"She looks really bored to me, or maybe I'm just projecting."
Does that mean the speaker was bored, or am I being sensitive?
April 30, 2007
April 29, 2007
Um, Okay. That's Fair, Right?
I pay 50% of our bills. And yet I'm expected to do 90% of the housework, 80% of the cooking, and take care of Taryn 95% of the time I'm not in work.
That's really adds up to an equal division of labor.
Hoo-rah for all of you who have partners who do their fair share, and excuse me for bitching that I don't have one. It's easy to tell me to lay off or give P a break but I'm sure if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't be so laid-back about his laziness. And I'm all for people needing a break, but since when is watching 2 full-length movies in a day and cleaning the bathroom reason to go to bed early?
I read an email once about how when a mother says she's going to bed, first she folds the rest of the laundry, does the dishes, makes everyone's lunches for the next day, etc ... and when a man says he's going to bed, he peels his fat ass off the couch and goes to sleep.
I think if maybe he was always like this, it'd be easier to accept the fact that he's a lazy bum, but he used to help me more. I think he'g gotten it into his head that the Nanny is his personal butler-ess, and now he can be a fat-ter lazy-er slob and what? Because we pay someone to watch the baby, she's supposed to clean up after him too? Unfortunately for her, she does, and I'm jusy furious right now that he is acting like such an asshole. Complaining like I'm some evil nagging bitch for asking him to wash his dish in the sink while I take the dogs out to poop ... at 11pm.
I don't mind doing the womanly chores, watching the baby, cooking, dishes, laundry, but doesn't that mean he should then be doing the manly chores, like cleaning up after the dogs, and taking out the trash without being asked?
Really. I'm just so damn frustrated right now. Tomorrow I'll be fine. Tomorrow I'll scheme on how to make him realize how much I do around the house, but it won't stick. Because the truth of the matter is, he'd rather be nagged than to be responsible.
If it bothered him so much, he'd take care of his shit without me making a comment. If I don't want people telling me anything, I do what I need to before if can be brought up. I think for him it's comforting, to think that he doesn't have to take full responsibility for himself. That he can be a child, even though he's grown. And I have to admit too that I'd rather bitch at him than enable him. I'm not going to do everything for him so that he can be lazy. It's not my job to infantize him, and I may break his balls to get him to do something, even when he doesn't feel like he should, but at least it gets done.
We're comfortable in our roles, if not completey satisfied, and I blame it all on him being lazy, he blames it all on me being a nag, and fuck it all if we actually got some sort of resolution out of it.
What a dork I am. I'm sitting here picturing us in our old age, with the kids grown and married, all the grandkids running around out front. He's sitting on the porch drinking a beer watching them play and I'm inside yelling at him to take the garbage out because its full. He's out on the porch rolling his eyes at our son and sons-in-law, while I'm in the kitchen with our daughters and daughter-in-law bitching that hes always been lazy, and some things never change.
*sigh*
Maybe I'll get him some hearing aides for his birthday this year.
That's really adds up to an equal division of labor.
Hoo-rah for all of you who have partners who do their fair share, and excuse me for bitching that I don't have one. It's easy to tell me to lay off or give P a break but I'm sure if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't be so laid-back about his laziness. And I'm all for people needing a break, but since when is watching 2 full-length movies in a day and cleaning the bathroom reason to go to bed early?
I read an email once about how when a mother says she's going to bed, first she folds the rest of the laundry, does the dishes, makes everyone's lunches for the next day, etc ... and when a man says he's going to bed, he peels his fat ass off the couch and goes to sleep.
I think if maybe he was always like this, it'd be easier to accept the fact that he's a lazy bum, but he used to help me more. I think he'g gotten it into his head that the Nanny is his personal butler-ess, and now he can be a fat-ter lazy-er slob and what? Because we pay someone to watch the baby, she's supposed to clean up after him too? Unfortunately for her, she does, and I'm jusy furious right now that he is acting like such an asshole. Complaining like I'm some evil nagging bitch for asking him to wash his dish in the sink while I take the dogs out to poop ... at 11pm.
I don't mind doing the womanly chores, watching the baby, cooking, dishes, laundry, but doesn't that mean he should then be doing the manly chores, like cleaning up after the dogs, and taking out the trash without being asked?
Really. I'm just so damn frustrated right now. Tomorrow I'll be fine. Tomorrow I'll scheme on how to make him realize how much I do around the house, but it won't stick. Because the truth of the matter is, he'd rather be nagged than to be responsible.
If it bothered him so much, he'd take care of his shit without me making a comment. If I don't want people telling me anything, I do what I need to before if can be brought up. I think for him it's comforting, to think that he doesn't have to take full responsibility for himself. That he can be a child, even though he's grown. And I have to admit too that I'd rather bitch at him than enable him. I'm not going to do everything for him so that he can be lazy. It's not my job to infantize him, and I may break his balls to get him to do something, even when he doesn't feel like he should, but at least it gets done.
We're comfortable in our roles, if not completey satisfied, and I blame it all on him being lazy, he blames it all on me being a nag, and fuck it all if we actually got some sort of resolution out of it.
What a dork I am. I'm sitting here picturing us in our old age, with the kids grown and married, all the grandkids running around out front. He's sitting on the porch drinking a beer watching them play and I'm inside yelling at him to take the garbage out because its full. He's out on the porch rolling his eyes at our son and sons-in-law, while I'm in the kitchen with our daughters and daughter-in-law bitching that hes always been lazy, and some things never change.
*sigh*
Maybe I'll get him some hearing aides for his birthday this year.
If You're Going to Love, Do it 100%
When P and I were married, I debated whether or not I should take his last name. I have an affinity to my maiden name, Francis, partly becasue I knew how to pronounce it correctly (and I was having doubts how Caballero would sound rolling off my tongue on a daily basis) and partly because it was one of the few things I had of my father, besides the Francis nose.
I remember thinking how much a pain in the ass it would be to get all my documents changed over to a new name, driver's license, social security card, credit cards, bank accounts, school records... and then what if it didn't work out and we were divorced a year later and I had to change them all back?
At some point, I decided that if I wasn't willing to change my name, as a symbol of being married, even though P didn't give a damn since in Latin culture the wife doesn't take her husband's name, I knew that if I dind't it would be a constant reminder of the faith I lacked in our marriage.
And honestly, the first year we talked a lot about getting it anulled but kept delaying and delaying until it was past a year ... and then we talked a lot about divorce. Less, but still frequently enough to regret every once in a while that I had become "his wife." But at the end of every arguement we both realized that we didn't want to split up, we loved each other madly but we just didn't know how to get along.
Fast forward a few more years and I still have to remind myself on almost a daily basis that neither of us are perfect. He's lazy, I've got a short temper. He drinks a lot, I blog all day. But we're still madly in love, and by no means perfect, and by less means easy, but we're still together. But when I look at him I still feel the love, and when I look at our daughter I know that even if we weren't meant to be together forever, we've accomplished an incredible feat of creating and nurturing an amazing little girl who will grow up to know that her parents love her more than anything in the world, and that she was conceived in pure love. Maybe a bit drunkenly, but it was love all around.
I heard the other day that a friend may be getting divorced. This person has been holding those divorce papers over her husband's head for a while now, first threatening to get a lawyer, then to do a divorce on the internet, then actually printing out the forms, researching child support, and last I heard she'd actually signed the forms and handed them over.
You can't live like that. You can't con someone into staying with you by threatening to leave. By taking away the intimacy, and his freedom, and financial support. That's not a marriage, and I think when it gets to that point, and when you use the kids to hurt one another, at that point you either need to sit down and figure out your issues, or call it quits.
And the adults think they are suffering, but really it's the kids who end up carrying the pain and anger for the rest of their lives. And if you can't come to an amicable agreement between yourselves to divorce, at least don't drag the kids through the mud, making them choose who they want to live with, making them feel guilty for loving one parent differently than the other, and possibly making them leave their sibling. It's really fucking sick how selfish divorcing partners can be, and I hope that if P and I ever come to that point, Taryn won't be caught in the middle. We both agree now that I'm the more attentive parent, and I hope he wouldn't fight me for custody...for the sake of fighting.
Damn, depressing for a Sunday morning. But I believe in not doing something half-assed. If you are going to make a change in your relationship, for the better or for the worse, do it all the way. If you are going to seperate, get two different apartments until you decide if you will stay married, don't let the kids witness the fighting and hatred and think that is how marriage is supposed to be. If you are going to do something to strengthen the relationship, self exploration or whatever, do it all the way.
As for me, I'm getting a tattoo. :)
P got my name tattooed on his body before we were even engaged. I refuse to get his name... I've got possession issues, but I want to find something to symbolize us, and what we've been through and all that we've overcome so that he knows I'm not pussy-footing around in our marriage. This is for real.
