New Years Resolution.
A Post A Day.
I'll be back blogging Saturday, January 1, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Coming to Terms
I do believe that being the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, The Great Pumpkin is a job. An appointment if you will. Complete with terms. The major deities, like Santa, are permanent and immortal, but fairies? Totally a elective (vs elected) office. One day you are flitting around Fairy-ville, the next your grand Poobah fairy comes to you and says "Sally, do I have a job for you..."
How do I know this?
Because recently The Binky Fairy changed office. I'm not saying we've met or anything but I can tell it's not the same fairy.
The last one came and was soft and meek. She talked about trading in one binky for another item. Saving up binkies and sending them to babies afar, hanging binkies on a tree, mailing binkies through the mail, trading binkies because we were grown up and instead having the Baby Fairy come and deliver babies in lieu of binkies.
She was, in a word, a very Enabling fairy.
Then yesterday I realized there was a new, COMPLETELY different, fairy.
Some time between wakeup and bedtime, she came.
And she was Not Taking Any Shit.
The binkies are gone.
Not gently into the night.
Not softy, on wings of a dove.
Those fuckers are Gone.
Gone, Baby, Gone.
Gone as in ruthless.
With zero warning, with zero discussion.
She came and thought "This child is too damn big for a binky."
And she threw those binkies away.
That's one mean fairy.
How do I know this?
Because recently The Binky Fairy changed office. I'm not saying we've met or anything but I can tell it's not the same fairy.
The last one came and was soft and meek. She talked about trading in one binky for another item. Saving up binkies and sending them to babies afar, hanging binkies on a tree, mailing binkies through the mail, trading binkies because we were grown up and instead having the Baby Fairy come and deliver babies in lieu of binkies.
She was, in a word, a very Enabling fairy.
Then yesterday I realized there was a new, COMPLETELY different, fairy.
Some time between wakeup and bedtime, she came.
And she was Not Taking Any Shit.
The binkies are gone.
Not gently into the night.
Not softy, on wings of a dove.
Those fuckers are Gone.
Gone, Baby, Gone.
Gone as in ruthless.
With zero warning, with zero discussion.
She came and thought "This child is too damn big for a binky."
And she threw those binkies away.
That's one mean fairy.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
bedtime
It's not that we fought all day, because we don't.
It's not babies in the house because we make it about her.
It's not the return to preschool, she's been there before.
It's not anger, displacement, jealousy.
It's three.
he's a love but she's three.
Which means she loves me most of the time but loves getting her own way more.
And the days are tough. And long. And I swaear I'm going to try harder tomorrow and within minutes orf her waking I snap at her. About whining. About clothes. To hurry hurry hurry for breakfast.
Tonight I put her to bed. Seven weeks postpartum, no sleep, two dr visits, gymnastics, preschool and laundry today and he's at a red sox game thank you very much. i'm too tired to read books and i know I have 5 minutes max because it's nigh on 8pm and the urchins are stirring.
We are laying together looking into each others faces.
"How was school today?" I asked.
"It was ok" she said. "I played with Bea"
"How about Sophia" I probed.
"No" she said almostin tears "Sophia was playing with other kids, I don't think she wants to play with me."
"That happens honey" I said. All the while thinking her preschool is too small, the surroundings too itimate, it's time to miove her, is she being left out by the bigger kids ergo the clique from Winchester... Wondering "am I that mother that hovers followed by did I make a mistake?'
"How was gymnastics?"
"Good." she said "But next time you need to help me. You need to stay and help me because I can't do what the other girls do." she pauses "Julia...and the other one"
"Hailey" I supplied.
"Julia and Hailey."
" I can't go in" I told her. "But I watched through the window.
"No you didn't." She pouted
"But I did. I saw you. You had your hands on the pencil beam and you jumped from side to side."
She looked thoughtful.
"Mommy. What was that teacher's name. The man..."
"Michael" I said.
"No. His name is Caoch. He's not a teachere's Coach Michael but we can call him Mike. He has the same name as Michael."
me: 'Yes, Mike and Michael are the same name."
Her: "No, Mommy, you need to listen, not talk. I'm talking now. I mean Michael. Down the street. His name is Michael like Kari's Michael"
Aha! "That's right" I said. "His name is like Kari's son." I start to gear up for a "teachable moment" about names and nicnames.
"But he doesn't go by Mike." she stated.
I interrupt "Exactly. Like you have 2 names, Ellie and Eleanor"
"Mommy." She's truly exasperated. "You need to NOT talk. You are talking about different things then me. I want to talk about Ellie things."
Me: "Oh, ok. I'm sorry. Go ahead."
And she rolled over.
"I like doggies.
And lollypops.
And books." long pause"
"And playdates. And ring-around the rosy with friends, and I like playing with my Arthur. "
and I thought she was done.
"And I like all the mommies in the world. But I like you best. Did you know any other Ellie's Mommy?"
'i did honey but you're my favorite Ellie.."
She snuggled back into me.
"Of all the Ellies in the world, how did you pick me?"
And I thought about all the times I prayed, in all my life, for God to somehow see me, and that I had this love to give. And how I prayed for his will, that somehow I would be someone's mother, somebodies wife. All this flashed through my mind and i said outloud. "I asked the baby fairy."
"What did you ask her" she questioned.
"I asked her to find me the very best little girl in the whole world. And she did. And then she brought me you."
"oh. Oh. Ok momma."
And them she fell asleep
and I snuchk out of the room.
And there are a million more things to do.
And miles to go before I sleep.
But maybe, just maybe, I don't totally suck today.
It's not babies in the house because we make it about her.
It's not the return to preschool, she's been there before.
It's not anger, displacement, jealousy.
It's three.
he's a love but she's three.
Which means she loves me most of the time but loves getting her own way more.
And the days are tough. And long. And I swaear I'm going to try harder tomorrow and within minutes orf her waking I snap at her. About whining. About clothes. To hurry hurry hurry for breakfast.
Tonight I put her to bed. Seven weeks postpartum, no sleep, two dr visits, gymnastics, preschool and laundry today and he's at a red sox game thank you very much. i'm too tired to read books and i know I have 5 minutes max because it's nigh on 8pm and the urchins are stirring.
We are laying together looking into each others faces.
"How was school today?" I asked.
"It was ok" she said. "I played with Bea"
"How about Sophia" I probed.
"No" she said almostin tears "Sophia was playing with other kids, I don't think she wants to play with me."
"That happens honey" I said. All the while thinking her preschool is too small, the surroundings too itimate, it's time to miove her, is she being left out by the bigger kids ergo the clique from Winchester... Wondering "am I that mother that hovers followed by did I make a mistake?'
"How was gymnastics?"
"Good." she said "But next time you need to help me. You need to stay and help me because I can't do what the other girls do." she pauses "Julia...and the other one"
"Hailey" I supplied.
"Julia and Hailey."
" I can't go in" I told her. "But I watched through the window.
"No you didn't." She pouted
"But I did. I saw you. You had your hands on the pencil beam and you jumped from side to side."
She looked thoughtful.
"Mommy. What was that teacher's name. The man..."
"Michael" I said.
"No. His name is Caoch. He's not a teachere's Coach Michael but we can call him Mike. He has the same name as Michael."
me: 'Yes, Mike and Michael are the same name."
Her: "No, Mommy, you need to listen, not talk. I'm talking now. I mean Michael. Down the street. His name is Michael like Kari's Michael"
Aha! "That's right" I said. "His name is like Kari's son." I start to gear up for a "teachable moment" about names and nicnames.
"But he doesn't go by Mike." she stated.
I interrupt "Exactly. Like you have 2 names, Ellie and Eleanor"
"Mommy." She's truly exasperated. "You need to NOT talk. You are talking about different things then me. I want to talk about Ellie things."
Me: "Oh, ok. I'm sorry. Go ahead."
And she rolled over.
"I like doggies.
And lollypops.
And books." long pause"
"And playdates. And ring-around the rosy with friends, and I like playing with my Arthur. "
and I thought she was done.
"And I like all the mommies in the world. But I like you best. Did you know any other Ellie's Mommy?"
'i did honey but you're my favorite Ellie.."
She snuggled back into me.
"Of all the Ellies in the world, how did you pick me?"
And I thought about all the times I prayed, in all my life, for God to somehow see me, and that I had this love to give. And how I prayed for his will, that somehow I would be someone's mother, somebodies wife. All this flashed through my mind and i said outloud. "I asked the baby fairy."
"What did you ask her" she questioned.
"I asked her to find me the very best little girl in the whole world. And she did. And then she brought me you."
"oh. Oh. Ok momma."
And them she fell asleep
and I snuchk out of the room.
And there are a million more things to do.
And miles to go before I sleep.
But maybe, just maybe, I don't totally suck today.
If I Told You Once, I Told You A Thousand Times
She whacked her head on the coffee table.
Hard.
At first I thought she broke her nose, then I realized she split open an eyelash size gash on the forehead.
I didn't blink. I didn't express dismay, I didn't comment, panic, startle or otherwise.
CRACK went her head.
"I told you not to jump off the couch" went through my head.
Followed by "I've already been to the hospital once today and at the doctors 5 hours later, I am not going to the ER." All that followed by "It serves you right."
Outloud I said "Do you want peas, ice or the cow ice pack for boo boos."
She asked for the clover shaped reusable icecubes I put in her lunch bag.
And so she sits. Blue shamrock to forehead.
Livingroom looking like the wrath of god.
And me without a single tube of neosporin.
And all I can think of is that if she goes to bed within the next 5 minutes MAYBE I can peapod a grocery order.
Ah bliss.
Hard.
At first I thought she broke her nose, then I realized she split open an eyelash size gash on the forehead.
I didn't blink. I didn't express dismay, I didn't comment, panic, startle or otherwise.
CRACK went her head.
"I told you not to jump off the couch" went through my head.
Followed by "I've already been to the hospital once today and at the doctors 5 hours later, I am not going to the ER." All that followed by "It serves you right."
Outloud I said "Do you want peas, ice or the cow ice pack for boo boos."
She asked for the clover shaped reusable icecubes I put in her lunch bag.
And so she sits. Blue shamrock to forehead.
Livingroom looking like the wrath of god.
And me without a single tube of neosporin.
And all I can think of is that if she goes to bed within the next 5 minutes MAYBE I can peapod a grocery order.
Ah bliss.
six degrees of seperation
I hate when people hear you had an early birth and say any variation of the following: "oh, 34 weeks? They were FINE then." "34 weeks? Oh so they weren't really premature" etc etc. Or my personal favorite "Oh, my son was born at 36 weeks..." as if that's somehow the same. Because in the real world, if your vacation is two weeks after mine, we are practically traveling together. In terms of a birth? 2 weeks is 5% of their growing time.
Who cares, right?
Exactly.
So why say it?
As with Ellie I never say "preemie" I say "born early". I reserve preemie for the micro babies. 10 weeks early. 26 weeks, 30 weeks. But having said that, let me say this. 34 weeks is in fact the minimum. It's what you want to get to but it's not always cause for celebration. I'm lucky. Fortunate actually moreso then lucky. My two are great. But really, the next time someone says how 34 weeks is nothing, I'm going to say "You know, I just don't get that. If your husband had a massive heart attack, I certainly wouldn't say "Oh a heart attack? People have those all the time. He'll be fine. have you tried Lipitor?'"
Honest to christ people, if it hasn't happened to you - shut the fuck up. Seriously.
Who cares, right?
Exactly.
So why say it?
As with Ellie I never say "preemie" I say "born early". I reserve preemie for the micro babies. 10 weeks early. 26 weeks, 30 weeks. But having said that, let me say this. 34 weeks is in fact the minimum. It's what you want to get to but it's not always cause for celebration. I'm lucky. Fortunate actually moreso then lucky. My two are great. But really, the next time someone says how 34 weeks is nothing, I'm going to say "You know, I just don't get that. If your husband had a massive heart attack, I certainly wouldn't say "Oh a heart attack? People have those all the time. He'll be fine. have you tried Lipitor?'"
Honest to christ people, if it hasn't happened to you - shut the fuck up. Seriously.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
It's the thought that counts...
My mother and stepmother continue to buy for my children. I've asked them to stop, to limit it, to be aware of the size of my house. I've asked them to let their friends know. I blog. I discuss. I've asked friends not to buy for them. My house is 900 square feet. 5 of us live here.
If I were a vegetarian, you wouldn't bring me steak.
I've begged, pleaded, fired off angry emails, sad emails, I've called, discussed, written notes.
I know you think it's just a small teddy bear, I know an educational book, a placemat, a coloring book seems innocuous.
But it isn't.
Because I asked you not to and you did anyway.
Maybe these things have value, maybe not.
Maybe my kids would LOVE them. Maybe I'm an ungrateful cooze.
Regardless, I look at them and am angry.
So out they go.
Im no longer returning things. I'm throwing them in a bag and donating them.
