my life is a ball of yarn

Just had a funny (sort of)thought parallel between (sorry for any irreverence) rape and being forced to read books in school. Even though it kind of amuses me, it's still a serious thing. If you love books, you know what I mean. (I hate Jane Austen to this day.)

Still no baby yet, but I am feeling pretty uncomfortable. Was in a bit of pain before lunch, so apparently I just needed food in my system. Alrighty, back to work now. :)

Sorry for the sudden plethora of posts (points for big words), but 1: I recently remembered I had a blog, 2: I have occasional internet connection and the desire to post things longer than a Facebook status sometimes, and 3: Things seem worthy for me to bring to the notice of my LJ friends (if other than Robyn still reads it).

http://youtu.be/9fAZIQ-vpdw

Yeah, see the joy in his face when he's playing? That's when you know he's doing what he loves. Kinda like what I feel when I'm home with Zay.

But I used to be in music.

I miss that feeling.

I miss music.

I miss feeling that love of making music.

(unrelated: did you know that ladybugs bite? I have a couple bites on my foot that itch like crazy, because they're invading our home at the moment. The light in our living room has at least 50 in it, probably. back to your lives, now.)

Still no baby yet - I took it really easy this past weekend to make sure I get through today (Will's last day at school) before Beh-beh comes. Feeling kinda weird today, but that could have something to do with residual effects of TylenolPM (I swear, that lasts longer in combination form!), the rain, and general end-of-the-pregnancy effects.

I probably need a cup of coffee.

Saw her the other day - she told me she realized after the wedding that she forgot to invite me and felt horrible about it. I told her I was honestly a little sore, but I tried to excuse it for the wedding being in a very small place, and they just ran out of room. She hugged me and said she wished I was there. :)

I'm pregnant again, due in about a month, and have had an irritable uterus this time around. That just means that the muscle tissue in my uterus is irritated and contracts frequently or constantly -- on the monitor at the hospital it looks like it's "grumbling", occasionally having true contraction (usually not the labor contractions). Generally this isn't cause for concern, just a heads up to the mom that she needs to go a little bit easier, and has a very very slightly higher chance of pre-term labor (18% instead of 11%). Benadryl (diphenhydramine), copious amounts of water, rest, and a balanced meal can calm the contractions down if they're really acting up.

Unsurprisingly, I've really noticed mine, and in the past week or so, they've really increased in frequency, if not intensity. So I've been taking a lot of Benadryl/TylenolPM (at night, though it's virtually the same thing). Zay and I went to my dad's house, 4 hours away, last weekend to visit and let Will get some homework done undistracted. The first night there, I woke up with very strong contractions, and just sat at the computer for an hour and a half rocking back and forth to distract myself from the pain and ignored them as much as I could, waiting for them to ease up enough to sleep, which I assumed they would (and did). Sunday they were still going on, and continued at varying strengths and frequencies (mostly irregular), though Tuesday they were all day long, and pretty regular (I didn't time them). Wednesday they finally let up, but were pretty strong that evening.

Thursday (yesterday, Turkey Day), they were pretty easy, but by evening were pretty strong, and by the time we got home after a huge ridiculous situation for Thanksgiving dinner at Golden Corral (we're not going into it), I was having contractions every 3 minutes, pretty strongly. So I took 2 Benadryl, cooked dinner, and pretty much just sat around. By bedtime, they eased up, so I just went to bed. I thought I slept well, but with how exhausted I feel today and how sore my back was this morning, I was having contractions all night long, even if they didn't wake me. They're not too bad today, but I have started spotting. So I called the doc (office closed today, so the answering service called the doc at the hospital to call me), but he said it just sounds like I'm starting to dilate (which is what I figured). Guess my next appt I'll ask to have my cervix checked, in light of the frequent/near-constant contractions and light spotting. Plus, it'll be with the OB I had while pregnant with Zay, with whom I'm more comfortable (though I do like my current OB).

Guess I'll have to limit how much I pick Zay up from now on (Sad face!) and hoe much I bend/lift/work. Egh, how am I supposed to nest!?!?!?! I have to do a full clean every several days with a toddler at home! OH well.... suppose I'll get over it. Just the laundry every other day gets a little backed up now and again (currently in "now" status). Ah well... so long as there isn't food left everywhere..... for days on end. Sometiems takes a day or two to catch up on dishes, too. Thank God for the dishwasher.... now to work on remembering to flip the breaker on so it'll actually run (breaker keeps Zay from turning it on).

Am I more balanced than most people? Situations where some people panic I just think "Okay, this is what we do, but panicking is not going to help."