I remember thinking how much a pain in the ass it would be to get all my documents changed over to a new name, driver's license, social security card, credit cards, bank accounts, school records... and then what if it didn't work out and we were divorced a year later and I had to change them all back?
At some point, I decided that if I wasn't willing to change my name, as a symbol of being married, even though P didn't give a damn since in Latin culture the wife doesn't take her husband's name, I knew that if I dind't it would be a constant reminder of the faith I lacked in our marriage.
And honestly, the first year we talked a lot about getting it anulled but kept delaying and delaying until it was past a year ... and then we talked a lot about divorce. Less, but still frequently enough to regret every once in a while that I had become "his wife." But at the end of every arguement we both realized that we didn't want to split up, we loved each other madly but we just didn't know how to get along.
Fast forward a few more years and I still have to remind myself on almost a daily basis that neither of us are perfect. He's lazy, I've got a short temper. He drinks a lot, I blog all day. But we're still madly in love, and by no means perfect, and by less means easy, but we're still together. But when I look at him I still feel the love, and when I look at our daughter I know that even if we weren't meant to be together forever, we've accomplished an incredible feat of creating and nurturing an amazing little girl who will grow up to know that her parents love her more than anything in the world, and that she was conceived in pure love. Maybe a bit drunkenly, but it was love all around.
I heard the other day that a friend may be getting divorced. This person has been holding those divorce papers over her husband's head for a while now, first threatening to get a lawyer, then to do a divorce on the internet, then actually printing out the forms, researching child support, and last I heard she'd actually signed the forms and handed them over.
You can't live like that. You can't con someone into staying with you by threatening to leave. By taking away the intimacy, and his freedom, and financial support. That's not a marriage, and I think when it gets to that point, and when you use the kids to hurt one another, at that point you either need to sit down and figure out your issues, or call it quits.
And the adults think they are suffering, but really it's the kids who end up carrying the pain and anger for the rest of their lives. And if you can't come to an amicable agreement between yourselves to divorce, at least don't drag the kids through the mud, making them choose who they want to live with, making them feel guilty for loving one parent differently than the other, and possibly making them leave their sibling. It's really fucking sick how selfish divorcing partners can be, and I hope that if P and I ever come to that point, Taryn won't be caught in the middle. We both agree now that I'm the more attentive parent, and I hope he wouldn't fight me for custody...for the sake of fighting.
Damn, depressing for a Sunday morning. But I believe in not doing something half-assed. If you are going to make a change in your relationship, for the better or for the worse, do it all the way. If you are going to seperate, get two different apartments until you decide if you will stay married, don't let the kids witness the fighting and hatred and think that is how marriage is supposed to be. If you are going to do something to strengthen the relationship, self exploration or whatever, do it all the way.
As for me, I'm getting a tattoo. :)
P got my name tattooed on his body before we were even engaged. I refuse to get his name... I've got possession issues, but I want to find something to symbolize us, and what we've been through and all that we've overcome so that he knows I'm not pussy-footing around in our marriage. This is for real.
April 28, 2007
Yeah, You're a Little Too Comfortable in my House
I'm sensitive about my dogs, I admit it. I know they can get annoying with the incessant barking sometimes, especially when we're having a party or the baby is sleeping and people ring the bell.
But they are chihuahuas, and I accept their flaws with their loyalty and adorable-ness. And it's not that they bark to be mean, Rosco is a pussy and barks because he's scared or super-excited to see certain people. And Ka'i. I think she justthinks it's fun to bark, because there isn't much logic to when and why she does it.
This friend of the Nanny is staying with us this weekend. And I'm all for being immediately comfortable in someone's house, if only because it just isn't physiologically possible for me. But this bitch? She yelled at my dogs.
They weren't jumping against her (which irritates me beyond belief), they weren't licking (which makes Ally want to pour hot wax into her ears), they weren't begging to be cuddled with (because that makes Teresa want to toss them off the couch). They were outside with the door closed, barking. And this chick had just come back in the house with Julio, whom the puppies adore and whom they were trying to get to. I don't thikn they gave a flying flea fuck about this chick, and she goes, "Dios mios, can you guys just shut up for a bit?"
And I'm like, "Bitch, what did you say?" No, I didn't really, but I burned a hole in the side of her air-head with my evil eyes and wanted to kick her bleached-blonde, bougie-ass to the curb and have her walk the fuck back to Palo Alto.
I know. I talk shit to the dogs all the time. But it's the same as I do with my husband. It's one thing for me to talk shit about him to his face, it's another entirely for someone else to do it. And sweet geebus, if this chick doesn't reign herself in and learn some sort of etiquette, I'ma beat some into her.
My poor babies. Because I don't mind if people shush them. A lot of times they'll stop sooner than if I did it. And I don't mind people playing with them, but I hate when people provoke them by barking back (dumbasses), or scared them by pretending they're going to drop them from really high up (jerk-offs). I don't mind people taking a dominant stance, fliping them on their backs, or even gently pushing them away, off the couch or whatever. But don't try to act like you can yell at my dogs without my permission. That's a privelige your ass hasn't been granted.
Sheeeesh.
But they are chihuahuas, and I accept their flaws with their loyalty and adorable-ness. And it's not that they bark to be mean, Rosco is a pussy and barks because he's scared or super-excited to see certain people. And Ka'i. I think she justthinks it's fun to bark, because there isn't much logic to when and why she does it.
This friend of the Nanny is staying with us this weekend. And I'm all for being immediately comfortable in someone's house, if only because it just isn't physiologically possible for me. But this bitch? She yelled at my dogs.
They weren't jumping against her (which irritates me beyond belief), they weren't licking (which makes Ally want to pour hot wax into her ears), they weren't begging to be cuddled with (because that makes Teresa want to toss them off the couch). They were outside with the door closed, barking. And this chick had just come back in the house with Julio, whom the puppies adore and whom they were trying to get to. I don't thikn they gave a flying flea fuck about this chick, and she goes, "Dios mios, can you guys just shut up for a bit?"
And I'm like, "Bitch, what did you say?" No, I didn't really, but I burned a hole in the side of her air-head with my evil eyes and wanted to kick her bleached-blonde, bougie-ass to the curb and have her walk the fuck back to Palo Alto.
I know. I talk shit to the dogs all the time. But it's the same as I do with my husband. It's one thing for me to talk shit about him to his face, it's another entirely for someone else to do it. And sweet geebus, if this chick doesn't reign herself in and learn some sort of etiquette, I'ma beat some into her.
My poor babies. Because I don't mind if people shush them. A lot of times they'll stop sooner than if I did it. And I don't mind people playing with them, but I hate when people provoke them by barking back (dumbasses), or scared them by pretending they're going to drop them from really high up (jerk-offs). I don't mind people taking a dominant stance, fliping them on their backs, or even gently pushing them away, off the couch or whatever. But don't try to act like you can yell at my dogs without my permission. That's a privelige your ass hasn't been granted.
Sheeeesh.
April 26, 2007
Going to Hell for a Box of Diapers
I knowingly stole today.
I haven't stolen in years, and I feel so incredibly guilty, it's not even funny.
I was at Target with Taryn, buying food and diapers for her. The cashier-chick rang everything up, and told me my total. I knew she hadn't scanned the diapers, because the total would have been twice as much if she had, and I didn't say anything.
Not a hot damned thing.
And I walked out without telling her she forgot to scan the damned diapers.
I could have gone back in and copped up to it, but I tried to rationalize it on my way to the car.
Didn't work.
So as I was loading everything into the car, I decided to go back in, but Taryn started screaming, and ... fuck. I drove home.
With stolen diapers in my car.
Is an eternity of damnation worth one box of Huggies? Especially when they were on sale?
I haven't stolen in years, and I feel so incredibly guilty, it's not even funny.
I was at Target with Taryn, buying food and diapers for her. The cashier-chick rang everything up, and told me my total. I knew she hadn't scanned the diapers, because the total would have been twice as much if she had, and I didn't say anything.
Not a hot damned thing.
And I walked out without telling her she forgot to scan the damned diapers.
I could have gone back in and copped up to it, but I tried to rationalize it on my way to the car.
Didn't work.
So as I was loading everything into the car, I decided to go back in, but Taryn started screaming, and ... fuck. I drove home.
With stolen diapers in my car.
Is an eternity of damnation worth one box of Huggies? Especially when they were on sale?
The Next Tyra?
Marla Dell called yesterday evening to set up appointment for me to bring Taryn to the City for an interview.
I'm stoked for her.
I'm really hoping that this will be an opportunity for us to sock away some cash for her college savings. I think legally we only have to do 50% of her gross income, but really, I'm planning on putting it all away for her (for now, at least while I'm working full-time) since I'm having issues finding the extra cash in my paycheck right now to save for her.