I can't deal with it.
So fyi. But thank you for the gift.
If I were a vegetarian, you wouldn't bring me steak.
I've begged, pleaded, fired off angry emails, sad emails, I've called, discussed, written notes.
I know you think it's just a small teddy bear, I know an educational book, a placemat, a coloring book seems innocuous.
But it isn't.
Because I asked you not to and you did anyway.
Maybe these things have value, maybe not.
Maybe my kids would LOVE them. Maybe I'm an ungrateful cooze.
Regardless, I look at them and am angry.
So out they go.
Im no longer returning things. I'm throwing them in a bag and donating them.
I can't deal with it.
So fyi. But thank you for the gift.
Friday, September 17, 2010
I Aint Sayin She's A Golddigger
I'm done paying people to care for my children. Whatever I need to get done, be it the dentist, the gyn, my eyebrows... it can wait. I can rebook. I'm crazy for paying people $10, $20, $30 so I can run mundane errands. Like grocery shopping, drycleaning. To be honest, I can get peapod delivered for the same cumulative $30 extra and not have to deal with scheduling. I have Ellie in school - which we pay for - and then I pay a second person because I need to get out? Get away? Theorectically fine. But it's not like I'm getting a pedicaure - shopping - even buying clothes for the kids. I'm running around like a donkey doing $5 errands, like Target returns, and paying $10 to get them done.
%^&* it.
From this point on, no groceries? Then takeout it is.
Bushy brows, meh, I'll go on a Saturday.
Doctors not available for a 6 week checkup post partum? I'll skip it then.
It's not like my uterus is going to fall out.
%^&* it.
From this point on, no groceries? Then takeout it is.
Bushy brows, meh, I'll go on a Saturday.
Doctors not available for a 6 week checkup post partum? I'll skip it then.
It's not like my uterus is going to fall out.
Knowing Me, Knowing You subtitled A Two Question Quiz
1. I see a man biking somewhere without the Lance Armstrong skintight clothes. Do I think "fitness enthusiast" or "DWI"?
2. Cell phone. For my convenience or yours?
2. Cell phone. For my convenience or yours?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Lawsy Me
Massachusetts just passed a law regarding distracted driving. Texting, handsfree and the like.
I think they should just ban children from the car entirely.
I think they should just ban children from the car entirely.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
TMI, Fertility & Moi!
WOW! I have some exciting news diary, it is SUCH a big deal. No, not the babies. That’s old news. You are NOT going to believe this diary. I am so so excited! Just 38 days after their births …I…got…my…period! I know diary, isn’t that sooooooo exciting. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I wish I had a pen with a pom pom at the end and the ability to dot my I’s with hearts. This is The Best News ever. I’m soooooooo lucky! I just want to bleed 4-eva! Thank god I have all those pads left over from the hospital. Yeah….!
Sew good
2 have
my "."
4-Eva!
People wonder if the twins were natural. Yes. Yes they were. I drop eggs like the Easter Bunny....
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Some Random Disconnected Sh*t I'm Thinking About...
For two seconds I though James J Lee had a good point. Over population, save the planet, etc. Then I actually READ some of his ...manifesto?... and I have to say. I got a little nervous about my blog. You know, given the addition of my two filthy breeder begotten spawn.
***************
I don't think obsetity is a disease. Nor alcoholism. I think food and alcohol are addictions though. Having said that, I hate when people post on FB what they ate for dinner. Yum or not yum. Not if they go out to a restaurant but just, you know, in general. "Veal piccata tonight!" or "Lamb on the Barbie" My issue? Usually, they are fat. I'm not a fat hater, I just think it's asking for judgment.
***************
I don't think obsetity is a disease. Nor alcoholism. I think food and alcohol are addictions though. Having said that, I hate when people post on FB what they ate for dinner. Yum or not yum. Not if they go out to a restaurant but just, you know, in general. "Veal piccata tonight!" or "Lamb on the Barbie" My issue? Usually, they are fat. I'm not a fat hater, I just think it's asking for judgment.
Jacob Have I Loved...
Cain & Abel, Jacob and Esau. The bible is not very kind to twins.
I abhor my child's name. At first I worried that I wasn't bonding with him. That perhaps I didn't love him the same. That I was playing favorites, choosing sides. I just didn't feel any surge of... affection... when I said his name. No feeling of homecoming. Just blank. And angry. And finally, I guess weeks ago but given his very short time on the planet, it must have been soon after his birth, I realized. I don't hate HIM at all. I simply hate his name. Phew.
We named him under duress. The militant Asian woman from last time, demanding a signature, demanding a name. My husband grabbed the last two we discussed, one I had chosen as my son's "inside" name but not one I expected him to bear outside. He filled out the documents while I was in a morphine induced haze, then had my sign them shakily while under sedation. And now I hate the name. I.HATE.THE.NAME. And I mean really. And everyone keeps saying to keep it. It's too late, it's what I named him, it's on his social security card, it's confusing, and day after day I really REALLY fucking hate the name. And the more time that passes, the less affectionately I view my son. I mean, not inapplication , but in gentle words Because I simply cannot call him by his name. I resent being forced into a name I hate. I FUCKING HATE. I talked to Doug, I asked him if he would be willing to switch the name and he said no. So now I'm thinking about refusing to hold him at night. During the day that little sweet baggage will be held, swaddled cuddled and rocked till the cow, ok, bull, dare I say Stud comes home. But because my husband refuses to take my point (ie You named him without me while I was still under the influence of drugs... and then I was coerced into naming him a name neither of us liked but you thought i loved...) Meh. I can't explain. It just feels...symptomatic of our relationship. If I say something bothers me, my husband negates it over and over until we have a huge blowout fight - because it's only then that he sees that it bothers me.
So maybe if I refuse to hold my son for once my husband will LISTEN to me?
That's just fucked up.
To be honest though, I feel like my husband should understand that using a name I hate is coming between us.
All of us.
I abhor my child's name. At first I worried that I wasn't bonding with him. That perhaps I didn't love him the same. That I was playing favorites, choosing sides. I just didn't feel any surge of... affection... when I said his name. No feeling of homecoming. Just blank. And angry. And finally, I guess weeks ago but given his very short time on the planet, it must have been soon after his birth, I realized. I don't hate HIM at all. I simply hate his name. Phew.
We named him under duress. The militant Asian woman from last time, demanding a signature, demanding a name. My husband grabbed the last two we discussed, one I had chosen as my son's "inside" name but not one I expected him to bear outside. He filled out the documents while I was in a morphine induced haze, then had my sign them shakily while under sedation. And now I hate the name. I.HATE.THE.NAME. And I mean really. And everyone keeps saying to keep it. It's too late, it's what I named him, it's on his social security card, it's confusing, and day after day I really REALLY fucking hate the name. And the more time that passes, the less affectionately I view my son. I mean, not inapplication , but in gentle words Because I simply cannot call him by his name. I resent being forced into a name I hate. I FUCKING HATE. I talked to Doug, I asked him if he would be willing to switch the name and he said no. So now I'm thinking about refusing to hold him at night. During the day that little sweet baggage will be held, swaddled cuddled and rocked till the cow, ok, bull, dare I say Stud comes home. But because my husband refuses to take my point (ie You named him without me while I was still under the influence of drugs... and then I was coerced into naming him a name neither of us liked but you thought i loved...) Meh. I can't explain. It just feels...symptomatic of our relationship. If I say something bothers me, my husband negates it over and over until we have a huge blowout fight - because it's only then that he sees that it bothers me.
So maybe if I refuse to hold my son for once my husband will LISTEN to me?
That's just fucked up.
To be honest though, I feel like my husband should understand that using a name I hate is coming between us.
All of us.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Heavy Breathing
My husband has an issue with his breath. He's that guy at work that has the onion bagel for breakfast, Indian for lunch - and thinks I'm hyper sensitive. I tell him - FREQUENTLY - "Good christ man, your breath is disgusting." Now I know that sounds harsh but I've tried subtle. Not so much. So at this point I'm like "Dude. Y.O.U.R. - B.R.E.A.T.H. - I.S. - R.A.N.C.I.D. And still, he does nothing. If you knew the story of how we met, you'd know that the breath issue is long loooonnnnnnggggg standing.
So the other day we were having one of those ridiculous fights that couples have. I started it - annoyed at his eye-rolling. I was on my way to the supermarket and he made some stupid ass remark about us not doing anything and my going to the store on a Saturday night. My feeling was we weren't doing crap anyway so why not at least be productive? It launched a heated "discussion" on our (mutual) lack of motivation, how we live and finally, that him being on paternity leave is not code for "vacation" and why the $%^ are we putting off today things to tomorrow and dragging out minute tasks over a week plus period? Ultimately, he is going to go back to work and I'm stuck shoveling metaphorical shit.
Suffice to say names were called. I think I said something along the lines of "Stop being a f"n jerk" to which he replied "Well don't be such a bitch" and then, my friends, the shit HIT the fan. Because I'm not at all about the bitch label. At all. No need for it. I think I then threw down the mom gauntlet. That I had gained 60 pounds, lost 8 months of my life, and had children CUT out of my stomach for him and that HE was the one that was pissing and moaning about his 4 squares a day anyway. What IS it with men and "needing" to eat anyway? Do they have different blood sugar levels?? And that the only reason we even needed groceries was that he was such a big fucking baby about food and for god's sake man, eat anything and just be done with it.
Within about 4 minutes we mutually realized the futility and the insanity of fighting and by the time my shoes were on, bag in hand, my husband had beckoned me over as if to perch on his lap but really for a hug and kiss.
As I leaned onto him, affectionately for sure, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Your breath smells disgusting"
and with that he gently pushed me off his lap and simply replied
"and you're still heavy."
And so our marriage goes on.
So the other day we were having one of those ridiculous fights that couples have. I started it - annoyed at his eye-rolling. I was on my way to the supermarket and he made some stupid ass remark about us not doing anything and my going to the store on a Saturday night. My feeling was we weren't doing crap anyway so why not at least be productive? It launched a heated "discussion" on our (mutual) lack of motivation, how we live and finally, that him being on paternity leave is not code for "vacation" and why the $%^ are we putting off today things to tomorrow and dragging out minute tasks over a week plus period? Ultimately, he is going to go back to work and I'm stuck shoveling metaphorical shit.
Suffice to say names were called. I think I said something along the lines of "Stop being a f"n jerk" to which he replied "Well don't be such a bitch" and then, my friends, the shit HIT the fan. Because I'm not at all about the bitch label. At all. No need for it. I think I then threw down the mom gauntlet. That I had gained 60 pounds, lost 8 months of my life, and had children CUT out of my stomach for him and that HE was the one that was pissing and moaning about his 4 squares a day anyway. What IS it with men and "needing" to eat anyway? Do they have different blood sugar levels?? And that the only reason we even needed groceries was that he was such a big fucking baby about food and for god's sake man, eat anything and just be done with it.
Within about 4 minutes we mutually realized the futility and the insanity of fighting and by the time my shoes were on, bag in hand, my husband had beckoned me over as if to perch on his lap but really for a hug and kiss.
As I leaned onto him, affectionately for sure, I said the first thing that came to my mind.
"Your breath smells disgusting"
and with that he gently pushed me off his lap and simply replied
"and you're still heavy."
And so our marriage goes on.
Monday, August 30, 2010
QUALITY ASSURANCE
I looked closely at a business card today. The tagline said 'Service Beyond Your Expectations". Which got me thinking. I generally expect excellent service. Excellent service. So service beyond my expectations? Allrightly then. Have at.
Monday, August 23, 2010
James Comes Home - 2 Weeks and 6 Days...
I mean how LONG can these updates go on!!! I promise, here’s the last one!
Just wanted to let you know that J finally joined us at home. We are now, officially, a party of five. Ba Dum Bum (insert bad 80s reference here). All are doing well but our 1100 sq feet are feeling smaller by the inch. Looking forward to catching up with you in the fall and through the new year.
Just wanted to let you know that J finally joined us at home. We are now, officially, a party of five. Ba Dum Bum (insert bad 80s reference here). All are doing well but our 1100 sq feet are feeling smaller by the inch. Looking forward to catching up with you in the fall and through the new year.
Pics include:
Ellie peeking in at the boys together in E old bassinet (they left it up for us in case we were visiting and E needed to nap…so sweet!)
Trying for a family pic
Ellie, J & E
Outside the hospital
The boys together
The boys with Dad dy
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
E*** Comes Home - 2 Weeks and A Day...
Just wanted to let you know that E*** came home today. Weighing a whopping 5lbs 8 oz, our B*** baby is eating, sleeping and breathing like a champ. He’s still too little for visitors and going out but sometime after his "natural" birthday in September, we hope to be able to show him off.
We are looking forward to welcoming James home as well, optimistically some time late next week. Thanks for your well wishes after both boys birth. It meant a lot to us!
