Archive for the ‘Me Myself’ Category
January 05 2010
We were just down the road when J realized he forgot something in the house and had to turn around. He was going to be quick, so the kids and I stayed buckled in. Since it was arctic enough for hell to freeze over, he didn’t want to take his set of keys out of the ignition, asking for mine instead. This is when my life flashed before my eyes. At least the past week, anyway.
Oh crap, I thought. The last time I used my house key was when I was still carrying a diaper bag. The diaper bag that was dirty and gross and smelled like a juxtaposition of stale bodily fluids. Which, as luck would have it, instead of tossing in the laundry, I happened to throw out in the trash a few days prior during one of my purge and organize frenzies. With keys most likely still inside. Of course, I couldn’t tell this to J. I’d never hear the end of it.
“I don’t have my key”, I said calmly, while subconsciously kicking myself.
I waited until J left for work the next morning. As soon as Jedi muddled out of bed, I put him in charge briefly while I scurried right outside the front door. Fortunately, two things were working in my favor: trash pick-up wasn’t until Wednesday and I knew, generally, where to dig. Unfortunately, my fingers were quick to numb and garbage is still garbage no matter how you spin it.
Given that the suspense is ineffable, I’ll let you know that I found my key hidden amongst the 32 diaper bag pockets. I also found Buzz’s Social Security card. On second thought, I decided to bring the diaper bag back inside and wash it. Who knows what other Very Important Things I’ve forgotten in there.
December 03 2009
This morning, I had an appointment for my annual exam. I found myself sitting in a room that I hadn’t been in since Abby was a newborn, looking around at all the pregnancy paraphernalia. Along with signs and brochures, there was a poster on the wall illustrating the 9 month transformation from embryo to baby. Even though I had seen it all before, been witness to it’s power first hand, I was transfixed.
I did that. I had that. 3 successful times. 4 others that were not. The embryo illustrated at 8 weeks, which is when all of my miscarriages occurred, was so small, looking nothing like a baby. But it’s eyes, it read, would have been completely formed.
I felt a slight ping of envy. Suddenly, I missed being pregnant. I would almost say that for a brief second, I contemplated doing it all over again. Do I want another baby?
That’s when my doctor walked in, clearly expecting herself.
We made pleasantries, like always. She asked how I was, problems I may have been having. All while I’m dressed in a rather revealing robe. Then, she wondered how I was getting along with my IUD. No complaints, I replied.
“Do you want any more kids?”, she asked in her line of questions.
“No”, I immediately answered, without even thinking.
“Well, that was quick,” she jumped, slightly taken aback.
“That’s how done I am”, I realized. And it was. It is. I guess that’s my answer right there. I am done. I am a mother to 7; 3 here with us, 4 someplace else. But 7 nonetheless. I’ve made peace with that. I am full. Done. Complete.
November 24 2009
I was in the middle of writing an entry. It was a really good one, too. None of that mommyblogging nonsense I usually draft. It had explosions! And destruction! And witty dialogue! It was going to be awesome.
Except Abby had other plans.
I could envision the entry’s direction so clear and vivid, it was just waiting to role from my fingertips. Fire! Mayhem! Action! Guns! There were guns. Big manly guns. One exciting sequence after another.
But Abby wouldn’t stop pushing my keyboard away. It’s hard to write when one’s keyboard keeps moving.
I was determined to persevere, though. This entry was so awesome, it deserved to be told. In the midst of all the nonstop action, it was also a love story. The most romantic, incredible love story ever written. White horse and everything, straight out of a Taylor Swift video. Boy meets girl…
As Abby kept grabbing at my hand, prying my fingers backward in mid-sentence. And pounding keys. And banging on the table with the mouse, right click here, highlight there. A touch distracting, yes.
Still, I continued on, even though the scene was growing ever more distant. What was I saying? About explosions? And a love story? Now I remember…
That’s when Abby became more than indignant, screaming so hard she gave herself the hiccups. I guess she had enough of trying to be subtle, attention now damn it. And I lost all train of thought.
Fine, I didn’t want to write that entry anyway. We’ll just stick with what I know best. Believe me, though, it would have been AWESOME.
November 04 2009
I’m not very good at discipline. My bark is much worse than my bite, and my bark isn’t even taken seriously. I need to work on my follow through, because it’s apparent that my kids have caught on.
Although at this point, I don’t even know what to follow through on.
We do time out in their room, when needed. I would like to find a more suitable time out location, but this house is dinky and there really isn’t one that wouldn’t be in the way. That said, the only one who I can fully discipline is Jedi. Abby just wouldn’t get it at 15 months, and I would have to sit with Buzz while forcibly holding him down and that sounds much worse on myself than anything he would get out of it.
Not that anyone really gets anything out of it, anyway.
It’s a losing battle, one that I don’t even have much energy to fight anymore.
I could yell and scream until my face turns blue and they’d just find it funny. It’s impossible to count how many times I tell Buzz “NO” in a day and he just laughs. It’s like talking into thin air.
We go around and around and it accomplishes nothing.
The same bad behavior the next day as the day before.
Obviously, I’m doing something wrong. Or, they’re doing something right. That is if they’re trying to overthrow the regime, because god damn, they’re wearing me down. They have worn me down. I’m a stump. Just call me Stumpy.
October 30 2009
My labor with Abby started with a bang. Literally, my water broke with a bang as I was putting Buzz to bed. Almost immediately, the contractions were strong and intense. There was no mistaking these for the Braxton Hicks that had been a nuisance for many weeks prior. My parents were sleeping when I called and it took them an hour to arrive to stay with the boys overnight. The longest hour of my life.
The contractions were so intense that I didn’t have the motivation for much of anything aside from hoping my daughter didn’t come out there in my living room. Home births are fine if you’re prepared. I was not. I wanted the hospital and it’s sterile environment and drugs. My god, I had my fill of natural childbirth with Buzz. Give me the drugs.
That being said, I didn’t bother to prepare myself for engaging the public. I didn’t shower, I didn’t brush my hair, I didn’t brush my teeth. I was a walking poster child of bad hygiene.
We made it to the hospital with not much time to spare. I was wheeled to my delivery room, an IV administered in the hopes of an epidural. That epidural never materialized as my daughter wanted out RIGHT. NOW. However, the doctor was busy delivering another baby. I didn’t care, I wanted to push. I needed to push. No one was going to stop me from pushing. The brave nurse realized this and told me to breathe through the urge. “Blow deep breaths in my face”, she instructed, her face now mere inches in front of mine.
But my teeth! I hadn’t brushed my teeth! Oh God, how horrible is my breath?! At least give me a mint first!
This is my most vivid memory of Abby’s birth. Not the sound of her first cry, or the feel of her small hand wrapped around my finger. Not even the pain I had to go through to get to her. It’s the paranoid fear of knocking this lovely nurse out with my atrocious breath.
Let this be a lesson to you this Halloween season, as you’re chewing on piece after piece of cavity-forming candy: always, no matter the circumstances, always brush your teeth.