So anyway. I think Taryn will like doing modeling, if she's booked for anything. From what I hear, babies mostly get to play with the clothes on, and not worry too much about posing and such. If nothing else, it'll be great for her baby book. And some free clothes.
I'm stoked for her.
I'm really hoping that this will be an opportunity for us to sock away some cash for her college savings. I think legally we only have to do 50% of her gross income, but really, I'm planning on putting it all away for her (for now, at least while I'm working full-time) since I'm having issues finding the extra cash in my paycheck right now to save for her.
So anyway. I think Taryn will like doing modeling, if she's booked for anything. From what I hear, babies mostly get to play with the clothes on, and not worry too much about posing and such. If nothing else, it'll be great for her baby book. And some free clothes.
April 24, 2007
Higher Ups
I have issues with authority.
Not in the traditional sense of the phrase. I am perectly content to take orders from a superior, as long as I am being justly compensated for my compliance. Which rules out Subway, Mervyns and MHN. And school.
In social settings though, I have issues with interacting with people I feel are superior to me in one way or another. Maybe superior isn't the right word, but people who are in an age, class, or employment position higher than myself make me uneasy. And it's not that I don't see them as people, it's more that I get super self-conscious of how I am being perceived by them.
I know I'm young, and black, and a woman. But I'm also a wife and a mother, a college-educated adult who can really hold my own against other people, but for some reason when I'm with those "other people" I get ashamed of who I am. I should have more education, or own a bigger house, or make a larger salary. And it pisses me off that I can't blame this on someone else, that I have to take responsibility for my own lack of self-esteem. Or really the way I hide my self esteem when I'm around other people so that I'm not challenged or put on the spot. It's easier to blend into the background than to have to constantly defend myself.
I had to tell a supervisor today that a client was pissed at me. It wasn't my fault, and I knew this client was just being the squaky wheel, hoping for some oil but the fact that this client had already called my supervisor to get me to process her case faster made me really anxious about talking to her. And my supervisor was already irritated by this client, and I know it wasn't about me, and I can look back and see she was dealing with other things, but the energy I felt from her when I went to interrupt her in a "meeting" made me want to shrivel up and die. And later I could see the humor of the situation, and I think I played it off well enough to mask my dread at that moment, but fuck man.
I don't know why I get like that. I don't know why my mouth goes dry and I start sweating when I have to approach a "superior." I do know that it's mental. Because when I feel like an equal, all this shit is gone. When I feel equal and comfortable, I'm myself. But I turn into this meek, nervous part of me when I have to deal with the higher-ups.
So fuck. No point here. Just to get it out..
Not in the traditional sense of the phrase. I am perectly content to take orders from a superior, as long as I am being justly compensated for my compliance. Which rules out Subway, Mervyns and MHN. And school.
In social settings though, I have issues with interacting with people I feel are superior to me in one way or another. Maybe superior isn't the right word, but people who are in an age, class, or employment position higher than myself make me uneasy. And it's not that I don't see them as people, it's more that I get super self-conscious of how I am being perceived by them.
I know I'm young, and black, and a woman. But I'm also a wife and a mother, a college-educated adult who can really hold my own against other people, but for some reason when I'm with those "other people" I get ashamed of who I am. I should have more education, or own a bigger house, or make a larger salary. And it pisses me off that I can't blame this on someone else, that I have to take responsibility for my own lack of self-esteem. Or really the way I hide my self esteem when I'm around other people so that I'm not challenged or put on the spot. It's easier to blend into the background than to have to constantly defend myself.
I had to tell a supervisor today that a client was pissed at me. It wasn't my fault, and I knew this client was just being the squaky wheel, hoping for some oil but the fact that this client had already called my supervisor to get me to process her case faster made me really anxious about talking to her. And my supervisor was already irritated by this client, and I know it wasn't about me, and I can look back and see she was dealing with other things, but the energy I felt from her when I went to interrupt her in a "meeting" made me want to shrivel up and die. And later I could see the humor of the situation, and I think I played it off well enough to mask my dread at that moment, but fuck man.
I don't know why I get like that. I don't know why my mouth goes dry and I start sweating when I have to approach a "superior." I do know that it's mental. Because when I feel like an equal, all this shit is gone. When I feel equal and comfortable, I'm myself. But I turn into this meek, nervous part of me when I have to deal with the higher-ups.
So fuck. No point here. Just to get it out..
April 22, 2007
Ebb and Flow
Sometimes we click, sometimes we don't. More often than not lately, it seems like we're strangers. That the calls and the emails are obligatory. We plan to get together but then something always comes up and we're left exactly where we started.
It's to be expected. We're in different places now. When we first met, we had so much in common. Over the years we've both grown into independent adults. I've gotten married and had a child. You are on your way to the same, but squeezing the last bit of freedom out before it happens. It's to be expected.
We both have new friends. Your friends go out and party, travel, they don't have families to come home to, mortgages to pay. My friends are more home-bound and I know it's boring for you, and I'm sorry for that, but I've partied all my life. Now I'm doing the same in a new way. I have to be near my baby. I won't waste time getting ready to go out, or being so hungover the next day that I can't enjoy my time with her. You don't have the same worries I do. It's to be expected.
People grow apart in life, sometimes they grow back together. As much as I'd love to flow with you, seems we're at a lull. We have different lives, different priorities. You won't let me support you, and so now I don't know what to do. It's not that I feel useless, but you say you need this and that, and you still won't let me help you. There are all the grand plans, but none of them are happening. And I don't want to be the nag. I won't nag you. If you want to see us, we're here, otherwise... I can't take the responsibility for maintaining the friendship all alone. I don't have the energy.
So we'll see. Life events have a way of bringing people back together. My only thought is, is this happening now because you know you are leaving? Is it easier to push me away now, and not have to deal with it when you finally have your bags packed? If it's easier for you, fine. As long as you're conscious of your motivations. It's always easier to leave then to be left anyway.
It's to be expected. We're in different places now. When we first met, we had so much in common. Over the years we've both grown into independent adults. I've gotten married and had a child. You are on your way to the same, but squeezing the last bit of freedom out before it happens. It's to be expected.
We both have new friends. Your friends go out and party, travel, they don't have families to come home to, mortgages to pay. My friends are more home-bound and I know it's boring for you, and I'm sorry for that, but I've partied all my life. Now I'm doing the same in a new way. I have to be near my baby. I won't waste time getting ready to go out, or being so hungover the next day that I can't enjoy my time with her. You don't have the same worries I do. It's to be expected.
People grow apart in life, sometimes they grow back together. As much as I'd love to flow with you, seems we're at a lull. We have different lives, different priorities. You won't let me support you, and so now I don't know what to do. It's not that I feel useless, but you say you need this and that, and you still won't let me help you. There are all the grand plans, but none of them are happening. And I don't want to be the nag. I won't nag you. If you want to see us, we're here, otherwise... I can't take the responsibility for maintaining the friendship all alone. I don't have the energy.
So we'll see. Life events have a way of bringing people back together. My only thought is, is this happening now because you know you are leaving? Is it easier to push me away now, and not have to deal with it when you finally have your bags packed? If it's easier for you, fine. As long as you're conscious of your motivations. It's always easier to leave then to be left anyway.
April 20, 2007
Month Ten
T-Boogedy-Boo, you are 10 months old today!
Whoo-hoo. At your last check up, you were a rinky-dink 27.5 inches tall and barley 18lbs. I swear though that in the last week you've gained like a pound already. You're a camp in the high chair, scarfing down anything we give you and always ready to try something new. I still bust-up laughing every time I see your grimace when you try a new food, whether it's the texture or flavor you aren't sure about, you scrunch up your face, pout out your bottom lip, and slowly, thoughtfully chew your way through the mouthful. If you really don't like it, like mashed peas or unsweetened applesauce, you just flat out refuse to open your mouth anymore, turn your head away as if to say, "If I don't see you, you don't exist."
The months blur together so much I don't remember exactly when you started crawling, but Gilr, you are quick! I turn around for a second, and by the time I look back at you, you're at the other side of the house chasing Tygir, or in the bathroom pulling all the toilet paper off the roll. Speaking of toilet paper, the biggest struggle I'm having with you this month is diaper changes. You roll over like a stunt man flying off a dirt bike the second your back hits the shanging pad. It's been interesting trying to find that one thing that will keep you occupied long enough to get the old diaper off, swab you down, and get the new one on. Sometimes I'll dangle my hair in your face, sometimes I'll dig out a new toy for you to play with. When it's really too difficult I'll have your Papa entertain you while I change you, and on those (not-so) rare days when you refuse to even stay sitting I'll change you standing up. Which doesn't work when you poop, and my Angel, you've finally started having more real-person poops. And much more often.