Pics include:Last time “plugged in”CarseatEllie & E***E*** – With Dolls for Comparison’s sakeFamily pic – waiting for J***
Monday, August 9, 2010
Facebook.... Pros & Cons - Part One of Two
In response to all the calls, queries, interest after we had the boys... I started a notes page on FB. I am recording it here for historical reasons as well as forshadowing for a future post...
As follows:
J & T ~ Updates
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Feeling sad. Postpartum for sure but missing them. J is the more independent and serene, more alert, loves to be held, E(T), if possible, loves to be held even more. He's the whimperer, the b baby, was breech so responds more ...to my voice and definitely calms when I'm near. Because he was so near my ribs I touched him ALL the time so I think he misses it. Both pass out with exhaustion the second I pick them up. They "smell me" the nurse said and "it calms them". I hope so. Not the calm part but just because I don't want them to feel isolated. They don't have each other any longer as they are separate in Special Care. But their bassinets are close. To be fair though, the thing with preemies is that the need to sleep the most. More then anything. So it's for the best but emotionally, it's hard to put them down.
Medically - Both are breathing room air and have been for a couple of days Although I lose track because overall, they ARE only a couple of days old. T** has not had any more significant apnea episodes (worth medicating) so the apnea is consistent with his age and he should outgrow it by the end of next week. J*** hasn't had any. Both are on a feeding tube - T*** fed later but is more consistent and stronger sucker, J*** was first to bottle, sucks well but tires quicker - so both require supplementing. J*** had the glucose and saline out a couple of days ago, T*** yesterday. Well, the saline may still be in. Both are off oxygen - so it's feeding really. The outside date to bring one home? Maybe August 17/18. I'm in pain as expected. They had trouble getting T*** out and given the suddenness & emergency nature of their arrival, they had to cut wider and take him more forcefully. So hopefully I'll get stronger quicker then they do b/c I need to be able to function when they are home.
Monday, August 9, 2010:
Both were cold last night and had to be placed on warmers and their 6 am feed was through the tubes. Not sure why the temps dropped but both had to work so hard at 10 last night for their feeds so I assume they were just too tired to regulate their own temperatures. J was up for over an hour which is too long, E got robbed of cuddle time. So it’s sad that both had off nights but its part of measuring where they are. Trial and error as it were. Better to find out when they are in Special Care that they don’t have stamina then find out at home.
Answering the breastfeeding question:(TMI? No need to read :o)…) – Theoretically yes they could breastfeed. Both have the sucking reflex, but it would only be an exercise and not their primary source of food. I could also pump. Am I going to breastfeed? No. I have always been “pro-bottle” and would not have regardless of gestational age, # of children etc. Nor do not feel any sense of grief or loss over the fact that I am not breastfeeding nor am I upset that they were delivered by csection. I’m only said that it was dramatic and stressful for them and my husband.
How's Ellie? Ellie - is great. This update isn't about her though so the lack of detail about her is not over-site but deliberate.
Monday pm Update
Doug came back from the hospital and both boys are doing great today. Each had a full feeding (2oz) and the feedings went great. He came home with the gorgeous pic this time - of him getting to hold both at the same time! My neighbor Maureen may scan these for us so those will be up soon. For their 6pm feed they WILL eat through the nasal tube thingie (doug calls it by it's technical name) just so they can get extra sleep and tonight I'll go up for the 10pm feed!
Not sure if I posted this but in addition to ALL the people who are awesome, I want to put out there that my friend Jess has, the last two nights, picked me up at 9pm(and she's up at 6am) and driven me to and from the hospital as well as sat and kept me and the babies company through both boy's feedings. It's about 20 min down, 20 back plus over an hour sitting there - which is a gift I could NEVER repay. And today three other people offered to do the same - before I finished asking. I can't begin to express how cool it is to have SO so many people around us. Now if only I could get enough ice for the Sangria we are having at 6pm with our good friend Sharon, I'll be alllllll set. Lucky us. Very very lucky us.
BABY UPDATE
Happy to report that I've been able to see both boys every night this week thx to Jess & Megan and Doug has seen them after work. The feeding is tough, taking over an hour for both and last night - again - the results were less then positive with J. E eventually took his almost whole feed but J conked out after the few gulps and never got back his energy. Same for today. Although consistent with age, J still is having some trouble with his breathing and today they gave him caffeine therapy to help up his respiratory. Both occasion take feeds through their tubes. They are good - working towards growing and time and watchful waiting will garner results. Are they in jeopardy? absolutely not. But clearly not in optimal good stead else they'd be home.
THE MARRIAGE
Attitudes are good here, we are enjoying Ellie and with the boys out I'm able to manage tasks that only a week ago were debilitating. Suffice to say that it was definitely a "ticking time bomb" sensation, being pregnant, waiting for the shoe to drop, being high risk. Now that we know the outcome - so to speak - there is a remarkably lower level of stress in the house. So no fractures , in fact my husband is a lovely and handsome as could be and we are enjoying making plans for how we are going to welcome two teeny mites home. I mention this because one helpful (AHEM) friend thought it would be beneficial to report that I would be emotional and crying every day and need to be "watched for depression". Thank you. We are all set. "Stop reading the internet, dear" she said cheerfully.
THE FRUSTRATION
I will say that it's frustrating of course the occasional cavalierness of people who say "Oh 34 weeks,, they'll be fine" and then proceed to regale me with tales of twins parents they have known, outcomes they have witnessed etc.. I don't want people to wring their hands but neither do I want anecdotal assurances. The former unnecessary, the latter dismissive. And too, good LORD, I don't really care about other peoples outcomes. Just because I HAVE children doesn't mean I'm interested in other peoples kids. Who doesn't know that about me by now??? (wink, wink)
As follows:
J & T ~ Updates
posted by ME on Monday, August 9, 2010 at 4:40pm
Hi - Because people have asked, I'm going to record the babies update in NOTES. This is not required reading for anyone, it just allows me to update the maximum number of people. Also, I still welcome any calls, emails, comments - everyone has been spectacular. So this isn't designed to block anyone from contacting me. Just trying to get the info out! - THANKS!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Feeling sad. Postpartum for sure but missing them. J is the more independent and serene, more alert, loves to be held, E(T), if possible, loves to be held even more. He's the whimperer, the b baby, was breech so responds more ...to my voice and definitely calms when I'm near. Because he was so near my ribs I touched him ALL the time so I think he misses it. Both pass out with exhaustion the second I pick them up. They "smell me" the nurse said and "it calms them". I hope so. Not the calm part but just because I don't want them to feel isolated. They don't have each other any longer as they are separate in Special Care. But their bassinets are close. To be fair though, the thing with preemies is that the need to sleep the most. More then anything. So it's for the best but emotionally, it's hard to put them down.
Medically - Both are breathing room air and have been for a couple of days Although I lose track because overall, they ARE only a couple of days old. T** has not had any more significant apnea episodes (worth medicating) so the apnea is consistent with his age and he should outgrow it by the end of next week. J*** hasn't had any. Both are on a feeding tube - T*** fed later but is more consistent and stronger sucker, J*** was first to bottle, sucks well but tires quicker - so both require supplementing. J*** had the glucose and saline out a couple of days ago, T*** yesterday. Well, the saline may still be in. Both are off oxygen - so it's feeding really. The outside date to bring one home? Maybe August 17/18. I'm in pain as expected. They had trouble getting T*** out and given the suddenness & emergency nature of their arrival, they had to cut wider and take him more forcefully. So hopefully I'll get stronger quicker then they do b/c I need to be able to function when they are home.
Monday, August 9, 2010:
Both were cold last night and had to be placed on warmers and their 6 am feed was through the tubes. Not sure why the temps dropped but both had to work so hard at 10 last night for their feeds so I assume they were just too tired to regulate their own temperatures. J was up for over an hour which is too long, E got robbed of cuddle time. So it’s sad that both had off nights but its part of measuring where they are. Trial and error as it were. Better to find out when they are in Special Care that they don’t have stamina then find out at home.
Answering the breastfeeding question:(TMI? No need to read :o)…) – Theoretically yes they could breastfeed. Both have the sucking reflex, but it would only be an exercise and not their primary source of food. I could also pump. Am I going to breastfeed? No. I have always been “pro-bottle” and would not have regardless of gestational age, # of children etc. Nor do not feel any sense of grief or loss over the fact that I am not breastfeeding nor am I upset that they were delivered by csection. I’m only said that it was dramatic and stressful for them and my husband.
How's Ellie? Ellie - is great. This update isn't about her though so the lack of detail about her is not over-site but deliberate.
Monday pm Update
Doug came back from the hospital and both boys are doing great today. Each had a full feeding (2oz) and the feedings went great. He came home with the gorgeous pic this time - of him getting to hold both at the same time! My neighbor Maureen may scan these for us so those will be up soon. For their 6pm feed they WILL eat through the nasal tube thingie (doug calls it by it's technical name) just so they can get extra sleep and tonight I'll go up for the 10pm feed!
Not sure if I posted this but in addition to ALL the people who are awesome, I want to put out there that my friend Jess has, the last two nights, picked me up at 9pm(and she's up at 6am) and driven me to and from the hospital as well as sat and kept me and the babies company through both boy's feedings. It's about 20 min down, 20 back plus over an hour sitting there - which is a gift I could NEVER repay. And today three other people offered to do the same - before I finished asking. I can't begin to express how cool it is to have SO so many people around us. Now if only I could get enough ice for the Sangria we are having at 6pm with our good friend Sharon, I'll be alllllll set. Lucky us. Very very lucky us.
J&Teddy Update | Wednesday, August 11
posted by me on Thursday, August 12, 2010 at 12:41am
Happy to report that I've been able to see both boys every night this week thx to Jess & Megan and Doug has seen them after work. The feeding is tough, taking over an hour for both and last night - again - the results were less then positive with J. E eventually took his almost whole feed but J conked out after the few gulps and never got back his energy. Same for today. Although consistent with age, J still is having some trouble with his breathing and today they gave him caffeine therapy to help up his respiratory. Both occasion take feeds through their tubes. They are good - working towards growing and time and watchful waiting will garner results. Are they in jeopardy? absolutely not. But clearly not in optimal good stead else they'd be home.
THE MARRIAGE
Attitudes are good here, we are enjoying Ellie and with the boys out I'm able to manage tasks that only a week ago were debilitating. Suffice to say that it was definitely a "ticking time bomb" sensation, being pregnant, waiting for the shoe to drop, being high risk. Now that we know the outcome - so to speak - there is a remarkably lower level of stress in the house. So no fractures , in fact my husband is a lovely and handsome as could be and we are enjoying making plans for how we are going to welcome two teeny mites home. I mention this because one helpful (AHEM) friend thought it would be beneficial to report that I would be emotional and crying every day and need to be "watched for depression". Thank you. We are all set. "Stop reading the internet, dear" she said cheerfully.
THE FRUSTRATION
I will say that it's frustrating of course the occasional cavalierness of people who say "Oh 34 weeks,, they'll be fine" and then proceed to regale me with tales of twins parents they have known, outcomes they have witnessed etc.. I don't want people to wring their hands but neither do I want anecdotal assurances. The former unnecessary, the latter dismissive. And too, good LORD, I don't really care about other peoples outcomes. Just because I HAVE children doesn't mean I'm interested in other peoples kids. Who doesn't know that about me by now??? (wink, wink)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Welcome to the World “The Fabulous (Baby) B***** Boys"
Please join us as we celebrate the early arrival of “The Fabulous (Baby) B*****
J*** F***| E**** M****
Born 34 weeks
dob: August 3, 2010 ~ Time | Time p.m.
wght: 4lbs 15oz | 5lb 3oz
lgn: 17.75 | 18.25 inches
Both are doing well. J & E will be visiting with Special Care in Newton
~ Deb & Doug
contact info below, note: owing to allergies |sensitivities, please no flowers or fruit deliveries
pics: J– Eyes Open, E– Eyes Closed Sorry about the wires- they really are fine!
Friday, July 16, 2010
CS + JM, 4eva
I could have saved myself a million words yesterday and just posted this instead.
Because I'm ready.
Our time is coming.
Metaphor for my life.
Thanks Swoop.
Because I'm ready.
Our time is coming.
Metaphor for my life.
Thanks Swoop.
