with my Dr. Ladyhouse on Tuesday, only to find out that Dr. Ladyhouse wasn't there and no one had bothered to call me.  They did keep the appointment with another Dr., who was pretty good, although I think I prefer Dr. Ladyhouse because she seems more straightforward.

Except.  On the subject of straightforwardness... I found out from my last visit with Dr. Illegible that I'm Group B+, which means that I have a nasty bacteria (which actually most people have) in my lady parts, and both he and Dr. Ladyhouse had explained that if I had this bacteria, they would need to start me on antibiotics as soon as either a) my water breaks or b) I go into labour.  What neither of them bothered to mention, but the other Dr. did, was that if my water breaks first, they'll induce me with oxytocin.

Not effing impressed.  Not just that I may have to be induced, because I understand that there's a medical reason that they can't do anything about.  Even though I really, really do not want an induction, I can recognize that it might turn out to be a necessity.  But is there a reason they couldn't have told me that before?  Like, say, when they told me about the Group B test... or, I don't know, when my results came back POSITIVE?  And now I'm just realizing that they're probably going to try to make me deliver in the hospital bed, because they'll want to keep me hooked up to the antibiotics for my whole labour (no one told me this either, I had to Google it).

If they do have to induce me, the pain is going to be way worse, which I can deal with, but it also greatly increases the chances of distress to the little monster and hugely raises the chances that I'll need a C section.  And I feel like if they force me to labour on my back, they may as well just cut me open and save the time, because that's just an illogical position to give birth in.  I mean, look at all other animals (and most other humans).  There's a reason they don't give birth that way.  Gravity, people.  Dr. Ladyhouse already told me that if I need a C section they'd give me an epidural because it's safer than general anesthetic, which is lovely, but I have relatives for whom the epi did literally nothing, so I'm thinking that's not necessarily going to be an option.

Between this crap and the fact that Mr. Wolfman and I are now not even going to have one day to spend together to get stuff ready (he's been working 2 jobs since before we moved into our current place, so we still don't even have our apartment set up normally, let alone ready for a baby) and enjoy our last moments of young couplehood, I'm just a weepy mess.  I feel totally overwhelmed and I can't even figure out what I could be doing, if I had enough energy to do it.  Which I don't, because on top of everything else, I'm sick.

Oh, and it was -6 when I got up this morning.  It's not even the 10th of September.

38 Weeks - 14 Days left!

Two posts in two days.  The mind reels.

So, I'm 38 weeks today, and I have 14 days left until my EDD.  That is effing close.

I feel... I don't know.  Right now, I feel lonely.

Mr. Wolfman is wonderful - beyond wonderful - and always here for me, when he's here.  But part of his being here for me and for the little monster is as a provider and he's taken on a temporary second job, just to get some extra money in the bank before the little one arrives.  He'll be back to just one job before the little one gets here, but right now he's working 80 hours a week, and I'm working 40, so we don't see very much of each other.  And since this is really our last time with it being just the two of us, I feel like we're missing out and it makes me sad.

And, through no one's doing but my own, I don't really have friends.  I shouldn't say that.  I have some wonderful friends, just not very many, and none of them are here, and of course they all have their own stuff going on, and I don't want to be the self-centred pregnant woman and go on and on about baby stuff - but I have nothing else going on right now.  I work, and I'm too tired to do anything else, so I feel like I have nothing to contribute to a conversation.  I can talk about what I watched on YouTube or an article I read, or about my increasingly unpleasant bodily functions, but not about anything I've actually done or seen recently.  And I'm starting to feel like this is going to get worse after the baby, because then everything I do will be baby related, and consequently, that's all I'll have to talk about.

My parents are in their 50s and don't have friends, and growing up I don't remember them having friends, and I don't want that - for myself, but especially for Mr. Wolfman, who is super social and really enjoys being around people - I feel like I'm taking that away from him because I just don't click with people.  I get exhausted around them, and feel anxiety at the thought of any social interaction with anyone I don't know really well.  I really don't want my son to end up in the 3rd generation of friendless misanthropes when he's an adult.  I'm not friendless and my parents aren't misanthropes.  I guess I'm just mad at myself because I haven't seen my close friends for so, so long - some for years -  and I feel like I'm incapable of making new ones.

I opened up this blog fully intending to write about how close everything is getting and how excited I am - not meant to be misleading, I really felt exactly that, until I typed "I feel" and all this came pouring out.  Now I can't stop crying.  Stupid pregnancy hormones.

And I feel totally useless.  Today I was off work, and after a trip to the Dr.'s (which was also going to be one of the main topics of this post), a visit to the post office and a stop by the grocery store, I came home and did nothing.  All fucking day.  I checked Facebook, baby boards, watched Dr. Phil on YouTube.  That's it.  I didn't even do anything fun but pointless.  Everything I did was boring and pointless.  I ate one meal and a bag of microwave popcorn and now I just don't even know what to do with myself.  If I can't even look after the house now, how much worse is it going to be when I am looking after a baby and trying to stay on top of housework.

Well.  Good thing I don't have regular readers to get totally depressed by random posts with misleading titles.

Everything went great at the Dr.'s.  Dr. Illegible is really happy with my progress and with the little monster.  He's going on vacation for 3 weeks, so I won't see him again now until after the baby is born, but he has been really great through this whole thing.  I forgot to ask him about the vaccination schedule, but I can ask Dr. Ladyhouse when I see her next week (I have yet to do a post about my OB, who I met last month and who so far seems great)... assuming I don't go into labour before that.

Also, random, but I realized today that Mr. Wolfman is 6'1", his dad is 6'2", his brother is probably 6'4", my dad is 6'2" and all of my Dad's brother's are his height or slightly taller.  When I asked Dr. Illegible if there was any indication of how big the little monster is going to be, he said, "not small." I'm just a tad worried now... but as Mr. Wolfman lovingly pointed out, all that really matters is the size of his head 0_0

23 Weeks and Counting

So!