But I love watching you try new things. Papa bought you a piano this week, and your Nonny bought you a Dora ride-on that you love to play with. It hs all these buttons that play music, and when the tunes start going, you're jamming in your seat, head banging, and clapping your hands together. My wish for you is that you develop rhythm like neither your Papa nor I have. Don't get me wrong Love, Papa and I love to dance, we just mainly look like fools doing it. And hopefully that rhythm will overflow into you playing some sort of instrument, maybe the guitar or piano. Whatever makes you happy.
Ducky, I know I say this every month, but I can'y beleive how big you are getting. You are cruising, crawling, pulling up, sitting by yourself, you can pick stuff up and everything goes into the mouth and as much as I may complain, I love seeing you as a person and not just some helpless baby. You scream bloody murder when I take a toy from you, and I adore when you raise your arms up to me, or pull on my pants when you want me to pick you up. And the babbling warms my heart every time. I have no clue what you are trying to say, but you do, and Jackson and Dakota do, and you seem so content to just babble along while I sing to you, and sometimes start shrieking in pure joy.
I'll be sending your modeling pictures tomorrow. I think you'll be terrific, and anything that helps us to sock away a little more for your college fund, and hopefully get you some free clothes, sounds good to me. I'm totally prejudiced, I know, but I think you are the most wonderfully beautiful and entertaining baby in the world. And you love taking pictures, posing whenever the camera comes out, making faces, smiling, crawling around and turning back to make sure your every move is being recorded. Maybe you'll be an entertainer when you grow up, do Toastmasters, or drama, or be a singer. Buy your Mama a nice car one day....
Your first Easter was fabulous. Your Tia Tere made you an Easter basket, and your prima Johana gave you one too. You loved digging through and pulling out the toys and the doll, but you weren't too interested in the eggs. I tried to walk you around to find some, but I ended up scratched up from a rose bush, and you were eating leaves off the lawn instead of picking up eggs. But we had a blast, like I always do with you, and I'm so excited for next year when you'll be running around finding eggs yourself.
And I love evrything about you, but seeign you interact with other babies is hilarious. Partly because you are usually the smallest of the bunch, and yet still the most aggressive, and most mobile. You'll snatch a toy right out of Dakota's hand, but you try to give it back when he starts crying. Or you'll pretty much tackle Jackson, but then pet his hair when he calms down too. I think you aren't sure how strong you are, and want to touch and play with all the other kids, even when they aren't old enough to interact with you like your cousins do. I can see you in a year being the child to invite strangers to play with your toys with you, or share your candy.
So Duckie, my Angel, my Sweet LimaBean Baby. I can't thank you enough for opening up my heart, and letting me appreciate every day that I get to see your beautiful face. You have done so much for Mama by just being you. And thank you too for sleeping through the night, 11 hours straight, for the past two night.
I love you.
Mama
Whoo-hoo. At your last check up, you were a rinky-dink 27.5 inches tall and barley 18lbs. I swear though that in the last week you've gained like a pound already. You're a camp in the high chair, scarfing down anything we give you and always ready to try something new. I still bust-up laughing every time I see your grimace when you try a new food, whether it's the texture or flavor you aren't sure about, you scrunch up your face, pout out your bottom lip, and slowly, thoughtfully chew your way through the mouthful. If you really don't like it, like mashed peas or unsweetened applesauce, you just flat out refuse to open your mouth anymore, turn your head away as if to say, "If I don't see you, you don't exist."
The months blur together so much I don't remember exactly when you started crawling, but Gilr, you are quick! I turn around for a second, and by the time I look back at you, you're at the other side of the house chasing Tygir, or in the bathroom pulling all the toilet paper off the roll. Speaking of toilet paper, the biggest struggle I'm having with you this month is diaper changes. You roll over like a stunt man flying off a dirt bike the second your back hits the shanging pad. It's been interesting trying to find that one thing that will keep you occupied long enough to get the old diaper off, swab you down, and get the new one on. Sometimes I'll dangle my hair in your face, sometimes I'll dig out a new toy for you to play with. When it's really too difficult I'll have your Papa entertain you while I change you, and on those (not-so) rare days when you refuse to even stay sitting I'll change you standing up. Which doesn't work when you poop, and my Angel, you've finally started having more real-person poops. And much more often.
But I love watching you try new things. Papa bought you a piano this week, and your Nonny bought you a Dora ride-on that you love to play with. It hs all these buttons that play music, and when the tunes start going, you're jamming in your seat, head banging, and clapping your hands together. My wish for you is that you develop rhythm like neither your Papa nor I have. Don't get me wrong Love, Papa and I love to dance, we just mainly look like fools doing it. And hopefully that rhythm will overflow into you playing some sort of instrument, maybe the guitar or piano. Whatever makes you happy.
Ducky, I know I say this every month, but I can'y beleive how big you are getting. You are cruising, crawling, pulling up, sitting by yourself, you can pick stuff up and everything goes into the mouth and as much as I may complain, I love seeing you as a person and not just some helpless baby. You scream bloody murder when I take a toy from you, and I adore when you raise your arms up to me, or pull on my pants when you want me to pick you up. And the babbling warms my heart every time. I have no clue what you are trying to say, but you do, and Jackson and Dakota do, and you seem so content to just babble along while I sing to you, and sometimes start shrieking in pure joy.
I'll be sending your modeling pictures tomorrow. I think you'll be terrific, and anything that helps us to sock away a little more for your college fund, and hopefully get you some free clothes, sounds good to me. I'm totally prejudiced, I know, but I think you are the most wonderfully beautiful and entertaining baby in the world. And you love taking pictures, posing whenever the camera comes out, making faces, smiling, crawling around and turning back to make sure your every move is being recorded. Maybe you'll be an entertainer when you grow up, do Toastmasters, or drama, or be a singer. Buy your Mama a nice car one day....
Your first Easter was fabulous. Your Tia Tere made you an Easter basket, and your prima Johana gave you one too. You loved digging through and pulling out the toys and the doll, but you weren't too interested in the eggs. I tried to walk you around to find some, but I ended up scratched up from a rose bush, and you were eating leaves off the lawn instead of picking up eggs. But we had a blast, like I always do with you, and I'm so excited for next year when you'll be running around finding eggs yourself.
And I love evrything about you, but seeign you interact with other babies is hilarious. Partly because you are usually the smallest of the bunch, and yet still the most aggressive, and most mobile. You'll snatch a toy right out of Dakota's hand, but you try to give it back when he starts crying. Or you'll pretty much tackle Jackson, but then pet his hair when he calms down too. I think you aren't sure how strong you are, and want to touch and play with all the other kids, even when they aren't old enough to interact with you like your cousins do. I can see you in a year being the child to invite strangers to play with your toys with you, or share your candy.
So Duckie, my Angel, my Sweet LimaBean Baby. I can't thank you enough for opening up my heart, and letting me appreciate every day that I get to see your beautiful face. You have done so much for Mama by just being you. And thank you too for sleeping through the night, 11 hours straight, for the past two night.
I love you.
Mama
April 18, 2007
Maple Syrup for the Soul
I'm a sap. A friend of mine just sent me a note, and I didn't know how else to save it, except to put it on this blog and hope the writer doesn't get embarassed.
Can I just say? I really value your friendship and appreciate that fact that we can speak so candidly with one another, about everything. It is very refreshing to have a healthy relationship with another funny, intelligent, beautiful woman. Maybe I didn’t need to say all this but I figured you couldn’t read my mind. I am realizing that I have been feeling “Happier” since we really started getting to know each other. I promise I will never do you wrong. I know this sounds cliché but you are like a sister to me. Alright, I’m done being mushy…
Isn't it a trip how such a simple yet honest note can make everything better? Not that I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself, but certain events in the past year or so have utterly destroyed my confidence in choosing and maintaining friendships, and this quick note just let me know that I am capable of being in a healthy friendship with another female.
Gawd, and the compliments? Funny! Intelligent! Beautiful! Can't go wrong with that powerhouse. So now I'll tuck this little gem into my pocket and pull it our whenever I need a little boost. When the coffee runs out and I'm sleep deprived and the baby is crying, I can still feel appreciated.
(SOB-heheheheh. Let me know if you want me to take this down, I'd totally understand)
Can I just say? I really value your friendship and appreciate that fact that we can speak so candidly with one another, about everything. It is very refreshing to have a healthy relationship with another funny, intelligent, beautiful woman. Maybe I didn’t need to say all this but I figured you couldn’t read my mind. I am realizing that I have been feeling “Happier” since we really started getting to know each other. I promise I will never do you wrong. I know this sounds cliché but you are like a sister to me. Alright, I’m done being mushy…
Isn't it a trip how such a simple yet honest note can make everything better? Not that I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself, but certain events in the past year or so have utterly destroyed my confidence in choosing and maintaining friendships, and this quick note just let me know that I am capable of being in a healthy friendship with another female.