All day I've been inside
And I've got the feeling
I'm trapped between the walls
And underneath the ceiling
I feel a bit off track
And now I'm trying to get back
Back in the cool cool air
Where the sun in shining
Nothing's gonna stop me
It's all in the timing
It's finally again my turn
It's time to return
Cause I won't stay inside
No more no more
I cannot wait to go outdoors
Mmmhmmhmmhmm
hey hey hey
Well open up your door
And be like me
Open up your door
And then breathe free
Look at all the beauty you'll feel
Love love love love
Listen to the music of the wind
And the birdies sing
We're just one big family
And all of nature deserves to be
Loved loved loved loved loved
So I won't stay inside
No more no more
It cannot wait
I'm sure
There's no need to run and hide
Let's go explore
It feels so great
Let's go outdoors
do do do do do do do do
Everyone come on
Come on out here
Where the air is fresh and clear
So I won't stay inside
No more no more
It cannot wait
Let's go outdoors
Well open up your door
And be like me
Open up your door
And then breathe free
Look at all the beauty
And you'll find the earth
And the sky is yours
So please don't
There's no need
There's no need to hide inside
Let's go explore
This'll this'll
It feels so great
Let's go outdoors
I won't stay inside
No more no more
It cannot wait
I'm sure
There's no need to run and hide
Let's go explore
It feels so great
Let's go outdoors
Set me free why doncha babe
Set me free why don't you babe
Get out my life, why don't you babe
cause you don't really love me,
you just keep me hangin' on.
You don't really need me
You just keep me hangin' on
The terrible thing about being an occasional blogger is that when you don't do it consistently, you tend to only reach out when things are wrong. So it paints a picture, a distorted one, of your reality. Were i to look back at this pregnancy solely via blog posts, there was nothing - and I mean nothing - joyous about it.
Yet outside of this blog, days - many days - were glorious. There were times when I could have cried with affection for the littlest human in our house, who cracks me up daily. I adore my husband - although I've been known, and have likely been overheard, threatening him. And there have been a few instances - far between it feels lately - but a few, where I felt affection, kinship and camaraderie amongst friends.
And then. And then at times when it's a million degrees inside and out, and I'm frustrated and sad and angry - I think that this - this is not the life I should be leading and certainly not a life that can be defined as "living" and instead of feeling happiness and elation that the beasts are almost as safe as can be, I'm feeling... burdened.
I hesitate to complain.
I used to read - faithfully and religiously - a friend, a cyber friends blog, who's real name is Brian. And man. Man oh man for the most part can I get into his head. I loved reading him, and a few others then one day I quit. I quit because I was trite, a theme I've said often before, and I quit because he was unemployed, scared, struggling and I was pissing on about something like where to park my Lexus or why didn't my diaper bag have thermal pocket. (I don't have a Lexus I'm being illustrative...)I quit reading and then I quit writing because what I was going on about was SUCH a microcosm of a life. It was what did and didn't go on in these 4 walls. Every slight magnified, every small instance larger then it needed to be. Every dialogue mulled over, every fight replayed. One friend losing her mind with financial worries, another frustrated with her children, a third with her marriage - and I nattered on about "somebody done me wrong" Feeling misunderstood, feeling alone, feeling abandoned.
So I stopped blogging.
In truth, for the longest time now I've just been eeking out existing. I'm tired. I'm sick. I've been 34 weeks pregnant since week 25, I'm measuring over 40 weeks at a mere 32. I hate everything about how I feel, and while I don't deplore my looks, I've certainly shelved them. I can't bend, my hands cramp in the night and the feeling only marginally disperses during the day then it's pain again. My stomach rests on my thighs, one child rests on my ribs. I'm in pain, immobile and sad. Sad at my inability to move anything - either rock, paper or scissors.
But what I hate most of all is the feeling of NOT living while the world around you is.
I've always hated summer.
People jetting off to Nantucket, to Maine, to beach and shore destinations. People broker then me on vacation, camping, parents with cottages, friends with boats.
Cookouts and camp outs.
I longed - long - for summer to end.
It feels like a party I don't belong to.
A club I don't have a pass to.
People hate Mondays? I adore them. Life with a purpose resumes.
People hate rainy days? Me? Not usually. The air cools and generally I "get shit done"
But this year, this year, summer has smacked me in the face, as have my choices in general.
Five years.
Five years I have been with my husband.
Five quick, incredibly quick years.
Years that I can sum up, that he frequently sums up, that I finally am acknowledging, five years of nothing but work.
Not work on "the relationship", not work as in Troubles, I got Troubles.
Just frigging nothing but tedium.
We met and I was in the process of buying this house (work), then I moved in (work), then my job moved and we had to decide if I was going to sell (6 weeks after I bought it. Boss = asshole(tons of work, talking, decisions), then he moved in he moved in (minor work), then we were pregnant right away (TONS of work), Ellie was born and the first year was insane (work, double work) then there was my trying to prove myself, running a large church playgroup (more work then you can imagine) then there was another miscarriage (workish), then the home renovation(fuckload of work), then this pregnancy(nothing but a misery).
So for 5 years it's never been "our turn". Its never been about fun, frolic, independence. going away seemed a chore, a week at the beach a pain. It's been buckle down, sacrifice, work hard - because that's the only path I'm truly, astonishingly excellent at. If nothing else, I'm fan.. and I mean FAN... TASTIC at working hard.
I'm a whiz at sacrifice.
I'm a master of denying myself.
I can live with a broken phone, shitty curtains and a craigslist table. For years. YEARS.
Because I.am.good.at.going.without.
And here's the thing.
Here is the crazyass thing.
We didn't need to.
Oh I know, I know, it's tacky beyond fucking words to talk about money.
Insanely.
But honestly, we HAD money these last 5 years. Good money. Not rich like live in NY in a highrise but for quasi middle class people, we had enough money to do anything ANYTHING we wanted.
And I fucked it up. I opted for home repair over vacation.
I opted to work and organize and struggle instead of play.
I have spent my entire relationship with my husband, and in this house, creating then managing work.
And I am astonishingly, superbly annoyed.
Because just as life was getting good. Fabulously good - she was independent, we were finished with repairs, everything was smoothly going our way - JUST as life got good, we decided to get pregnant.
And it's been a fucking misery ever since.
Because of course, OF COURSE, of course I didn't get pregnant with one.
Whyever.
It had to be twins.
And it's been nothing but work ever since.
Managing caretakers, managing drs appts, managing space, rearranging rooms, clearing closets, being sick - good christ - sicker then a dog. Managing work, with zero zero joy.
And here it is summer again.
Facebook photo's of boys shoveling sand, lighthouses, coolers frosty, kids with cones, sangria playdates, pools overflowing.
And here I am, harness in hand, legs swollen to my knees, meeting with movers today who moved my husbands desk to the basement as we try valiantly to create livable space for the two newest midgets.
Because instead of moving I made the compelling argument that it was easier to stay. Because instead of stepping forward, I'm clinging to the past. To security, to old habits, to being a drudge. So we are here, reconfiguring 1100 sq feet to fit 5 of us. And I say "oh but we'll move later" because hell, let's just ensure that we have enough work for next year too.
And I've tried to convince myself that this was the right decision. Because work at least made me useful. Had I not worked at things, truly, what else could i have done all these months? I wasn't allowed the beach, to walk, to lift. we couldn't have traveled, vacationed, enjoyed. So why not work?
And over the last few weeks I realized something.
It's not fair.
To my husband, to my daughter. To my family.
Tonight I saw my husband go to bed, exhausted. Weary. Beat up. From moving piles, moving things.
Yes, it's his fault for waiting until the last minute but it's my fault for being busy with everything else and not pushing, putting, my family first.
I recycled, I donated, I designed this brochure, I worked on that blog, I supported this charity, I yardsaled for that toy. Countless hours perpetuating a virtuous righteous life vs a beneficial one.. Sure that my sacrifices were "worth it" because they were of the kind that you can self congratulate or be lauded for. "Oh she RECYCLES" but in the end. Watching the world live their lives, realizes that I've chosen an inarguable way for us NOT to live ours, I see, I see so clearly, that I have been, in a word, wrong.
So I'm done. I am turning the page.
I am turning over a new leaf.
I am... going to change.
I'm putting me first. Doug first. Ellie first.
I'm going to ask myself, before I take one single step, is what I am about to do going to benefit me. Is it worth it. do I want to do this or simply feel that its the "right" thing to do?
I don't know how, or if I can, or how long it will take but starting tomorrow, today actually, now to be more specific, I'm going to be an asshole.
And I'm kind of excited about it.
And next summer?
Next summer we're going to rent a place on a beach. and fuck it, I may hire a nanny to come stay with us.
Because THAT'S the way this cookie is going to roll.
You got the first 40 years, the next 40 are mine.
And this time, this time I mean it.
Get out my life, why don't you babe
cause you don't really love me,
you just keep me hangin' on.
You don't really need me
You just keep me hangin' on
The terrible thing about being an occasional blogger is that when you don't do it consistently, you tend to only reach out when things are wrong. So it paints a picture, a distorted one, of your reality. Were i to look back at this pregnancy solely via blog posts, there was nothing - and I mean nothing - joyous about it.
Yet outside of this blog, days - many days - were glorious. There were times when I could have cried with affection for the littlest human in our house, who cracks me up daily. I adore my husband - although I've been known, and have likely been overheard, threatening him. And there have been a few instances - far between it feels lately - but a few, where I felt affection, kinship and camaraderie amongst friends.
And then. And then at times when it's a million degrees inside and out, and I'm frustrated and sad and angry - I think that this - this is not the life I should be leading and certainly not a life that can be defined as "living" and instead of feeling happiness and elation that the beasts are almost as safe as can be, I'm feeling... burdened.
I hesitate to complain.
I used to read - faithfully and religiously - a friend, a cyber friends blog, who's real name is Brian. And man. Man oh man for the most part can I get into his head. I loved reading him, and a few others then one day I quit. I quit because I was trite, a theme I've said often before, and I quit because he was unemployed, scared, struggling and I was pissing on about something like where to park my Lexus or why didn't my diaper bag have thermal pocket. (I don't have a Lexus I'm being illustrative...)I quit reading and then I quit writing because what I was going on about was SUCH a microcosm of a life. It was what did and didn't go on in these 4 walls. Every slight magnified, every small instance larger then it needed to be. Every dialogue mulled over, every fight replayed. One friend losing her mind with financial worries, another frustrated with her children, a third with her marriage - and I nattered on about "somebody done me wrong" Feeling misunderstood, feeling alone, feeling abandoned.
So I stopped blogging.
In truth, for the longest time now I've just been eeking out existing. I'm tired. I'm sick. I've been 34 weeks pregnant since week 25, I'm measuring over 40 weeks at a mere 32. I hate everything about how I feel, and while I don't deplore my looks, I've certainly shelved them. I can't bend, my hands cramp in the night and the feeling only marginally disperses during the day then it's pain again. My stomach rests on my thighs, one child rests on my ribs. I'm in pain, immobile and sad. Sad at my inability to move anything - either rock, paper or scissors.
But what I hate most of all is the feeling of NOT living while the world around you is.
I've always hated summer.
People jetting off to Nantucket, to Maine, to beach and shore destinations. People broker then me on vacation, camping, parents with cottages, friends with boats.
Cookouts and camp outs.
I longed - long - for summer to end.
It feels like a party I don't belong to.
A club I don't have a pass to.
People hate Mondays? I adore them. Life with a purpose resumes.
People hate rainy days? Me? Not usually. The air cools and generally I "get shit done"
But this year, this year, summer has smacked me in the face, as have my choices in general.
Five years.
Five years I have been with my husband.
Five quick, incredibly quick years.
Years that I can sum up, that he frequently sums up, that I finally am acknowledging, five years of nothing but work.
Not work on "the relationship", not work as in Troubles, I got Troubles.
Just frigging nothing but tedium.
We met and I was in the process of buying this house (work), then I moved in (work), then my job moved and we had to decide if I was going to sell (6 weeks after I bought it. Boss = asshole(tons of work, talking, decisions), then he moved in he moved in (minor work), then we were pregnant right away (TONS of work), Ellie was born and the first year was insane (work, double work) then there was my trying to prove myself, running a large church playgroup (more work then you can imagine) then there was another miscarriage (workish), then the home renovation(fuckload of work), then this pregnancy(nothing but a misery).
So for 5 years it's never been "our turn". Its never been about fun, frolic, independence. going away seemed a chore, a week at the beach a pain. It's been buckle down, sacrifice, work hard - because that's the only path I'm truly, astonishingly excellent at. If nothing else, I'm fan.. and I mean FAN... TASTIC at working hard.
I'm a whiz at sacrifice.
I'm a master of denying myself.
I can live with a broken phone, shitty curtains and a craigslist table. For years. YEARS.
Because I.am.good.at.going.without.
And here's the thing.
Here is the crazyass thing.
We didn't need to.
Oh I know, I know, it's tacky beyond fucking words to talk about money.
Insanely.
But honestly, we HAD money these last 5 years. Good money. Not rich like live in NY in a highrise but for quasi middle class people, we had enough money to do anything ANYTHING we wanted.
And I fucked it up. I opted for home repair over vacation.
I opted to work and organize and struggle instead of play.
I have spent my entire relationship with my husband, and in this house, creating then managing work.
And I am astonishingly, superbly annoyed.
Because just as life was getting good. Fabulously good - she was independent, we were finished with repairs, everything was smoothly going our way - JUST as life got good, we decided to get pregnant.