Example: Zay slipped outside today after I left him with Nana. She had just checked on him and went to the kitchen (for literally, maybe 2-3 minutes) to get his food. He slipped outside after me (the door was locked, but the latch didn't catch) and wandered over next door to see the horses. She calls me 10 minutes after I've left, in hysterics because she can't find him. I get there 10 minutes later (right after they find him) and she's sitting on the cold wet ground in hysterical relief that he's found. I didn't panic. Don't get me wrong, I was worried, and I did do above 60mph on the highway and back roads to get home, but I wasn't panicking. If we couldn't find him after 20-30 minutes of looking, I would've started to freak out. A few minutes later, the sheriff's office arrives (just one deputy, since Zay was discovered they called the whole posse off) to do the standard follow-up report. The deputy asks if she's alright, and she starts crying again, etc. Yes, concern is fine, in my book. Panicking will do nothing except keep you from thinking reasonably. When he goes outside, he normally heads in the direction he went, and goes in a big circle around the front yard. Pop's shop, occasionally the horses, the car port to play on the quad/4-wheeler (he doesn't ever start it), then over by the chickens. If he's not in those places, THEN you can start thinking he's lost in the woods.

Second example: the flour video that's been going around. Mom discovers her two toddlers have emptied an entire bag of flour. Yes, there's an "oh my goodness" factor. Then, you just get the vacuum and vacuum it up. And change the filters/bags frequently because they're going to clog quickly from the fine dust. No need to panic or freak out. Just put the kids where they won't get into trouble, and clean up.

Am I too level-headed? Or did my annoyance at my own temper while growing up make me become a little too reserved? (Haha, I know that's not true... I get a little heated quite easily at certain situations).

Panic makes things worse and you can't think clearly... so just calm down, and let God take care of it.

Wondering if I should feel offended I'm not invited to a friend's wedding... I realize it's a small location, but you could still tell me that you've thought of me...... I mean, I did have you in my wedding. :(

**note: I feel much better, and Will and I have discussed this. Many times things aren't as bad as it seems in these posts, because I need to vent. end note**


I feel lost.

Will has either forgotten, is too exhausted, or doesn’t care to remember that I need extra support while we live/adjust to living in his parents’ basement. I don’t get along with them all that well. After the fight from a year ago, it’s amazing that I’m even allowed in the house, much less than living in their basement.

He doesn’t want, like, or is able to sleep with Zay in the bed, too. I tried to lay back down with Zay last week, but his nursing was “too loud” for Will to sleep. Today (just 10 minutes ago, actually), I laid down with Zay while the babe was asleep and on a pacifier. Other than breathing, silent. Apparently, even the breathing was too much for Will. “It’s not fair, I can’t sleep and I’m exhausted.” So I take up the baby, find my shoes (to avoid stepping on beetles in the dark… can’t wait for their season to be over), and come back into the baby’s (cold) room. Zay’s back in his crib, sleeping, and I’m in the not-so-comfy glider chair typing, and hoping that Zay adjusts to the sound of the laptop keys. Otherwise, he’s going to wake up again. Probably will anyways. I think he’ll wake up again before Will does. Maybe then Will would be happy to see/play with his son.

I know you’re exhausted, Will. I’m not all peaches, either. I need support while we live here. I don’t exactly fit in. Your parents don’t think much of me. When they come downstairs after you’ve rushed me out of the house, and I’ve left a mess because I tried to be nice and make you breakfast, and eat with you, they just see the mess and think I’m not living up to my part of the deal of “keep it tidy.”

I wasn’t much in the mood to clean the townhome yesterday. Wasn’t just that – it was also that there’s no stack of boxes for me to throw stuff in. Well, there is a stack. But you declared them too big. So freaking take them to work and bring back some smaller boxes more fit for moving. And don’t fuss if I use the ones that are “perfect” for a lot of shipping. I have to do something to feel good about myself. I can’t clean to do that and get your appreciation for what I try to do because then you fuss about wanting to go to bed, or you fuss about how I didn’t do enough. I couldn’t put the crib together because you told your parents they could do it. “We need the help.” Yes, we need help, but if we get help from them they think I don’t do anything or that I’m too lazy to do much of anything.

I’m tired too. I’m exhausted too. I might not be tired and exhausted when it comes to sleep, but I’m emotionally tired and exhausted. I’m trying to get along with your mom. I’m trying to get along with your father. When your mom offers to make lunch or dinner for one or both of us, I accept because I know that’s one way she can help that doesn’t irk me. When she (or they, probably at her urging, which you acknowledge) comes down here to help by putting the crib together, and putting the sheets from when you were a baby (which, quite honestly, I think are hideous), and the crib saver I did NOT want to take out of the package so that I could possibly SELL it for $5 since WE DON’T NEED OR USE IT (what’s wrong with the pillow case sham that’s currently unused and is BIGGER???) I wanted to put the crib together because it’s something I know how to do, and can do well. It’s also something big and visual that I can do and do well.