Gawd, and the compliments? Funny! Intelligent! Beautiful! Can't go wrong with that powerhouse. So now I'll tuck this little gem into my pocket and pull it our whenever I need a little boost. When the coffee runs out and I'm sleep deprived and the baby is crying, I can still feel appreciated.
(SOB-heheheheh. Let me know if you want me to take this down, I'd totally understand)
April 16, 2007
*sigh*
It's 10 am on a beautiful Monday morning. I'm not feeling too sick anymore, I have the day off work, Taryn just went down for a nap after we had fun cleaning up her room, it's a perfect day so far.
And I just want to curl up in a ball and cry.
I hate this feeling. I hate knowing I'm missing a beautiful day because my neurotransmitters are out of whack. I'm supposed to go on a hike with Nonny today, and the baby, and I just don't want to. I don't want to prepare myself to see the world. I know I'll feel better once I've showered and gotten out of the house, but that's the hardest thing to do right now.
I think it's almost harder to be depressed and know that I'm depressed. At least if I was unaware, I could nurse my feelings in the privacy of my bedroom, pretend that I don't know what will make me feel better, pretend that if i just stay hidden, in the dark, that tomorrow the sun might peek out at me again. But I can't do it. I can't intentionally make myself suffer, as much as I may want to, when I know what to do to feel a little better.
*sigh*
Off to the shower. Off to wash this darkness off of me, and hopefully if I can pretend long enough that this little cloud over my head isn't really there, then it will go away soon.
And I just want to curl up in a ball and cry.
I hate this feeling. I hate knowing I'm missing a beautiful day because my neurotransmitters are out of whack. I'm supposed to go on a hike with Nonny today, and the baby, and I just don't want to. I don't want to prepare myself to see the world. I know I'll feel better once I've showered and gotten out of the house, but that's the hardest thing to do right now.
I think it's almost harder to be depressed and know that I'm depressed. At least if I was unaware, I could nurse my feelings in the privacy of my bedroom, pretend that I don't know what will make me feel better, pretend that if i just stay hidden, in the dark, that tomorrow the sun might peek out at me again. But I can't do it. I can't intentionally make myself suffer, as much as I may want to, when I know what to do to feel a little better.
*sigh*
Off to the shower. Off to wash this darkness off of me, and hopefully if I can pretend long enough that this little cloud over my head isn't really there, then it will go away soon.
April 12, 2007
Baby Stats
Taryn had her 9 to 10 month check-up yesterday, so here's the lowdown.
She's 17 lbs, 14 ozs, and 27.25 inches long. A little rinky-dink if you ask me, but the Pedi said her weight is perfect for her height. He did suggest giving her more calories since she's super-active (she was crawling all over the exam table, pulling up on the wall, knocking posters off, and generally being her charming self). He also okayed me to stop pumping and just nurse her as long as I feel comfortable doing it since we're going to start feeding her solids 4 times per day instead of three.
He said that her socio-emotional development was perfect, she super chatty, which kind of surprised me becasue she's usually a bit more reserved when she's in a new place, but she also started giggling when I tickled her toes, which the Doc said is great. She started crying when he took off her diaper to check her lymph nodes, and he said developmentally she's right on track to be worried when a stranger touches her, and she looks to us for reassurance.
And yay. We all knew this next one, but he said her gross and fine motor skills were on the advanced range of normal, sitting by herself, crawling, pulling up, cruising, turning pages in a book, grabbing her binkie with two fingers... he said he'd be surprised if she wasn't walking within 6 weeks. Joy. No really, I'm stoked. Can't you tell?
So there it is, my healthy little girl with a ginormous head. Her Doc even humored me to say it's probably because she's got a big brain. Ha. 17.75cm. Dang!
She's 17 lbs, 14 ozs, and 27.25 inches long. A little rinky-dink if you ask me, but the Pedi said her weight is perfect for her height. He did suggest giving her more calories since she's super-active (she was crawling all over the exam table, pulling up on the wall, knocking posters off, and generally being her charming self). He also okayed me to stop pumping and just nurse her as long as I feel comfortable doing it since we're going to start feeding her solids 4 times per day instead of three.
He said that her socio-emotional development was perfect, she super chatty, which kind of surprised me becasue she's usually a bit more reserved when she's in a new place, but she also started giggling when I tickled her toes, which the Doc said is great. She started crying when he took off her diaper to check her lymph nodes, and he said developmentally she's right on track to be worried when a stranger touches her, and she looks to us for reassurance.
And yay. We all knew this next one, but he said her gross and fine motor skills were on the advanced range of normal, sitting by herself, crawling, pulling up, cruising, turning pages in a book, grabbing her binkie with two fingers... he said he'd be surprised if she wasn't walking within 6 weeks. Joy. No really, I'm stoked. Can't you tell?
So there it is, my healthy little girl with a ginormous head. Her Doc even humored me to say it's probably because she's got a big brain. Ha. 17.75cm. Dang!
April 11, 2007
Credit Revolution
I had a dream last night that I was in a bougie store, the kind of place where a summer dress will cost you $350 and nail polish is $24 per bottle. Before they let me in the store, I got the typical eye rolls, sighs of impatience, and flat out questioning if I could afford anything. "Of course not, I just want to look around while I wait for my friend."
I liked the clothes. They were cute, and the purses were adorable too. But even in my dreams I knew I couldn't afford anything there.
I'm one of those people who is firmly planted in reality. I like to dream, but I also know that its destructive to live beyond your means. My mom taught me fiscal responsibility when I was young. If I wanted to buy a big-ticket item, like a walkman or new rollerskates, she would agree to pay for half, and I had to save the other half from my allowance or earn it doing extra chores around the house, before I could buy anything.
I've carried those values into adulthood. When I want to buy something, I save up for it until I have a good portion of the cost, the entire cost if I'm feeling particularly patient, or I put the rest on a credit card after I've worked out my payment plan with myself. I don't use credit cards to delay the inevitable. I use them when I'm in a bind, and pay them off as quickly as possible. I hate carrying balances.
Unlike P.
This guy has no self-restraint. Delayed gratification is not in his vocabulary. I take that back, he can be responsible, but when he sets his eye on something he wants, he figures its better to buy now and pay later so he can enjoy it more. I admire his fanaticiscm, if not his lack of fiducuary wherewithal.
It's hard being young with very little disposable income. I wracked up bills while I was on maternity leave, and three months after going back to work I'm no where near close to paying them off. It was worth it to me though, to stay home with Taryn longer, but it's hard looking at my budget and seeing that I have $150 to last me two weeks, for gas, groceries, diapers... I don't get to go out to eat, or to buy new clothes. I had to downgrade our cell phone service and cancel the HBO.
But it's a choice. I'm choosing to be responsible. I can't afford a new car, as much as I need one, so I'll drive the Mazda into the ground. I can't afford to take Taryn to the Discovery Museum, so I'll take her on hikes and show her the flowers and deer, or to the beach and let her play in the sand and the ocean. I can't afford new clothes, so I'll mix and match what I have in my closet, maybe buy a couple pairs of new shoes to spice up the wardrobe and wait for the after-season sales to get something cute for next year.
And I hope that I can instil in her a sense of the limits of money, how to make it last and how to appreciate the outdoors and not rely on electrical toys for entertainment. I hope that she doesn't get caught up in the credit revolution, that she learns how to delay her gratification and only buy the things she really, really wants, and to the exclusion of less important things. And maybe she'll be a doctor or lawyer and have massive amounts of extra cash to throw around and put me up in a good home with a reliable car, but even then, I hope she can see the value of a dollar and be responsible with her money. Or her partners money.
People think it's weird P and I have separate accounts. We have joint accounts, but my checking is separate from his, and we have our own savings accounts as well. We used to share a credit card, and we do still have one for mutual large purchases, like plane tickets, but when it came time to pay the bill each month and he couldn't pay his part, it irked me. I didn't want to carry balances, and he's okay with that, so we decided to separate our finances to a degree. I pay more in bills each month, but he just pays one lump-sum majority payment for the mortgage. He couldn't handle the details of paying the same 10 bills on time every month, so I took over those.
When he wants to buy something dumb (I mean, for himself) he puts it on his credit card. And yes, it ends up that I end up paying for everything for the house, and he puts all his money towards paying off his separate debt, but whatever. I'm not going to be petty about it because it's not exactly his fault that he isn't responsible. I'm sure coming from absolutely nothing to the ability to buy whatever he wants is overwhelming, and not having had the early experience in managing income, it's a hard skill to learn as an adult.
All I'm saying is, I'm damn grateful to be as money-saavy as I am. And I'm trying to get some of that to rub off on P and Taryn. I've got more hope for the latter.
I liked the clothes. They were cute, and the purses were adorable too. But even in my dreams I knew I couldn't afford anything there.