And it's been a fucking misery ever since.
Because of course, OF COURSE, of course I didn't get pregnant with one.
Whyever.
It had to be twins.
And it's been nothing but work ever since.
Managing caretakers, managing drs appts, managing space, rearranging rooms, clearing closets, being sick - good christ - sicker then a dog. Managing work, with zero zero joy.
And here it is summer again.
Facebook photo's of boys shoveling sand, lighthouses, coolers frosty, kids with cones, sangria playdates, pools overflowing.
And here I am, harness in hand, legs swollen to my knees, meeting with movers today who moved my husbands desk to the basement as we try valiantly to create livable space for the two newest midgets.
Because instead of moving I made the compelling argument that it was easier to stay. Because instead of stepping forward, I'm clinging to the past. To security, to old habits, to being a drudge. So we are here, reconfiguring 1100 sq feet to fit 5 of us. And I say "oh but we'll move later" because hell, let's just ensure that we have enough work for next year too.
And I've tried to convince myself that this was the right decision. Because work at least made me useful. Had I not worked at things, truly, what else could i have done all these months? I wasn't allowed the beach, to walk, to lift. we couldn't have traveled, vacationed, enjoyed. So why not work?
And over the last few weeks I realized something.
It's not fair.
To my husband, to my daughter. To my family.
Tonight I saw my husband go to bed, exhausted. Weary. Beat up. From moving piles, moving things.
Yes, it's his fault for waiting until the last minute but it's my fault for being busy with everything else and not pushing, putting, my family first.
I recycled, I donated, I designed this brochure, I worked on that blog, I supported this charity, I yardsaled for that toy. Countless hours perpetuating a virtuous righteous life vs a beneficial one.. Sure that my sacrifices were "worth it" because they were of the kind that you can self congratulate or be lauded for. "Oh she RECYCLES" but in the end. Watching the world live their lives, realizes that I've chosen an inarguable way for us NOT to live ours, I see, I see so clearly, that I have been, in a word, wrong.
So I'm done. I am turning the page.
I am turning over a new leaf.
I am... going to change.
I'm putting me first. Doug first. Ellie first.
I'm going to ask myself, before I take one single step, is what I am about to do going to benefit me. Is it worth it. do I want to do this or simply feel that its the "right" thing to do?
I don't know how, or if I can, or how long it will take but starting tomorrow, today actually, now to be more specific, I'm going to be an asshole.
And I'm kind of excited about it.
And next summer?
Next summer we're going to rent a place on a beach. and fuck it, I may hire a nanny to come stay with us.
Because THAT'S the way this cookie is going to roll.
You got the first 40 years, the next 40 are mine.
And this time, this time I mean it.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
It's All A Matter of Perspective...
Not personally, just in regards to our arrogance - and being one of the littlest states with one of the biggest egos. I give directions of course like a typical native. "No, it's down by the original Richies in Everett but closer to the the MacDonalds or whatever that is right before the tux shop if you were coming the other way off route one."
I mean, I get it. We're assholes. Parochial. I get it.
When we were first dating - and as a JOKE mind you - I pretended to innocently reply to his aunt's statement that she had run the NY Marathon..."Oh, you guys have a marathon too?"
It still comes up.
I was KIDding people.
So - because I'm back blogging - about a month ago (maybe 2?)
Scene I Act I
Set: Kitchen
"I think we need to get fried clams from Jimbo's. Your mother's coming and I know she likes Zaleks but it's important to have something to compare them to." I said. Not at all convincingly...
An hour later we were discussing them.
"Are they good?" he asked.
"They're ok' I said "I'm not sure if I reheated them too much of if they were overfried. Too many necks" I tried another one. "They could have more bellies with these...."
Husband looks at me quizzically.
"Bellies" I repeated. "You know."
Husband looks baffled.
"Bellies. It's your mother that likes the necks. I like the bellies."
Hub "No that's, um, did you say the necks?"
Me: "yah"
Husband: musingly "So does everyone call them the necks?"
Me: Absorbed by his interest. "Well, I mean, I guess not everyone. Some people just say 'not squishy'..." and I started to trail off as he stared at me. What?
Husband "Oh no, nothing. I just always thought it was a typical Massachusetts thing - you know, like "Little Neck" as if all clams come from here...."
Me: We aren't TOTAL assholes you know.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Fact vs Fiction
By the way, to be fair, I DO recognize that my feelings aren't facts. That my reality may not be real. So I don't ACT upon things. Nor am I mad at anyone, or taking this to the grave with me.
I was merely commenting on how I was feeling about certain people.
Not "everyone" - not "everybody".
Trust me, if I need someone to listen I can find them.
I was merely expressing my discontent with a few people.
Who by now I should know better about.
I was merely commenting on how I was feeling about certain people.
Not "everyone" - not "everybody".
Trust me, if I need someone to listen I can find them.
I was merely expressing my discontent with a few people.
Who by now I should know better about.
Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies…
And the final "Draft" that I found today. After this, posts will be real time...
June 3 2010 | Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies…
I think but I don’t want to admit it, nor do I want it confirmed, that I’m not the person I supposed myself to be. If you ask me, I think I haven’t complained…too much. But now, my fear is that I must be complaining all the time.
It’s relative, I suppose. I am – unhappy – the majority of minutes in each hour. Not depressed per se, not lackluster, not morose, distraught, confused, dismayed. I am…unhappy. As in “not happy”. So if I am unhappy 46 minutes out of 60, and I talk to you for 5, and I spend less then 2.1/2 of those minutes bitching, I think to a degree I’m not really telling you how I feel. Because the amount of time I am unhappy is completely disproportionate to the time I spend expressing it. So if we were weighting averages….
I haven’t blogged.
I don’t call you.
I don’t complain.
Not because I’m noble. Not because I’m a martyr. Not because I think you don’t care.
But because when I do try and talk about it, I get shut down.
Or dismissed.
I came home from a perfect lovely dinner party in tears tonight. Not because anything went wrong, or because I think I’m incapable of engendering affection, or that I felt maligned. Not for any of the reasons that being pregnant, or sensitive, or even insecure would allow for.
Moreso because someone said something – casually – tritely – innocently. And it threw me. I talked to my husband, trying to articulate the feelings. Then I went to bed at 5am. Not “over” what was said, but because it took me about that much time to watch tv, to sort out my feelings, and to just sit for a bit and think.
And here’s I guess what was bothering me. And I had to think, really think about who reads this BEFORE I wrote it, and the one person who overlaps, I trust would not share this.
I got today – in the mail – a handicapped placard. Albeit temporary. But still. It expires in November. I joked about it gleefully, I laugh at my own joy in it. Where to go? What to do? Perhaps I’ll go to Kohls, to Market Basket, to a Red Sox game. Anyplace where I can park with relish and wild abandonment.
And my friends laughed with me. We traded silly anecdotes about parking – the how, the where. And one said, quite innocently, that she had mentioned it to her husband – way back when, when I first applied, and he replied something along the lines of “You’re kidding me, are you kidding me??”
What does that MEAN, exactly?
Because in her retelling, and in my knowing her husband, I’m not certain it was “You're kidding, s it that dangerous?” And I suspect it’s more along the lines of “You’re kidding, bit of a drama queen much?” But maybe not. And I’ll never know because I can’t ask her about it, because she, like so many, instead chooses to…and I’m not sure this is accurate either, “comfort me?” when I discuss anything about this.
So you know what, I don’t say anything.
Because if I say “Im big”
I get “Oh I was huge pregnant”
If I say “my feet hurt”
I get, ‘Oh I had sciatica”
If I say “It’s hard to walk”
I get “Oh but aren’t you lucky to be standing, weren’t you in the hospital with Ellie at this time before?”
Yes. Yes you are right. Yes, thank you for the reminder that I should not complain. That I should be grateful. That you’ve been here too. Thank you. Because our pregnancies, our lives, are so similar.
I haven’t spoken to you, to anyone, not because I am brave, but because I am pathetic. And angry. And its unproductive. But in anger, and sadness, and frustration, I am going to here. Because really, if I never say it outloud, I’ll miss the chance to express it.
For starters, to answer that specific comment:
Yes. Yes I applied for a handicapped placard. Why? Because someone placed a stitch in my cervix at 13 weeks so I wouldn’t spontaneously funnel. Because they thought my pregnancy was fucking dangerous. It continues to be. I can’t go to the pool, sit in a tub, crouch in the bath with my child. I can’t walk too far because the weight of TWINS puts pressure on it. I can’t have sex, have an orgasm, have a decent shit, for fear of tearing, rupturing, dislodging it. I have a fucking STITCH in my fucking CERVIX because someone in their infinite wisdom decided that there was the chance I could deliver two fucking babies early and they’d die. So yes, I have a stitch, which renders me somewhat immobile. So yuck it the fuck up with your husband about why I have a handicap placard. That a doctor signed for. That the state agreed with. Because THEY know it’s dangerous for me to walk around, but I guess you don’t.
Why am I so angry? Oh shit, I don't know. Because I am tired of trying to convince people that it's dangerous and high risk while at the same time trying to express that it's being expertly managed and I'm doing fantastic.
I said this before. It's like living in an area with landminds.
Am I good? Well, a bomb didn't go off today. That doesn't mean that one won't go off tomorrow.
One friend said - and I can't figure out if she was trying to comfort me, distract me, or just shut me the fuck up..."Oh all pregnancies feel like you are living over a landmine. All mothers worry that something could happen every day"
To be fair that is true.
But worring about premature labor when you have no history, no symptoms, no cause, no history... is significantly less realistic then worrying about it when you ARE at risk for it. Double risk.
I'm not just sayting to you "Holy cow, I worry"
I'm saying to you, in all seriousness "I live with fear and worry daily. And it's taxing. To me, to my family. On all of us. I'm managing but it's both a surreal state of being, and stressful."
So when someone replies "Oh yeah, I felt that way too" I find it difficult to hear it as empathy. It feels...dismissive.
I have also heard:
“oh but you are at least standing up”
Yes. I am. I am standing. Barely. I get up each day and have breakfast. I panic that I am late because I can’t run up and down stairs for the myriad things you get last minute taking a child out. I twinge as I boost her into her car seat. “is today the day?” Is today the day I did too much? Will my actions today lead to premature labor?” I drive to her school and park way UP the ramp. Father then any mother and child before or after me. Because I need to be close to the door. People think it’s because I’m pregnant. That’s not why. Pregnant you can walk.So not only do I block cars but I'm humiliated. Because not everyone knows "my history" So instead I just look like a hypochondriac who feels she needs special access because my husband managed to do what every OTHER husband also managed to do. Knock up his wife.
I have thought, but only attempted saying outloud once:
"I hate that Doug and I can't go for a walk / that I cant take Ellie for a walk / that I can't walk to the park"
Because generally the response is: "Oh I was so tired every night. Even if you weren't supposed to take it easy, you probably wouldn't want to go for a walk."
And again. Ok., I get it. You were pregnant and so am I. Same.
Yet again, I feel shut down. I want to express to you how sad I feel around this loss. The loss of freedom, or choice. My inability to parent the way I want to. That my weekends stretch before me because even a festival, a park, a zoo is out of the question. I am trading a year of my life, a year, for these children. It is a high price.
I have gained weight. I am big. I say "OMG, you should SEE me, I am so SO BIG!
I am.
But you reply:
“Oh no you’re not. You aren’t fat…”
Did I say I was fat? Did you hear me say fat? I’m big. BIG. Measuring 34 weeks at 26. I’m big. And saying I’m not? Shuts me down. So I’m a XL and I’m not big? Really? Because I feel big. My hips are dislocated. I have psd. I can’t open my legs. I need help getting up from peeing. I have no strength and almost 50 lbs on a 62 inch frame. I hurt all the time. ALL the time. I have shooting pains in the soles of my feet. I cannot walk upstairs properly. I believe my belly button has herniated. I put 45lbs on a 5’2” frame in under 5 months with no exercise, no walks, no stretching, no strength. So if I’m not big and this is all so so normal what that tells me is, I'm a whiner. Because for me, again, I'm amazed. And it's shocking. Because therea re two TWO people inside me. And occasionally, just occasionally, I want to marvel at it outloud. Because really, I have never seen anyone - god's truth - in person that got this big. At THIS gestational age. So I mention it to you and you say "No, you aren't that big" Ok. Color me sheepish and embarrased then. For being an attention seeker. I must be a fucking whiner. I must be a complete narcissist. Because apparently everyone ELSE gets this big at 25 weeks and I missed it. My noting it is just me seeking attention. I’m not big at ALL. Oh. Ok. I’ll just suck it up then. Sorry I mentioned it. Besides you are right. I saw all of you when you were pregnant and you know what, I remember you at 25 weeks. You weren’t big either.
“oh you’ll lose weight once you have the babies. You won’t have time to eat.”