You get pissed at me anyways because I didn’t clean up our new home, or our old one, or didn’t unpack well enough. You get mad if I don’t do something right, or if I choose to spend time with our son instead of leaving him on the floor or in the exersaucer crying for an hour or more so I can get some of your “get this done” tasks completed. You might not let yourself get too upset for playing and otherwise occupying Zay’s time, but I know it irks you. You’ve hinted at it many times before, and even stated something to that extent, but in kinder words.

I’m feeling lost here. My self-esteem is tanking at this residence because you’re taking all the things I can do to make it better and giving it to your parents. I’m trying to do the things where they can help but still give me the opportunity to show I can do things and I’m not useless. If I’m going to be living here, I want them to think I do have the capability to be an adult. Just because there are still boxes here or there, or that I’m not using cloth diapers yet for the convenience of the disposable, or that not a lot is getting done does NOT mean I can’t.

You won’t ever read this unless I tell you to. If you do, your knee-jerk reaction will be to say something about how you’re putting in 60+ hour weeks at your business, that you’re working your tail off to get hardly any money, that I’m not appreciating what you’re doing… I am. I do. It’s a lot harder for me to show my appreciation the way you understand it when you don’t help me at all. That’s why I pass Zay off to you when you get home. Because I’ve reached the point where I don’t know what to do with him anymore. This is my first baby. This is my first childcare experience. I don’t know what to do with a kid. I figure I’ll get it while I go, and I am. However, I still need a break from my child, because I’m not used to this. Even though we’ve had him for six months, and were preparing for 9 months before that (10, actually, since it’s 40 weeks, but I’m saying 9 because we missed the first month before we found out, like all pregnancies), I’m not used to being a full-time mom. I don’t even know how to be a full-time mom. I may be doing okay, but there comes a point when I need to pass him off because my frustrations with what I don’t know what to do grow to a point where I need to pass him off before I risk the danger of snapping.

I’m frustrated with how I’ve said before that I need support while we’re here, and felt like I haven’t gotten any. I know, you’ve asked your parents to help here and there (like the crib) to try and support me. That’s not working. I know you’re exhausted too. That’s why I’ve tried to briefly state that I’m frustrated and that I need a little help. I can’t spew all this at you, because you’ll be overwhelmed and will just hear ‘nag nag nag,’ which is NOT what you need. I have to get this out somehow, so I’m writing it down into a post that may or may not go up into LiveJournal. I might just post this one protected. I don’t know.

I’m tired and exhausted too. I may get more sleep, but I’m exhausted. My brain isn’t working quite right anymore. I may not use the computer all the time anymore, but I still expect to type the correct words, not “doesn’t” instead of “don’t.” This entry, long as it is, was full of errors like that which were caught when the typing of the word was completed. I want to say all these things to you, but I don’t know how to say them in a way which you would understand and not think I was just yelling at you. I need help. I need support. I need my space separated from your parents so she doesn’t come down and help. I don’t like how I know that you accept her help because you’d rather it get done than waiting for me to do it and have me a little more content. It hurts knowing you’d rather things get done her way because they would get done sooner. The only problem is that she would later complain about how she’s tired and sore, or that your father would mutter (not around me, of course) in effect about how useless I am and why oh why did you marry me. I don’t know if that was what was stated before, but I know the situation wasn’t what your parents had in mind.

That’s why I need extra support. Because I’m out of my element, and I’m trying to get by with being a mom and everything I said above. I can’t type and try to explain anymore because our son woke up and needs me to take care of him. At least he still loves me and wants me even if I mess something up, or if I leave him to cry for a bit, even if it’s after a nap. From you, all I’m getting right now is “I’m tired. Leave me alone. Do this right, and do it already. I don’t like you.” I don’t have a place I can go to get away. You have the shop. I am stuck here, because I don’t want to use up the gas to get anywhere. I have to stop now, or else this will never end and Zay will just cry more.

Tonight I’m reminded of when my mom told me I didn’t need to be stoic and keep a stiff upper lip while I was in labor with my son. I was in a lot of pain, but I went from complaining about “ow, it hurts” to being in pain where it wasn’t worth saying “ow” about it. A bit after that, it went beyond that to where I didn’t have much choice but to complain, in the standard forms of grunts and numerous utterances of “gah!”

That day I was in a great deal of physical pain (this tends to happen when you’re in labor). Today, I’m just hormonal. Just. Such a stupid little word that can mean so much, and so little.

Just hormonal.

Hormones can be a huge factor in anything. They’ve made or broken many people’s lives.