I'm one of those people who is firmly planted in reality. I like to dream, but I also know that its destructive to live beyond your means. My mom taught me fiscal responsibility when I was young. If I wanted to buy a big-ticket item, like a walkman or new rollerskates, she would agree to pay for half, and I had to save the other half from my allowance or earn it doing extra chores around the house, before I could buy anything.
I've carried those values into adulthood. When I want to buy something, I save up for it until I have a good portion of the cost, the entire cost if I'm feeling particularly patient, or I put the rest on a credit card after I've worked out my payment plan with myself. I don't use credit cards to delay the inevitable. I use them when I'm in a bind, and pay them off as quickly as possible. I hate carrying balances.
Unlike P.
This guy has no self-restraint. Delayed gratification is not in his vocabulary. I take that back, he can be responsible, but when he sets his eye on something he wants, he figures its better to buy now and pay later so he can enjoy it more. I admire his fanaticiscm, if not his lack of fiducuary wherewithal.
It's hard being young with very little disposable income. I wracked up bills while I was on maternity leave, and three months after going back to work I'm no where near close to paying them off. It was worth it to me though, to stay home with Taryn longer, but it's hard looking at my budget and seeing that I have $150 to last me two weeks, for gas, groceries, diapers... I don't get to go out to eat, or to buy new clothes. I had to downgrade our cell phone service and cancel the HBO.
But it's a choice. I'm choosing to be responsible. I can't afford a new car, as much as I need one, so I'll drive the Mazda into the ground. I can't afford to take Taryn to the Discovery Museum, so I'll take her on hikes and show her the flowers and deer, or to the beach and let her play in the sand and the ocean. I can't afford new clothes, so I'll mix and match what I have in my closet, maybe buy a couple pairs of new shoes to spice up the wardrobe and wait for the after-season sales to get something cute for next year.
And I hope that I can instil in her a sense of the limits of money, how to make it last and how to appreciate the outdoors and not rely on electrical toys for entertainment. I hope that she doesn't get caught up in the credit revolution, that she learns how to delay her gratification and only buy the things she really, really wants, and to the exclusion of less important things. And maybe she'll be a doctor or lawyer and have massive amounts of extra cash to throw around and put me up in a good home with a reliable car, but even then, I hope she can see the value of a dollar and be responsible with her money. Or her partners money.
People think it's weird P and I have separate accounts. We have joint accounts, but my checking is separate from his, and we have our own savings accounts as well. We used to share a credit card, and we do still have one for mutual large purchases, like plane tickets, but when it came time to pay the bill each month and he couldn't pay his part, it irked me. I didn't want to carry balances, and he's okay with that, so we decided to separate our finances to a degree. I pay more in bills each month, but he just pays one lump-sum majority payment for the mortgage. He couldn't handle the details of paying the same 10 bills on time every month, so I took over those.
When he wants to buy something dumb (I mean, for himself) he puts it on his credit card. And yes, it ends up that I end up paying for everything for the house, and he puts all his money towards paying off his separate debt, but whatever. I'm not going to be petty about it because it's not exactly his fault that he isn't responsible. I'm sure coming from absolutely nothing to the ability to buy whatever he wants is overwhelming, and not having had the early experience in managing income, it's a hard skill to learn as an adult.
All I'm saying is, I'm damn grateful to be as money-saavy as I am. And I'm trying to get some of that to rub off on P and Taryn. I've got more hope for the latter.
April 8, 2007
Directly Proportionate to Success
For the past few years, P has been in a slump. My thought was maybe there was some depression floating around that he wasn't willing to recognize, and I tried to support him in doing what makes him feel better, like going to the gym, taking up hobbies, or going back to school. But along with the depression was a serious lack of motivation. A few weeks to a few months after starting something, he'd revert back to his work, eat, watch TV, sleep routine.
Eventually he did admit that he might be depressed, and though he was adamant about not seeing a therapist, not taking medication, I think his recognition of a possible cause to the feelings he was having allowed him to open up a bit more to the suggestions that I was making. So we started looking for a new job for him.
P is very loyal to his company, and though he wanted to work in a new capacity, his hope was to stay at that particular company. We tried applying for him at the County, however, due to benefits and commute issues, and he was super-successful in the testing and interviewing for this particular position, but when it came down to a choice between him and a female candidate, they took the female. It made sense to us. The department he was interviewing for did focus on women a lot, but all the same he fell into a slump, got very discouraged about applying for any more jobs, and we decided maybe he should focus on going back to school.
He did a lot of research on colleges, and decided on Cal State East Bay, where he could get his degree in computer something-or-other in 6 years. We looked into different loan options so that he could just work part-time and go to school full time, and though I wasn't stoked about living the next chapter of my life hand-to-mouth, I threw my heart into supporting him and backing him on whatever decision he made, as long as he stayed motivated.
Sound familiar? Yeah, it was a week or so after this decision, and two weeks before I could get an appointment to see my OB, that I got pregnant.
So, fuck. He threw this shit in my face whenever he would get drunk, that he wanted to go back to school but because I got pregnant, he couldn't do that anymore. I had to remind him over and over and over that I hadn't had sex with myself. And that everything happens for a reason.
It was really hard in the beginning, thinking about how we were going to keep being upwardly mobile while having a baby. Thinking how in the hell we would afford being parents, when we barely had enough for ourselves. I think he was secretly pleased he didn't have to go back to school, seeing as he wasn't quite as education-minded as I was, he knew he couldn't work full-time and go to school full-time like I had, especially with a baby on the way.
After the beginning of the new year, we decided he should probably keep applying for jobs. At first, he applied everywhere, but didn't get an interview, probably due to his lack of formal education. As my belly grew, we realized that he couldn't leave his company, due to me and the baby needing to be on his medical benefits while I was off work, and so he focused on a promotion at the same job.
It was a rough time. I was saving every last penny I could for my maternity leave, so we didn't have much extra for eating out or going places. I spent a lot of time shopping for second-hand furniture for Taryn's room, figuring out budgets so I could stay out for a full 6 months, exercising to try to get myself in shape for labor, and of course sleeping. A lot. Our relationship suffered. I was so focused on the baby, I forgot my husband needed nurturing too. He was so focused on providing for his family that he couldn't get excited for the baby. I don't think it was real for him, even when I was so huge we couldn't lay on the couch together and watch a movie anymore, even when he would feel her kick and move around. It wasn't real until a couple weeks before she was born I had a third ultrasound to make sure she was growing okay, and he got to see her little legs kicking around, and her heart beating.
And after Taryn was born, we were so focused on getting her situated in this new foreign world and were so sleep deprived that he didn't look for work like we had planned while he was on his paternity leave. So he had to stumble back to the same job with the same pay and more worries while I was at home taking care of Taryn for months. And months.
And finally! After more than a year of looking for work, he was hired for a new position in the Company. A job that didn't give him a raise, but was closer to home, and something he enjoyed doing. And finally! He started coming out of the slump that had lasted the last few years.
We started talking more. And having sex more. Cooking together, and reading together, and taking Taryn out on the weekends to visit friends and family. He was finally feeling that he had acheived something. And he really had. He was able to find a job that he enjoyed, with some awesome co-workers, and started making comissions on his closings. He even told me he enjoyed the job so much he would take a pay-cut to stay there. Without any education.
And a lot of people knocked him for not going back to school. For not taking a second job when Taryn was born so that I could stay home longer with her. In general for not doing what they expected of him, like he was their little pawn or something. And for a while, I thought him working more might be a good idea too, but when I saw how his eyes light up when he sees his baby girl, and how he gets so excited telling me about his day at work, I know we made the right decision.
And things are still rough, sometimes. We don't have as much extra income as a lot of our friends, so we can't go out as much or buy as much as them. We have a lot more credit card debt than I would like, and we do still argue sometimes about the division of labor around the house now that we're both working, but we've got so much going for us right now, it sometimes amazes me to look back at where we were 5 years ago: newly married, working minimum wage jobs, living with my mom.
And now? We've got 5 years of marriage behind us, we own our home, we both have good jobs (even if they are good for different reasons), we have a beautiful baby girl, a live-in au pair, and we're happy. We fit together and this life fits us.
I'm not really sure where this post came from today. It's Easter, and I'm feeling grateful for our blessings. We've worked our asses off the last 5 years, on our jobs, on our relationship, and our happiness right now is directly proportionate to our success in everything that we've striven for.
Happy Easter!
Eventually he did admit that he might be depressed, and though he was adamant about not seeing a therapist, not taking medication, I think his recognition of a possible cause to the feelings he was having allowed him to open up a bit more to the suggestions that I was making. So we started looking for a new job for him.