Ah. Ok. So I eat a lot then. That’s how I gained all this weight. Just a big ol eatin machine. I didn’t eat all this on, in fact. To be fair, I can barely eat. Heartburn. Nausea.Oh you had that too? Right. I forget.
And my ass itching? That’s common too. Because of the weekly progesterone shots. The shots? What are they for? To keep my cervix from opening. Do they hurt? Meh. Scale of 1-10? 3 maybe. Hurt? No. Burn? Painful? Itching? Yes. I should sit in the tub? Can’t.
Listen, this isn’t me being bitter about not getting attention.
This is me wondering why, when I GOT pregnant, and you offered to help, why you won’t allow me to discuss my fears or concerns or even share in my astonishment. Because the OTHER fact is, I never have been this pregnant before. I never stood UP with the first one. I was in the hospital this time last time. I never bought maternity clothes, thought about streollers, rooms, gender, space idssues, carseats, designed a room, had a shower. I never wore a harness, or had heartburn. I didn't even gain a lot of weight. I never did any of this. It IS all new. As are twins.
Im glad you are here to keep me in check.
I need to realize that there’s totally nothing unique about being high risk and carrying twins. Please don't allow me to marvel at the fact that I am…enormous. Because two people are, in fact, living inside me. And I have a whole team of people who think it’s…amazing. And dangerous. And discussable.
But not you, friend. You won’t allow me to talk about it.
I have no fucking idea why so I can only assume it’s because I’m a huge fucking boring whiner.I’m a fucking rampant narcissist.
So really, why bother.
I’ll just sit here and shut up and not call, not connect, not blog, not talk at all.
So I’ll just sit quietly until it passes.
And then we can resume our artificial conversations that are meaningless.
I just can’t wait.
Thanks for “being there” for me.
June 3 2010 | Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies…
I think but I don’t want to admit it, nor do I want it confirmed, that I’m not the person I supposed myself to be. If you ask me, I think I haven’t complained…too much. But now, my fear is that I must be complaining all the time.
It’s relative, I suppose. I am – unhappy – the majority of minutes in each hour. Not depressed per se, not lackluster, not morose, distraught, confused, dismayed. I am…unhappy. As in “not happy”. So if I am unhappy 46 minutes out of 60, and I talk to you for 5, and I spend less then 2.1/2 of those minutes bitching, I think to a degree I’m not really telling you how I feel. Because the amount of time I am unhappy is completely disproportionate to the time I spend expressing it. So if we were weighting averages….
I haven’t blogged.
I don’t call you.
I don’t complain.
Not because I’m noble. Not because I’m a martyr. Not because I think you don’t care.
But because when I do try and talk about it, I get shut down.
Or dismissed.
I came home from a perfect lovely dinner party in tears tonight. Not because anything went wrong, or because I think I’m incapable of engendering affection, or that I felt maligned. Not for any of the reasons that being pregnant, or sensitive, or even insecure would allow for.
Moreso because someone said something – casually – tritely – innocently. And it threw me. I talked to my husband, trying to articulate the feelings. Then I went to bed at 5am. Not “over” what was said, but because it took me about that much time to watch tv, to sort out my feelings, and to just sit for a bit and think.
And here’s I guess what was bothering me. And I had to think, really think about who reads this BEFORE I wrote it, and the one person who overlaps, I trust would not share this.
I got today – in the mail – a handicapped placard. Albeit temporary. But still. It expires in November. I joked about it gleefully, I laugh at my own joy in it. Where to go? What to do? Perhaps I’ll go to Kohls, to Market Basket, to a Red Sox game. Anyplace where I can park with relish and wild abandonment.
And my friends laughed with me. We traded silly anecdotes about parking – the how, the where. And one said, quite innocently, that she had mentioned it to her husband – way back when, when I first applied, and he replied something along the lines of “You’re kidding me, are you kidding me??”
What does that MEAN, exactly?
Because in her retelling, and in my knowing her husband, I’m not certain it was “You're kidding, s it that dangerous?” And I suspect it’s more along the lines of “You’re kidding, bit of a drama queen much?” But maybe not. And I’ll never know because I can’t ask her about it, because she, like so many, instead chooses to…and I’m not sure this is accurate either, “comfort me?” when I discuss anything about this.
So you know what, I don’t say anything.
Because if I say “Im big”
I get “Oh I was huge pregnant”
If I say “my feet hurt”
I get, ‘Oh I had sciatica”
If I say “It’s hard to walk”
I get “Oh but aren’t you lucky to be standing, weren’t you in the hospital with Ellie at this time before?”
Yes. Yes you are right. Yes, thank you for the reminder that I should not complain. That I should be grateful. That you’ve been here too. Thank you. Because our pregnancies, our lives, are so similar.
I haven’t spoken to you, to anyone, not because I am brave, but because I am pathetic. And angry. And its unproductive. But in anger, and sadness, and frustration, I am going to here. Because really, if I never say it outloud, I’ll miss the chance to express it.
For starters, to answer that specific comment:
Yes. Yes I applied for a handicapped placard. Why? Because someone placed a stitch in my cervix at 13 weeks so I wouldn’t spontaneously funnel. Because they thought my pregnancy was fucking dangerous. It continues to be. I can’t go to the pool, sit in a tub, crouch in the bath with my child. I can’t walk too far because the weight of TWINS puts pressure on it. I can’t have sex, have an orgasm, have a decent shit, for fear of tearing, rupturing, dislodging it. I have a fucking STITCH in my fucking CERVIX because someone in their infinite wisdom decided that there was the chance I could deliver two fucking babies early and they’d die. So yes, I have a stitch, which renders me somewhat immobile. So yuck it the fuck up with your husband about why I have a handicap placard. That a doctor signed for. That the state agreed with. Because THEY know it’s dangerous for me to walk around, but I guess you don’t.
Why am I so angry? Oh shit, I don't know. Because I am tired of trying to convince people that it's dangerous and high risk while at the same time trying to express that it's being expertly managed and I'm doing fantastic.
I said this before. It's like living in an area with landminds.
Am I good? Well, a bomb didn't go off today. That doesn't mean that one won't go off tomorrow.
One friend said - and I can't figure out if she was trying to comfort me, distract me, or just shut me the fuck up..."Oh all pregnancies feel like you are living over a landmine. All mothers worry that something could happen every day"
To be fair that is true.
But worring about premature labor when you have no history, no symptoms, no cause, no history... is significantly less realistic then worrying about it when you ARE at risk for it. Double risk.
I'm not just sayting to you "Holy cow, I worry"
I'm saying to you, in all seriousness "I live with fear and worry daily. And it's taxing. To me, to my family. On all of us. I'm managing but it's both a surreal state of being, and stressful."
So when someone replies "Oh yeah, I felt that way too" I find it difficult to hear it as empathy. It feels...dismissive.
I have also heard:
“oh but you are at least standing up”
Yes. I am. I am standing. Barely. I get up each day and have breakfast. I panic that I am late because I can’t run up and down stairs for the myriad things you get last minute taking a child out. I twinge as I boost her into her car seat. “is today the day?” Is today the day I did too much? Will my actions today lead to premature labor?” I drive to her school and park way UP the ramp. Father then any mother and child before or after me. Because I need to be close to the door. People think it’s because I’m pregnant. That’s not why. Pregnant you can walk.So not only do I block cars but I'm humiliated. Because not everyone knows "my history" So instead I just look like a hypochondriac who feels she needs special access because my husband managed to do what every OTHER husband also managed to do. Knock up his wife.
I have thought, but only attempted saying outloud once:
"I hate that Doug and I can't go for a walk / that I cant take Ellie for a walk / that I can't walk to the park"
Because generally the response is: "Oh I was so tired every night. Even if you weren't supposed to take it easy, you probably wouldn't want to go for a walk."
And again. Ok., I get it. You were pregnant and so am I. Same.
Yet again, I feel shut down. I want to express to you how sad I feel around this loss. The loss of freedom, or choice. My inability to parent the way I want to. That my weekends stretch before me because even a festival, a park, a zoo is out of the question. I am trading a year of my life, a year, for these children. It is a high price.
I have gained weight. I am big. I say "OMG, you should SEE me, I am so SO BIG!
I am.
But you reply:
“Oh no you’re not. You aren’t fat…”
Did I say I was fat? Did you hear me say fat? I’m big. BIG. Measuring 34 weeks at 26. I’m big. And saying I’m not? Shuts me down. So I’m a XL and I’m not big? Really? Because I feel big. My hips are dislocated. I have psd. I can’t open my legs. I need help getting up from peeing. I have no strength and almost 50 lbs on a 62 inch frame. I hurt all the time. ALL the time. I have shooting pains in the soles of my feet. I cannot walk upstairs properly. I believe my belly button has herniated. I put 45lbs on a 5’2” frame in under 5 months with no exercise, no walks, no stretching, no strength. So if I’m not big and this is all so so normal what that tells me is, I'm a whiner. Because for me, again, I'm amazed. And it's shocking. Because therea re two TWO people inside me. And occasionally, just occasionally, I want to marvel at it outloud. Because really, I have never seen anyone - god's truth - in person that got this big. At THIS gestational age. So I mention it to you and you say "No, you aren't that big" Ok. Color me sheepish and embarrased then. For being an attention seeker. I must be a fucking whiner. I must be a complete narcissist. Because apparently everyone ELSE gets this big at 25 weeks and I missed it. My noting it is just me seeking attention. I’m not big at ALL. Oh. Ok. I’ll just suck it up then. Sorry I mentioned it. Besides you are right. I saw all of you when you were pregnant and you know what, I remember you at 25 weeks. You weren’t big either.
“oh you’ll lose weight once you have the babies. You won’t have time to eat.”
Ah. Ok. So I eat a lot then. That’s how I gained all this weight. Just a big ol eatin machine. I didn’t eat all this on, in fact. To be fair, I can barely eat. Heartburn. Nausea.Oh you had that too? Right. I forget.
And my ass itching? That’s common too. Because of the weekly progesterone shots. The shots? What are they for? To keep my cervix from opening. Do they hurt? Meh. Scale of 1-10? 3 maybe. Hurt? No. Burn? Painful? Itching? Yes. I should sit in the tub? Can’t.
Listen, this isn’t me being bitter about not getting attention.
This is me wondering why, when I GOT pregnant, and you offered to help, why you won’t allow me to discuss my fears or concerns or even share in my astonishment. Because the OTHER fact is, I never have been this pregnant before. I never stood UP with the first one. I was in the hospital this time last time. I never bought maternity clothes, thought about streollers, rooms, gender, space idssues, carseats, designed a room, had a shower. I never wore a harness, or had heartburn. I didn't even gain a lot of weight. I never did any of this. It IS all new. As are twins.
Im glad you are here to keep me in check.
I need to realize that there’s totally nothing unique about being high risk and carrying twins. Please don't allow me to marvel at the fact that I am…enormous. Because two people are, in fact, living inside me. And I have a whole team of people who think it’s…amazing. And dangerous. And discussable.
But not you, friend. You won’t allow me to talk about it.
I have no fucking idea why so I can only assume it’s because I’m a huge fucking boring whiner.I’m a fucking rampant narcissist.
So really, why bother.
I’ll just sit here and shut up and not call, not connect, not blog, not talk at all.
So I’ll just sit quietly until it passes.
And then we can resume our artificial conversations that are meaningless.
I just can’t wait.
Thanks for “being there” for me.
Drafts
I have a list of posts in DRAFT that I never finished, edited or published. They are:
3/24/2010 |Twenty Weeks, Maternity Clothes & Tuna Fish
Yet it's blank. I do believe this is The Last Time I Ate Tuna and there was some discussion of it.The next post was Untitled and was dated 4/23/2010 although I could have written it today.
4/23/2010 | Untitled
A change of choice, a change I invited - but one far more complicated then I expected. There is the change in body, in size. The changes in ability - to lift, to walk. The changes in stamina - to nap, to work. The changes in application - may I do this, can I do that? The daily headaches, the pelvic pain, the rib separation, the muscle atrophy. The onset of gestational diabetes and the online, oft chastising advice to exercise it off, with my actual doctors saying not to exercise at all. Friends. Friends who offer to help, to be there, to support - who are only being called upon to sympathize, yet want to compartmentalize symptoms into something logical that makes sense to them. Something familiar, yet invalidating. So frustrating. Yes, you have been pregnant. We are not so different. You were tired too? You had pain? Surely we are the same.
Because I have pain too. and yet, the hours that we are not talking? The hours you don't see me? The hours I don't blog. What do you think those are like? Do you picture me laying in bed, watching television? Do you picture me sitting, feet up. Toddling into the kitchen for bon bons and juice? What do you imagine?