I find it more or less odd, amusing, ridiculous, stupid, what-have-you, that my supply dropped a lot during the initial part of the move and my moods leveled out. I wasn’t stupid about things. I was still incredibly forgetful, but I’m told to expect that anyways from now on. Got all of our food into one place and started eating better anyways, since the in-laws are supplying some meals (breakfast and dinner, today), so my milk supply returned to more normal levels. It’s been slowly dropping for the last few weeks from stress and our cupboards being split between two places (including pans, from before part of the food moved). Anyways… I’m not writing about what’s bothering me.

My self-esteem is tanking. I don’t know for certain if it’s from being here in the basement of my in-law’s house, or if it’s my hormones returning to their post-partum levels (I’m dubbing my nursing days as actually post-partum, otherwise it’s just motherhood, not post-partum), or a combination of both, or more factors I’m unaware of, but I don’t feel great.

About (over?) a year ago, there was a huge fight between Will’s family and us. His employer was going personally bankrupt, and part of the proceedings was that he had to sell or close the business. Will really liked what he was doing, and had been doing it personally on the side, so he looked into buying the business. Will’s family was intensely against it. I stood with him. They were still against him, but turned a large portion of their ire against me. A number of things were said to me that still hurt. One of those things that were revealed to me was that my father-in-law doesn’t like me. Not a whit. I can respect the general dislike of people, but when you greatly respect someone, like them, enjoy spending time with them, it’s a huge blow when you find out they really don’t like you one bit.

Living here, I can tell he still doesn’t like me. I can respect that, but it still hurts. I want him to like me. I don’t care if my mother-in-law doesn’t like me, or fakes liking me, but my husband’s father is a man I wish approved of me. I was hoping he did like me better, because of the way we’d interact when we’d visit, but now that we live here, I can tell he still doesn’t care for me. He likes my son, but he avoids looking at me, and this evening when we finished dinner and my mother-in-law said she had to go do the chickens, he said he’d go with her. I interpreted that as being partly spending time with her, and partly to avoid spending time with me. Yeah, I know he likes his grandson, but I don’t think he really wants to spend time with him too much while Zay is a baby. So… unless his wife, whom he loves, is watching/playing with the baby, and wants Pop to, he won’t spend too much time with him. If it’s me and the baby, he’d rather garden or tend chickens or whatever else he does during the day. That really hurts. He’s allowing us (and me) to live here because his wife wants to help us, and because he wants to help his son, but not because he likes me. That hurts.

Next part of why I don’t feel all that great… I lost my baby spoon. We went to a local Chinese food buffet restaurant for a belated Father’s Day celebration with my mother-, father-, sister-in-law and her son and new husband, and at the end, I gave Zay some pudding using the baby spoon that happened to still be in the bag. We get home, and I realize that I left the spoon at the restaurant. It’s the spoon I had when I was a baby. Angry at myself, of course. Call the restaurant, “Yeah, the girl said she thinks she saw it, yeah, okay bye.” Went there the next day (yesterday), they don’t have it. The girl says she saw it, put it in a cup, but the dishwashers never saw it. So the woman at the front counter said she’s having the girl go through their spoons piece by piece, but can’t guarantee they’ll find it. “Why did you bring it?” It was still in the bag from when I took Zay to visit Will at the shop and fed him bananas… otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it. That was from when I was a baby. And I lost it.

--Zay just laughed in his sleep. :) –

So, I feel like crap because Will’s father really doesn’t like me, and I lost my baby spoon.

Next. No job, no internet to find a job, no money to buy a paper to find a job. Can’t get an interview, can’t keep a job… Oh yeah, did I say I my last entry how I lost the job I just got? I think I did. Woo, go me. She says it was budget cuts. Also mentioned a few other things that did factor into my release. Sigh.

--Having the nightlight on and typing is keeping Zay from going back to his deep sleep. His gassiness isn’t helping. I think he’s waking up again.—

So, no job. And a very hard time ahead to try to get another job. Along with the insecurities of not being there for Zay if I were to get a job. Will’s working hard for long hours to get barely enough to scrape by. Dad’s helping out too. I’m stuck here, playing at keeping house, living in a house where the only person I genuinely and immensely like rather strongly dislikes me, I fail at remembering to grab the mementos from my childhood (why the eff did I even bring that out of the house???), and there are other issues I don’t even want to write out here that concern Will and I.

No wonder my insecurities are low. I sleep a lot, if not completely restful, yet I still get mood swings like this. My husband’s self-esteem isn’t that great, but he’s the one working his tail off. Yeah, I’m home taking care of the baby, but I still feel like I’m not doing anything. I’m not contributing to the bills (for which we’re both accountable), but rather adding to them, it feels like. Anyways, I need to go. This is waking Zay up, still, and he needs to sleep through the night. As do I.

I miss my mom. And my cat. They helped me stay a little bit more sane.