P is very loyal to his company, and though he wanted to work in a new capacity, his hope was to stay at that particular company. We tried applying for him at the County, however, due to benefits and commute issues, and he was super-successful in the testing and interviewing for this particular position, but when it came down to a choice between him and a female candidate, they took the female. It made sense to us. The department he was interviewing for did focus on women a lot, but all the same he fell into a slump, got very discouraged about applying for any more jobs, and we decided maybe he should focus on going back to school.
He did a lot of research on colleges, and decided on Cal State East Bay, where he could get his degree in computer something-or-other in 6 years. We looked into different loan options so that he could just work part-time and go to school full time, and though I wasn't stoked about living the next chapter of my life hand-to-mouth, I threw my heart into supporting him and backing him on whatever decision he made, as long as he stayed motivated.
Sound familiar? Yeah, it was a week or so after this decision, and two weeks before I could get an appointment to see my OB, that I got pregnant.
So, fuck. He threw this shit in my face whenever he would get drunk, that he wanted to go back to school but because I got pregnant, he couldn't do that anymore. I had to remind him over and over and over that I hadn't had sex with myself. And that everything happens for a reason.
It was really hard in the beginning, thinking about how we were going to keep being upwardly mobile while having a baby. Thinking how in the hell we would afford being parents, when we barely had enough for ourselves. I think he was secretly pleased he didn't have to go back to school, seeing as he wasn't quite as education-minded as I was, he knew he couldn't work full-time and go to school full-time like I had, especially with a baby on the way.
After the beginning of the new year, we decided he should probably keep applying for jobs. At first, he applied everywhere, but didn't get an interview, probably due to his lack of formal education. As my belly grew, we realized that he couldn't leave his company, due to me and the baby needing to be on his medical benefits while I was off work, and so he focused on a promotion at the same job.
It was a rough time. I was saving every last penny I could for my maternity leave, so we didn't have much extra for eating out or going places. I spent a lot of time shopping for second-hand furniture for Taryn's room, figuring out budgets so I could stay out for a full 6 months, exercising to try to get myself in shape for labor, and of course sleeping. A lot. Our relationship suffered. I was so focused on the baby, I forgot my husband needed nurturing too. He was so focused on providing for his family that he couldn't get excited for the baby. I don't think it was real for him, even when I was so huge we couldn't lay on the couch together and watch a movie anymore, even when he would feel her kick and move around. It wasn't real until a couple weeks before she was born I had a third ultrasound to make sure she was growing okay, and he got to see her little legs kicking around, and her heart beating.
And after Taryn was born, we were so focused on getting her situated in this new foreign world and were so sleep deprived that he didn't look for work like we had planned while he was on his paternity leave. So he had to stumble back to the same job with the same pay and more worries while I was at home taking care of Taryn for months. And months.
And finally! After more than a year of looking for work, he was hired for a new position in the Company. A job that didn't give him a raise, but was closer to home, and something he enjoyed doing. And finally! He started coming out of the slump that had lasted the last few years.
We started talking more. And having sex more. Cooking together, and reading together, and taking Taryn out on the weekends to visit friends and family. He was finally feeling that he had acheived something. And he really had. He was able to find a job that he enjoyed, with some awesome co-workers, and started making comissions on his closings. He even told me he enjoyed the job so much he would take a pay-cut to stay there. Without any education.
And a lot of people knocked him for not going back to school. For not taking a second job when Taryn was born so that I could stay home longer with her. In general for not doing what they expected of him, like he was their little pawn or something. And for a while, I thought him working more might be a good idea too, but when I saw how his eyes light up when he sees his baby girl, and how he gets so excited telling me about his day at work, I know we made the right decision.
And things are still rough, sometimes. We don't have as much extra income as a lot of our friends, so we can't go out as much or buy as much as them. We have a lot more credit card debt than I would like, and we do still argue sometimes about the division of labor around the house now that we're both working, but we've got so much going for us right now, it sometimes amazes me to look back at where we were 5 years ago: newly married, working minimum wage jobs, living with my mom.
And now? We've got 5 years of marriage behind us, we own our home, we both have good jobs (even if they are good for different reasons), we have a beautiful baby girl, a live-in au pair, and we're happy. We fit together and this life fits us.
I'm not really sure where this post came from today. It's Easter, and I'm feeling grateful for our blessings. We've worked our asses off the last 5 years, on our jobs, on our relationship, and our happiness right now is directly proportionate to our success in everything that we've striven for.
Happy Easter!
April 6, 2007
Thump, Bump, Bump ... Part II
Well, I think Taryn may officially be a clutz.
Or maybe just getting a little overconfident in her newfound "cruising" abilities.
About ten minutes ago, I was sitting in the same place, in front of my computer, making crazy shrieks with Taryn. She was playing with her bassinnette full of toys, and I was about to email P to find out when he'd be home.
She started pulling up on my legs, smiling at me with her little head just a couple inches above my knees. I was reaching for her binkie, but still grunting and squealing with her, and I guess my ability to multi-task is greatly reduced when it includes vocal and physical actions.
I dropped her binkie on the floor next to her jammie-clad feet, and before I had a chance to reach down to get it, she bent over to pick it up, with one hand still on my knee.
Unfortunately (in this instance) she was blessed with Mama's big ass, so when she bent over (like a stripper, you know, not at the knees) her butt hit the computer desk and she face-plowed into the floor.
Deja-vu, right?
Except this time she hit the floor mouth on, though from a much shorter distance, and her adorable little teeth sank straight into her beautiful little lip.
And just imagine her face, beet red, dripping with tears and snot, and her mouth filling up with blood.
I'm such a bad Mommy, I feel horrible I wasn't quick enough to catch her from falling. But she's okay. I was worried at first that her tooth fell out or something, but I doubt she fell that hard. I do, however, have blood on my shirt from where she burrowed her head while she was wailing, not a lot, but the first time I've even seen her bleed.
Except when she got her shots.
My poor Love. T-Boogie is on a roll, though. Within a few minutes she was crawling around the room again, pulling up on my radio stand, and pulling shit off the shelves.
Or maybe just getting a little overconfident in her newfound "cruising" abilities.
About ten minutes ago, I was sitting in the same place, in front of my computer, making crazy shrieks with Taryn. She was playing with her bassinnette full of toys, and I was about to email P to find out when he'd be home.
She started pulling up on my legs, smiling at me with her little head just a couple inches above my knees. I was reaching for her binkie, but still grunting and squealing with her, and I guess my ability to multi-task is greatly reduced when it includes vocal and physical actions.
I dropped her binkie on the floor next to her jammie-clad feet, and before I had a chance to reach down to get it, she bent over to pick it up, with one hand still on my knee.
Unfortunately (in this instance) she was blessed with Mama's big ass, so when she bent over (like a stripper, you know, not at the knees) her butt hit the computer desk and she face-plowed into the floor.
Deja-vu, right?
Except this time she hit the floor mouth on, though from a much shorter distance, and her adorable little teeth sank straight into her beautiful little lip.
And just imagine her face, beet red, dripping with tears and snot, and her mouth filling up with blood.
I'm such a bad Mommy, I feel horrible I wasn't quick enough to catch her from falling. But she's okay. I was worried at first that her tooth fell out or something, but I doubt she fell that hard. I do, however, have blood on my shirt from where she burrowed her head while she was wailing, not a lot, but the first time I've even seen her bleed.
Except when she got her shots.
My poor Love. T-Boogie is on a roll, though. Within a few minutes she was crawling around the room again, pulling up on my radio stand, and pulling shit off the shelves.
April 5, 2007
Thump, Bump, Bump.
Taryn fell off the bed this morning.
I was in the bathroom getting ready for work like every other day. P was in the bed her dozing, and before I had gotten out I told him to watch the baby, like every other day.
Then I hear this sickening thump on the floor. My first thought was it was the dogs jumping off the bed, but they are much more quiet since they weigh so much less than her, and I usually hear their nails on clicking as they walk.
I opened the door to the bathroom and started walking to the edge of the bed. For some reason I knew she had fallen off, and my biggest concern was to make sure I got to her before he did to make sure if she was injured, he didn't make it worse.
He was still getting out of the bed by the time I was picking her up. She wailed for a couple minutes, a good sign in my book that she wasn't unconscious or in shock, then rested her head on my shoulder and started babbling away.
She's got a red bump the size of a quarter on the side of her forehead.
And I wanted to kill P.
I can't fathom how he could fall back asleep so quickly and not realize that she was crawling off the edge of the bed. I keep asking myself why didn't he have his arm around her? Why was he not paying attention? What would I have done if she was seriously injured?
I did call Kaiser, which was pointless. I already knew what she told me, watch to make sure she's not more sleepy than normal, wake her up every hour to make sure she's responsive, take her to the ER if she starts vomiting or one pupil dilates or she's only moving one side of her body. And get this, the advice nurse asks me, "Does she have any slurred speech or have trouble walking?" Like, really? REALLY? You're going to ask me that about a nine month old? I had to tell her I wasn't sure since she didn't walk or talk yet, and she's like "I guess you don't know if she has a headache or blurred vision either, huh?" No, sorry.