Are you imagining my driving weekly to a specialist, spending myriad hours at the hospital? Are you picturing me at home, sitting on the floor, parceling items out for goodwill wishing for someone to come lift the bags into my car? Are you picturing me surrounded by paid for help that is waiting for direction with little initiative, sighing at the tasks I assign them? Are you picturing the phone ringing, with two mothers constantly complaining that at 60 (and at 50, and at 40) their lives were unhappy and why am I not making time for them? Are you picturing my arguing with my husband, who thinks emptying a closet is redundant, as is painting a house, because somehow, after having twins, I am going to rise up like a phoenix from the ashes and get it all done? Do you picture me online house hunting, planning the inevitable move? Do you question why? Why is this necessary? Surely. Because I am either going to do it now... or later. But no one else is going to do it.
Then on 4/26, I think I had read one two many FB posts on "What's wrong with...my state, my country, my spouse..."
4/26/2010 | More Notes From The Land Of "I'm Perfect"
If you really really don't like the state you live in; if you bitch about the traffic, the politics, the weather, the people, the infrastructure, the policies, your rights, your services, your opportunities, the cost of living there, and the myriad OTHER things that annoy you, I have a simple solution.
Move.
Around 5/5 I placed an ad on Craigslist asking for help moving some yard stuff. By 5/6/2010 I was updating you all on my fantasy follow up post...
5/6/2101 | **UPDATE**
OK, thank you all for your responses now let's get realistic. I was seeking someone move three things. Things a 5 foot tall housewife moved in the first place. Things I can't move today due to a minor surgery. Things that I normally throw in the back of my soccer mom teeny SUV.
Now lets talk about the ad. It said WAKEFIELD" So...hmmm..ok. A pit pass in Wakefield is $25. Say you are a landscaper, ... you drive by, you grab the 1 trash barrel , the tiny bale of hay, and the twigs (now bagged). It takes you six minutes max including chit chat and off you go. The $20 pays for an annual pass. Ish. Actually the pass is now $25 but still. Close, right? Not a bad deal.
So while I appreciate the guy that lived on the south shore quoting me $100 plus dollars, I need to ask you to really THINK about this before you hit respond. I was offering $20 for 5 minutes of your time... on a day you were doing work IN TOWN, already driving to our local pit. I'm not looking to refinance your house or to have your crew landscape my acres of pastoral farmland. I'm not looking for an affair, an illegal dump, you to teach me how to compost my refuse, or a lesson in economics. Unless you are already billing out at $240 an hour, $20 was a fair offer. And if it wasn't "enough" why on gods green earth did you click on the link? Honestly? Really? Thanks anyway. I'll flag someone down tomorrow. And you, my friends, you are ruining my faith in mankind.
On May 31, I had uncovered a draft of one titled POSTCARDS. That one I'll hit "publish" on and by done with...
5/31/2010 | Postcards
3/24/2010 |Twenty Weeks, Maternity Clothes & Tuna Fish
Yet it's blank. I do believe this is The Last Time I Ate Tuna and there was some discussion of it.The next post was Untitled and was dated 4/23/2010 although I could have written it today.
4/23/2010 | Untitled
A change of choice, a change I invited - but one far more complicated then I expected. There is the change in body, in size. The changes in ability - to lift, to walk. The changes in stamina - to nap, to work. The changes in application - may I do this, can I do that? The daily headaches, the pelvic pain, the rib separation, the muscle atrophy. The onset of gestational diabetes and the online, oft chastising advice to exercise it off, with my actual doctors saying not to exercise at all. Friends. Friends who offer to help, to be there, to support - who are only being called upon to sympathize, yet want to compartmentalize symptoms into something logical that makes sense to them. Something familiar, yet invalidating. So frustrating. Yes, you have been pregnant. We are not so different. You were tired too? You had pain? Surely we are the same.
Because I have pain too. and yet, the hours that we are not talking? The hours you don't see me? The hours I don't blog. What do you think those are like? Do you picture me laying in bed, watching television? Do you picture me sitting, feet up. Toddling into the kitchen for bon bons and juice? What do you imagine?
Are you imagining my driving weekly to a specialist, spending myriad hours at the hospital? Are you picturing me at home, sitting on the floor, parceling items out for goodwill wishing for someone to come lift the bags into my car? Are you picturing me surrounded by paid for help that is waiting for direction with little initiative, sighing at the tasks I assign them? Are you picturing the phone ringing, with two mothers constantly complaining that at 60 (and at 50, and at 40) their lives were unhappy and why am I not making time for them? Are you picturing my arguing with my husband, who thinks emptying a closet is redundant, as is painting a house, because somehow, after having twins, I am going to rise up like a phoenix from the ashes and get it all done? Do you picture me online house hunting, planning the inevitable move? Do you question why? Why is this necessary? Surely. Because I am either going to do it now... or later. But no one else is going to do it.
Then on 4/26, I think I had read one two many FB posts on "What's wrong with...my state, my country, my spouse..."
4/26/2010 | More Notes From The Land Of "I'm Perfect"
If you really really don't like the state you live in; if you bitch about the traffic, the politics, the weather, the people, the infrastructure, the policies, your rights, your services, your opportunities, the cost of living there, and the myriad OTHER things that annoy you, I have a simple solution.
Move.
Around 5/5 I placed an ad on Craigslist asking for help moving some yard stuff. By 5/6/2010 I was updating you all on my fantasy follow up post...
5/6/2101 | **UPDATE**
OK, thank you all for your responses now let's get realistic. I was seeking someone move three things. Things a 5 foot tall housewife moved in the first place. Things I can't move today due to a minor surgery. Things that I normally throw in the back of my soccer mom teeny SUV.
Now lets talk about the ad. It said WAKEFIELD" So...hmmm..ok. A pit pass in Wakefield is $25. Say you are a landscaper, ... you drive by, you grab the 1 trash barrel , the tiny bale of hay, and the twigs (now bagged). It takes you six minutes max including chit chat and off you go. The $20 pays for an annual pass. Ish. Actually the pass is now $25 but still. Close, right? Not a bad deal.
So while I appreciate the guy that lived on the south shore quoting me $100 plus dollars, I need to ask you to really THINK about this before you hit respond. I was offering $20 for 5 minutes of your time... on a day you were doing work IN TOWN, already driving to our local pit. I'm not looking to refinance your house or to have your crew landscape my acres of pastoral farmland. I'm not looking for an affair, an illegal dump, you to teach me how to compost my refuse, or a lesson in economics. Unless you are already billing out at $240 an hour, $20 was a fair offer. And if it wasn't "enough" why on gods green earth did you click on the link? Honestly? Really? Thanks anyway. I'll flag someone down tomorrow. And you, my friends, you are ruining my faith in mankind.
On May 31, I had uncovered a draft of one titled POSTCARDS. That one I'll hit "publish" on and by done with...
5/31/2010 | Postcards
my postcards
Hmmm, this was a draft from a few weeks ago...but sure, why not?
I'll post it as is with the caveat that it's dated.
*********************
5/31/2010 | postcards
Remember that book / blog that was so popular? The one where people submit anonymous postcards with deep dark secrets? I haven't blogged, facebooked, returned calls lately - because really, I'm feeling foul. Foul as in sick, and foul as in tempered. But more foul as sick. Having said that, human friends appear to be forgiving so I guess I'm allowed to resume relationships with low penalties. But really, I'm so black and bitter I think its best to lay low...
MY POSTCARDS
the other day my husband cut himself on the hose box. he was trying to recoil the hose with zero finesse and caught a finger in the locking mechanism. it bled a lot. i pretended to feel bad and helped him douse it with hydrogen peroxide... but secretly, he had it coming to him.
despite the fact that I respect almost all of my friends that do it, I still think breast feeding is grossly overrated. unless it's to save money, or sleep better, or you really like it personally then i think its smart.
my daughters preschool teacher continues to promote a relationship between one other girl and mine in her class. she comments to me daily that there is a great affection between the two. for all intents and purposes, the girls an idiot, has no redeeming value, and her parents are only slightly higher on the evolutionary chain then apes. i think less of her teacher for even allowing the child to be schooled there.
every time we play "marry, boff or kill" my husband and i kill the same neighbor.
although I don't mind gaining weight to support the twin beasties, i'm quite embarrassed to be so large.
i wish my daughter could keep her binky longer. i told her that the binky fairy was coming someday but not today - then i lost all her binks within the last week and now she thinks the fairy came already. my husband says to just allow her to think so but i'm sad anyway.
my dads wife brought over a pair of jeans she insisted were my three year old daughters that I left at their party. I told her repeatedly that we didn't leave jeans, or undies for that matter... but she brought them by anyway and dropped them off. a pair of size 14 girls shorts. i question her brain power at times.
i "like" very many people but overall, somedays? would be fine moving and creating an entirely different set of friends. for three years I've found the same people false. i don't know why I continue to wish for more. maybe because THEY seem so content with each other i assume something must be wrong with me.
I'll post it as is with the caveat that it's dated.
*********************
5/31/2010 | postcards
Remember that book / blog that was so popular? The one where people submit anonymous postcards with deep dark secrets? I haven't blogged, facebooked, returned calls lately - because really, I'm feeling foul. Foul as in sick, and foul as in tempered. But more foul as sick. Having said that, human friends appear to be forgiving so I guess I'm allowed to resume relationships with low penalties. But really, I'm so black and bitter I think its best to lay low...
MY POSTCARDS
the other day my husband cut himself on the hose box. he was trying to recoil the hose with zero finesse and caught a finger in the locking mechanism. it bled a lot. i pretended to feel bad and helped him douse it with hydrogen peroxide... but secretly, he had it coming to him.
despite the fact that I respect almost all of my friends that do it, I still think breast feeding is grossly overrated. unless it's to save money, or sleep better, or you really like it personally then i think its smart.
my daughters preschool teacher continues to promote a relationship between one other girl and mine in her class. she comments to me daily that there is a great affection between the two. for all intents and purposes, the girls an idiot, has no redeeming value, and her parents are only slightly higher on the evolutionary chain then apes. i think less of her teacher for even allowing the child to be schooled there.
every time we play "marry, boff or kill" my husband and i kill the same neighbor.
although I don't mind gaining weight to support the twin beasties, i'm quite embarrassed to be so large.
i wish my daughter could keep her binky longer. i told her that the binky fairy was coming someday but not today - then i lost all her binks within the last week and now she thinks the fairy came already. my husband says to just allow her to think so but i'm sad anyway.
my dads wife brought over a pair of jeans she insisted were my three year old daughters that I left at their party. I told her repeatedly that we didn't leave jeans, or undies for that matter... but she brought them by anyway and dropped them off. a pair of size 14 girls shorts. i question her brain power at times.
i "like" very many people but overall, somedays? would be fine moving and creating an entirely different set of friends. for three years I've found the same people false. i don't know why I continue to wish for more. maybe because THEY seem so content with each other i assume something must be wrong with me.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
fucking insurance people
on my EOB... the following note:
BASED ON ONE OR MORE OF THE PROCEDURE(S) LISTED ABOVE, YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM THE TREATMENT DESCRIBED IN THE ENCLOSED BROCHURE.
POLICY 669: 3 Essentials for Healthy Teeth: (1)A Soft-Bristled Toothbrush, (2) Toothpaste with Fluoride, (3) Floss Every Day. Do this and you may lower your risk of tooth decay by as much as 40%!
POLICY 909: PATIENTS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY PLAN CO-PAYMENTS.
May 25, 2010
Delta Dental of Massachusetts
attn: Customer Service
cc: Corporate Communications
Dear Delta Dental,
Thank you so much for your recent Explanation of Benefits. Imagine my great delight when I saw your notation as to how I can better care for my teeth. Who knew that in addition to offering dental coverage you offered unsolicited advice? Color me tickled. I find these days, as I am pregnant with twins, thus putting me at risk for periodontal diseases through no fault of my own nor poor practices of my own, that your assumptions as to my “at home care” are delightful! Use a soft tooth brush and fluoride paste? Who knew! Flossing? Wow. And here I thought that my daily use of The Dr’s Brush Picks, combined with vigorous flossing, then the 2 minute application of fluoride toothpaste with my oscillating head Oral B toothbrush followed by a 30 second swish of Listerine were enough.
I feel terrible though, that after 41 years on this earth, myriad visits to the dentist, and accolades abounding from my hygienist that my at home care is, I believe the word was unparalleled, that I have been neglecting this VITAL information you so graciously provided. What was it again? Oh yes. That I should brush with fluoride and floss everyday. Thank you. Scintillating. I appreciate your follow up – especially after driving in town, parking, sitting in a chair and hearing that there is possibly an issue with the gum under the bridge and cap, treatment of a birth defect of a tooth that never developed – and that despite my heroic hygienic efforts, essentially it’s just “one of those things.” Your backing it up with your FANTASTIC tip on my benefits form gratifies me. Having a conversation with my 30 years practicing dentist in no way parallels your expertise. Good job providing that excellent customer service! Be certain to keep it up. I know that it’s my best interest you have at heart and not the overall reduction of your costs.
I only wish you provided medical insurance so when my daughter trips at the playground, I could get free parenting advice on how to watch her better.