I've been very lax in keeping this updated and a lot has happened since my last post.

We went for our 18/20 week ultrasound. The ultrasound tech was very excited and very nice.  She even offered to change her relaxing background music, if it wasn't to my taste.  Much to my surprise, though, she wasn't allowed to tell us anything.  Not the gender, not if the little monster was healthy, nothing.  She said she could lose her job for telling, so I didn't push it.  It was wonderful anyway, seeing it swimming around in there, being all cute, seeing the heartbeat, etc.  Then Mr. Wolfman and I went for a nice long drive and took pictures and just had a generally fantastic day.

I eagerly called my clinic the next day to find out that they had received the results, but they weren't allowed to tell me anything either; I needed to book an appointment with the Dr... and the Dr. was going to be away for a week.  Then my new work decided to not give me a schedule and just tell me each day when I needed to come in next, so finally, a week after Dr. Illegible got back, I got in for an appointment.

He said everything was good, and looked healthy, but when I asked the gender, he said they hadn't put it on the report.  I just about lost it.  I did keep very calm, though, when I told him that I was going to be making an angry phone call to the ultrasound tech if it wasn't on there.  He looked again, and after playfully negotiating a bribe (which I told him would not be my firstborn), we found out...

WE'RE HAVING A BOY!

It's funny, I kind of always felt like I would want a girl, but by the time we found out, I just felt like he should be a boy.  Like, it would be somehow wrong if he turned out to be a girl.  The gender-neutral blanket I was knitting is now done (all blue and green and teal) and I'd already bought some variegated blue, yellow, white & teal yarn for a hat, which I only held off on starting until my boy suspicions were confirmed.  I'm a little bit nervous because I feel like it'll always be a little bit easier to raise someone the same gender as you, but I'm so effing excited :D

The only thing wrong with the ultrasound was that they hadn't been able to see his left hand, so Dr. Illegible sent us to have another one in the city (400km away).  Luckily, we had plans to go there the next day, and the imaging centre was able to squeeze us in that afternoon.  Unluckily, they were pretty unprofessional and incompetent and when they couldn't find his left hand either (that, at least, wasn't their fault, it was just the way he was lying) after 45 minutes - and after 2 techs had had an exhaustive argument about whether what they were looking at were his hands or his feet (I could tell the difference, I'm not sure why they couldn't)--they lied and said that they could see his hand, and sent me away thinking that everything was OK.

So when I went to see the Dr. for my next checkup, I found out that they hadn't been able to see his hand again, and now, because I've had 2 anatomy ultrasounds with no left hand visible, they're sending me to a university hospital (again in the city) that specializes in obstetrics.  I don't know when, though.  Still waiting on a call from the hospital to schedule.

I think Mr. Wolfman is more worried about the hand thing then I am.  Dr. Illegible keeps telling me not to worry, and I'm actually really not.  That could be because I'm getting kicked and punched so much that I simply can't believe this child has any less than 4 limbs.  He may even have five or six.

I'm still very happy about everything.  The posts about us having to move (in a week and again at the end of July - and then possibly again in September) will have to wait for another day, because I'm not really in such a ranty mood.  Mostly I just wanna go lie down and work on my little man's hat.

Spring!

It's still pretty cool out over all, but today the sun is shining and there are some buds showing, so everything is nice.  I wish Mr. Wolfman weren't working today, but what can you do?

I went to the Dr. a couple weeks ago.  Got to hear the little monster's heartbeat, even though it took him a while to find it.  Dr. Illegible said not to worry about the fact that I haven't gained weight, that everything's looking good.  I did get told off for stopping my prenatal vitamins, though.... but the Dr. said I can take them on a full stomach, so they shouldn't make me as sick.  I still haven't got back in the habit of taking them every day, though.  I should really do that.

Tomorrow is our 18 week ultrasound (a couple of weeks late) and I will be 20 weeks and therefore actually half way done (according to the last ultrasound) - and, if the little monster cooperates, we should find out the gender.  I honestly think I'll be just as happy either way :)

We have first names for a boy and girl picked out and decided to wait on middle names until after we know the sex.  But the hardest part of naming is done, we're agreed and happy with what we've chosen.  We're not telling anyone the name until after birth, though*  I just feel like I don't want to hear anyone else's opinions about it, good or bad.

I start my new job on Thursday (got randomly fired for no reason from my last one**).  I'm excited, but a little nervous that I'm going to be easily tired out.  But, I have some swanky new office clothes, which should fit me until the baby arrives, so at least I know I'll look good.

Also, my sister gave me a huge bag of maternity clothes in colours she doesn't like, many of which are good for work, and all of which fit me pretty well, with a little extra room to grow.  And Mr. Wolfman bought me sandals yesterday (♥).  The only thing I need for the summer now is a bathing suit - and for the first time since I was 14, I'm happy enough with my body to wear a bikini.  I'm going to need one with ridiculous chest support, but I'm looking forward to being beachy.

That's it for me.  The last bit of happy is that the weather should be nice tomorrow, and Mr. Wolfman is off, so if all goes well, we're going to go somewhere nice, just the two of us, after the ultrasound.  He's so snuggly and lovely.

*except if we have a girl, I may tell my sister, since her husband really liked a girl name we were considering - which we're using - and I want to remind him where he heard it so they don't steal it by accident.
**I suspect because they found out I'm pregnant, but since my only recourse if that's the case is to go through the human right's commission, I'm not pushing it... but I'm also not being shy about telling people exactly what happened and why I left, if they ask.  It's a small town; they'll get theirs.