So anyway, I'm sure she's fine. She's a heardy little beast, but I pulled out my reference book and had P and Johana both read it to make sure they knew what to look for. I trust myself to recognize if she's acting differently, but I don't trust either of them nearly as much. I should, but incidents liek this are exactly why I don't trust P to watch her.
I did curse him out for a good 5 minutes as I held Taryn and rocked her in my arms. Probably not the best idea with her in the middle of us, but I was so scared, I was shaking, and I didn't know how else in the moment to get it out. I'm sure he's beating himself up more right now than I ever could, so I'm laying off and letting him handle the punishment for being irresponsible. He stayed home from work today to watch her. Overkill, I think, but I'm glad he offered.
So anyway. First real fall. One first I could do without, I think.
I was in the bathroom getting ready for work like every other day. P was in the bed her dozing, and before I had gotten out I told him to watch the baby, like every other day.
Then I hear this sickening thump on the floor. My first thought was it was the dogs jumping off the bed, but they are much more quiet since they weigh so much less than her, and I usually hear their nails on clicking as they walk.
I opened the door to the bathroom and started walking to the edge of the bed. For some reason I knew she had fallen off, and my biggest concern was to make sure I got to her before he did to make sure if she was injured, he didn't make it worse.
He was still getting out of the bed by the time I was picking her up. She wailed for a couple minutes, a good sign in my book that she wasn't unconscious or in shock, then rested her head on my shoulder and started babbling away.
She's got a red bump the size of a quarter on the side of her forehead.
And I wanted to kill P.
I can't fathom how he could fall back asleep so quickly and not realize that she was crawling off the edge of the bed. I keep asking myself why didn't he have his arm around her? Why was he not paying attention? What would I have done if she was seriously injured?
I did call Kaiser, which was pointless. I already knew what she told me, watch to make sure she's not more sleepy than normal, wake her up every hour to make sure she's responsive, take her to the ER if she starts vomiting or one pupil dilates or she's only moving one side of her body. And get this, the advice nurse asks me, "Does she have any slurred speech or have trouble walking?" Like, really? REALLY? You're going to ask me that about a nine month old? I had to tell her I wasn't sure since she didn't walk or talk yet, and she's like "I guess you don't know if she has a headache or blurred vision either, huh?" No, sorry.
So anyway, I'm sure she's fine. She's a heardy little beast, but I pulled out my reference book and had P and Johana both read it to make sure they knew what to look for. I trust myself to recognize if she's acting differently, but I don't trust either of them nearly as much. I should, but incidents liek this are exactly why I don't trust P to watch her.
I did curse him out for a good 5 minutes as I held Taryn and rocked her in my arms. Probably not the best idea with her in the middle of us, but I was so scared, I was shaking, and I didn't know how else in the moment to get it out. I'm sure he's beating himself up more right now than I ever could, so I'm laying off and letting him handle the punishment for being irresponsible. He stayed home from work today to watch her. Overkill, I think, but I'm glad he offered.
So anyway. First real fall. One first I could do without, I think.
April 3, 2007
Entitlement
Where on God's green earth does this evil little booger come from?
Why can I see a client that is dead-broke and appreciative of getting $100 in food stamps, and in the same day have someone making $1500/month curse me out for not getting any food stamps?
How do people develop the mindset that because they have been paying taxes all their lives, they deserve the assistance more than people who have always been poor?
I get so frustrated seeing clients who expect me to bend the rules for them, just because they fell on hard times but promise to get off aid as soon as they find another job. I hate these people who talk down to the mentally ill, and the single mothers, and all the other folks who come in here needing help, genuinely needing help, and all they see are beggars. They don't realize that half the people in here are no different than them, and they treat them like dirt, and me like some cruel vengeful wench, when they don't get what they expected.
I heard once that Fairness is getting what you need, not giving everyone the same thing. SO when people come in and complain that so-and-so gets Food Stamps and owns a house and three cars while they don't qualify for CMSP when owning the same, it frustrates the hell out of me.
How do you explain to someone that there are regulations we have to follow, and these programs are made to supplement someone's life, not pay for their needs entirely? How do I explain to someone that the people who get full benefits have nothing. No job. No home. No work experience. No family to support them. nd they are here with a roof over their head, and money being given to them until they get back on their feet.
Aaaaaarrrgh.
Why can I see a client that is dead-broke and appreciative of getting $100 in food stamps, and in the same day have someone making $1500/month curse me out for not getting any food stamps?
How do people develop the mindset that because they have been paying taxes all their lives, they deserve the assistance more than people who have always been poor?
I get so frustrated seeing clients who expect me to bend the rules for them, just because they fell on hard times but promise to get off aid as soon as they find another job. I hate these people who talk down to the mentally ill, and the single mothers, and all the other folks who come in here needing help, genuinely needing help, and all they see are beggars. They don't realize that half the people in here are no different than them, and they treat them like dirt, and me like some cruel vengeful wench, when they don't get what they expected.
I heard once that Fairness is getting what you need, not giving everyone the same thing. SO when people come in and complain that so-and-so gets Food Stamps and owns a house and three cars while they don't qualify for CMSP when owning the same, it frustrates the hell out of me.
How do you explain to someone that there are regulations we have to follow, and these programs are made to supplement someone's life, not pay for their needs entirely? How do I explain to someone that the people who get full benefits have nothing. No job. No home. No work experience. No family to support them. nd they are here with a roof over their head, and money being given to them until they get back on their feet.
Aaaaaarrrgh.
April 1, 2007
Sometimes its just the Right Time
When Taryn was a newborn, she refused to take a binkie. It pretty much sucked for the first month or so, because its super-difficult to take an infant out in public and have no way to calm her down but to whip out the titty. And I ended up doing that a lot.
I received some of those cute little button binkie at my babyshower, and she would suck on it for all of a minute before spitting it out. So I went to Target and bought some of the orthodontic binkies, hoping she'd like them better, and she did.
But that was what? Eight months ago? And she refused to let me switch out her 0-3 month binkies with more age-appropriate sized ones. Every couple of weeks, normally when her only two binkies were crusted with peas or oatmeal, and covered in dog hair, I'd try to get her to take a bigger one (the 3-6 month size) and once again she'd take all of two or three sucks, and spit the bugger out. So I'd throw them in the dishwasher and hope she didn't get sick with e-coli or anything.
Because binkies are so expensive, I couldn't just go out and buy some new ones.
So after giving Taryn her breakfast today (oatmeal with pears and raspberries) I looked at her crust-covered, germ-infested, dilapidated-ass binkie, and decided to try again.
I rinsed it off, and popped it in her mouth, holding my hand under her chin to catch it when she spit it out.
And she sucked.
And sucked.
And turned her head to look down over my shoulder at the dogs while still sucking.
And I guess she finally decided that maybe her mouth will like this slightly bigger one better than the old ones. So yay! She's up to 3-6 month binkies now. I hope it's just because she's normal size for her age (See those italics? That's for Erika and Ally. They think she's normal. I think she's kind of dinky for her age. But we'll see at her next appointment, maybe the doctor will tell me to start giving her formula again).
But I think I'll hold onto the smaller ones for a couple days, just in case she changes her mind.
I received some of those cute little button binkie at my babyshower, and she would suck on it for all of a minute before spitting it out. So I went to Target and bought some of the orthodontic binkies, hoping she'd like them better, and she did.
But that was what? Eight months ago? And she refused to let me switch out her 0-3 month binkies with more age-appropriate sized ones. Every couple of weeks, normally when her only two binkies were crusted with peas or oatmeal, and covered in dog hair, I'd try to get her to take a bigger one (the 3-6 month size) and once again she'd take all of two or three sucks, and spit the bugger out. So I'd throw them in the dishwasher and hope she didn't get sick with e-coli or anything.
Because binkies are so expensive, I couldn't just go out and buy some new ones.
So after giving Taryn her breakfast today (oatmeal with pears and raspberries) I looked at her crust-covered, germ-infested, dilapidated-ass binkie, and decided to try again.
I rinsed it off, and popped it in her mouth, holding my hand under her chin to catch it when she spit it out.
And she sucked.
And sucked.
And turned her head to look down over my shoulder at the dogs while still sucking.
And I guess she finally decided that maybe her mouth will like this slightly bigger one better than the old ones. So yay! She's up to 3-6 month binkies now. I hope it's just because she's normal size for her age (See those italics? That's for Erika and Ally. They think she's normal. I think she's kind of dinky for her age. But we'll see at her next appointment, maybe the doctor will tell me to start giving her formula again).
But I think I'll hold onto the smaller ones for a couple days, just in case she changes her mind.
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