Best wishes and Happy…what was it again? Oh yes, brushing and flossing to you. Daily. Try not to forget! Gratefully yours and suitably stunned with this new groundbreaking information,
My Real Name,
Claim Document #: xxxxxx
Subscriber ID: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
PS Thank you further for the explanation of who is responsible for a co-pay. I was completely unclear on the very definition of the word. All those multiple meanings out there, so glad you broke it down for me. I had no idea that a copay was what I paid at the front desk! You guys are sharpies - thanks for the heads up!
BASED ON ONE OR MORE OF THE PROCEDURE(S) LISTED ABOVE, YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM THE TREATMENT DESCRIBED IN THE ENCLOSED BROCHURE.
POLICY 669: 3 Essentials for Healthy Teeth: (1)A Soft-Bristled Toothbrush, (2) Toothpaste with Fluoride, (3) Floss Every Day. Do this and you may lower your risk of tooth decay by as much as 40%!
POLICY 909: PATIENTS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY PLAN CO-PAYMENTS.
May 25, 2010
Delta Dental of Massachusetts
attn: Customer Service
cc: Corporate Communications
Dear Delta Dental,
Thank you so much for your recent Explanation of Benefits. Imagine my great delight when I saw your notation as to how I can better care for my teeth. Who knew that in addition to offering dental coverage you offered unsolicited advice? Color me tickled. I find these days, as I am pregnant with twins, thus putting me at risk for periodontal diseases through no fault of my own nor poor practices of my own, that your assumptions as to my “at home care” are delightful! Use a soft tooth brush and fluoride paste? Who knew! Flossing? Wow. And here I thought that my daily use of The Dr’s Brush Picks, combined with vigorous flossing, then the 2 minute application of fluoride toothpaste with my oscillating head Oral B toothbrush followed by a 30 second swish of Listerine were enough.
I feel terrible though, that after 41 years on this earth, myriad visits to the dentist, and accolades abounding from my hygienist that my at home care is, I believe the word was unparalleled, that I have been neglecting this VITAL information you so graciously provided. What was it again? Oh yes. That I should brush with fluoride and floss everyday. Thank you. Scintillating. I appreciate your follow up – especially after driving in town, parking, sitting in a chair and hearing that there is possibly an issue with the gum under the bridge and cap, treatment of a birth defect of a tooth that never developed – and that despite my heroic hygienic efforts, essentially it’s just “one of those things.” Your backing it up with your FANTASTIC tip on my benefits form gratifies me. Having a conversation with my 30 years practicing dentist in no way parallels your expertise. Good job providing that excellent customer service! Be certain to keep it up. I know that it’s my best interest you have at heart and not the overall reduction of your costs.
I only wish you provided medical insurance so when my daughter trips at the playground, I could get free parenting advice on how to watch her better.
Best wishes and Happy…what was it again? Oh yes, brushing and flossing to you. Daily. Try not to forget! Gratefully yours and suitably stunned with this new groundbreaking information,
My Real Name,
Claim Document #: xxxxxx
Subscriber ID: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
PS Thank you further for the explanation of who is responsible for a co-pay. I was completely unclear on the very definition of the word. All those multiple meanings out there, so glad you broke it down for me. I had no idea that a copay was what I paid at the front desk! You guys are sharpies - thanks for the heads up!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Taking matters Into My Own Hands subtitled Not That I'm Fed Up With My Husband Or Anything...
MY AD
Landscaper - The Quickest $20 ever... (Mytown)
Call me a donkey but I can't get 3 things OUT of my yard and really, all it would take is stronger arms and a pit pass. Sigh. And a truck or some such transporting device.
If you are a landscaper (you'll need to be able to prove that when I call you because I do NOT condone illegal dumping) and have a pit pass - can you lift and haul the following for me? It should take you - seriously - 5 minutes to get in your truck. If that. Unless you are super manly. Then it'll take 4. And I'll yell out things like "Oh my GOODness you are so strong!!!"
Item One: (1) bale of decorative straw that has been in it's lifetime, rained on. Heavish but it's a small Calarusos $4 bale so not that heavy.
Item Two: (1) trash barrel full of leaves and a dead plant that wasnt covered, thus started to breakdown. Heavier then a car I suspect.
Item Three: a random pile of twigs and small branches that have blown off our tree since December. Super light.
Landscaper - The Quickest $20 ever... (Mytown)
Call me a donkey but I can't get 3 things OUT of my yard and really, all it would take is stronger arms and a pit pass. Sigh. And a truck or some such transporting device.
If you are a landscaper (you'll need to be able to prove that when I call you because I do NOT condone illegal dumping) and have a pit pass - can you lift and haul the following for me? It should take you - seriously - 5 minutes to get in your truck. If that. Unless you are super manly. Then it'll take 4. And I'll yell out things like "Oh my GOODness you are so strong!!!"
Item One: (1) bale of decorative straw that has been in it's lifetime, rained on. Heavish but it's a small Calarusos $4 bale so not that heavy.
Item Two: (1) trash barrel full of leaves and a dead plant that wasnt covered, thus started to breakdown. Heavier then a car I suspect.
Item Three: a random pile of twigs and small branches that have blown off our tree since December. Super light.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Yard Sale Nirvana... A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words (or $10)
An email from my friend on Saturday...
Subject: not to brag, but...
Message: I had to show you all the clothes we scored at the Cong. Church rummage sale after the party...all for less than $10! I ended up with 4 shirts for me, 10 shirts for Ellyn, 10 pants for Ellyn, 1 outfit for Mary, 1 shirt for Mary, 1 coat for Mary, 1 raincoat for Ellyn, and 2 pairs of shoes for Ellyn. It was crazy! We got there at 1 at which point they marked everything half off! Whoopee!
Subject: not to brag, but...
Message: I had to show you all the clothes we scored at the Cong. Church rummage sale after the party...all for less than $10! I ended up with 4 shirts for me, 10 shirts for Ellyn, 10 pants for Ellyn, 1 outfit for Mary, 1 shirt for Mary, 1 coat for Mary, 1 raincoat for Ellyn, and 2 pairs of shoes for Ellyn. It was crazy! We got there at 1 at which point they marked everything half off! Whoopee!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
A Change Is Gonna Come...
I talked to my sister the other day. She's 8 months (already?) or perhaps 7 post surgery and she mentioned her growing intolerance of others. A interesting side effect but not unusual if you think about it. I think if you get to the point in your life where you take decisive action - from eye surgery, to working two jobs, financing new cars, maintaining your family, then undergoing a life changing surgery - well, you are entitled to feel as if you want the world to change around you.
All dressed up with no place to go.
Because I think too when you go through a life change, you.. want ..your.. life.. to.. change.
All of your life.
And I think you want people to change too.
Not concretely. Not tangibly. Not "I want A to suddenly become a wholly wildly different B" but for others, who purport to want change, to change.
What we came to, what I came to anyway, after the conversation was a sense of her feeling, fed up I guess, with the status quo. Because as days go by, as weeks go by, as you, yourself, gain strength and reemerge, I think you expect that change has happened around you. One day you say "I don't like the way xyz is going, so you start to change xy&z." And if you happen to be surrounded by other people who said THEY wanted change, well, I guess its natural to assume they'd be like you - and undergo the same process. Or any process.
You want a new car? You save.
You need your eyes fixed? You call for an appointment.
You want your daughter to have summer opportunities? You wait in line starting at 5am for the coveted town camp slots.
So I think it's frustrating to put in the work to change, then look around you and see a bunch of people - sitting exactly where you left them, unwilling to change.
Or worse, actively taking steps to so deeply root themselves in their own cycles that they can't change.
"Oh me? I was going to go to the gym but now that my son's wife is pregnant, I'll need to stay home."
"Me? I was going to consolidate my debt and get on track but since you left work, I needed to front money so now I can't get back on track."
"Me? I was going to retire but now, with the under $2000 worth of damage to the basement owing to flooding, I'll need to work another year and a half."
Whatever the reason, the excuse, the logic, the illogic - when you are going through change you get... tired... of hearing about how others simply can't POSSIBLY change. In fact, if you ask them, it's not possible at all. Sure YOU can change, it's easy for you. But them? Their situation is different. They are constrained by forces far too complicated for we mortals to comprehend. Their lot in life is so vastly different, so complicated, so necessary that change would be akin to ice melting polar caps. Change just isn't possible.
Alas.
So they suffer.
Martyrs yet not really because to be a martyr implies change could happen.
I don't think we are alike, I don't pretend to understand her situation but here is where we intersect. Where if parallels lay, you'd see them clearly.
Through a choice of her own, change came knocking. Because her surgery, her elective but necessary surgery, forces her to work differently in her life. She has to regulate things that heretofore hadn't needed regulating. She had to become a nutritionist, a chemist, an expert of food protein, a mathematician. She had to learn the skills to cope with doctors, with clinic visits, with time tables that force her to eat, or not eat, on a schedule foreign to her. She has to learn to shop differently, dress differently. Eventually, she will be perceived differently. She's had to be diplomatic in the face of remarks, well intentioned but thoughtless. Assessments about her weight, her health, her figure. Her privacy's are few - as throwing up in a trash barrel is about as public as one can get. And her success, or failure is evident for all the world to see. people who for years "supported" her "You are FINE, you look terrific" and suddenly coming forward with "Oh I'm SO happy for you. I'm so glad you have finally made this change." Hypocrisy. Lies. False comments then and false praise now while all the while snarkily remarking "Oh sure, I could lose 100 pounds too if I did it the easy way."
So change, change came one night and she opened the door. And ushered it in. More change then she expected. And yet, somehow less. Because those around her - those who implied things would be different - didn't change.
I feel ...empathy. Because I too have change around me. Yet others? No change at all.
All dressed up with no place to go.
Because I think too when you go through a life change, you.. want ..your.. life.. to.. change.
All of your life.
And I think you want people to change too.
Not concretely. Not tangibly. Not "I want A to suddenly become a wholly wildly different B" but for others, who purport to want change, to change.
What we came to, what I came to anyway, after the conversation was a sense of her feeling, fed up I guess, with the status quo. Because as days go by, as weeks go by, as you, yourself, gain strength and reemerge, I think you expect that change has happened around you. One day you say "I don't like the way xyz is going, so you start to change xy&z." And if you happen to be surrounded by other people who said THEY wanted change, well, I guess its natural to assume they'd be like you - and undergo the same process. Or any process.
You want a new car? You save.
You need your eyes fixed? You call for an appointment.
You want your daughter to have summer opportunities? You wait in line starting at 5am for the coveted town camp slots.
So I think it's frustrating to put in the work to change, then look around you and see a bunch of people - sitting exactly where you left them, unwilling to change.
Or worse, actively taking steps to so deeply root themselves in their own cycles that they can't change.
"Oh me? I was going to go to the gym but now that my son's wife is pregnant, I'll need to stay home."
"Me? I was going to consolidate my debt and get on track but since you left work, I needed to front money so now I can't get back on track."
"Me? I was going to retire but now, with the under $2000 worth of damage to the basement owing to flooding, I'll need to work another year and a half."
Whatever the reason, the excuse, the logic, the illogic - when you are going through change you get... tired... of hearing about how others simply can't POSSIBLY change. In fact, if you ask them, it's not possible at all. Sure YOU can change, it's easy for you. But them? Their situation is different. They are constrained by forces far too complicated for we mortals to comprehend. Their lot in life is so vastly different, so complicated, so necessary that change would be akin to ice melting polar caps. Change just isn't possible.
Alas.
So they suffer.
Martyrs yet not really because to be a martyr implies change could happen.
I don't think we are alike, I don't pretend to understand her situation but here is where we intersect. Where if parallels lay, you'd see them clearly.
Through a choice of her own, change came knocking. Because her surgery, her elective but necessary surgery, forces her to work differently in her life. She has to regulate things that heretofore hadn't needed regulating. She had to become a nutritionist, a chemist, an expert of food protein, a mathematician. She had to learn the skills to cope with doctors, with clinic visits, with time tables that force her to eat, or not eat, on a schedule foreign to her. She has to learn to shop differently, dress differently. Eventually, she will be perceived differently. She's had to be diplomatic in the face of remarks, well intentioned but thoughtless. Assessments about her weight, her health, her figure. Her privacy's are few - as throwing up in a trash barrel is about as public as one can get. And her success, or failure is evident for all the world to see. people who for years "supported" her "You are FINE, you look terrific" and suddenly coming forward with "Oh I'm SO happy for you. I'm so glad you have finally made this change." Hypocrisy. Lies. False comments then and false praise now while all the while snarkily remarking "Oh sure, I could lose 100 pounds too if I did it the easy way."
So change, change came one night and she opened the door. And ushered it in. More change then she expected. And yet, somehow less. Because those around her - those who implied things would be different - didn't change.
I feel ...empathy. Because I too have change around me. Yet others? No change at all.
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