Tag: Crazies

Because I’m just a little crazy sometimes

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Creepy McCreeperton

Last night R, D, and I went for a walk up to the post office to pick up all our mail from last week and then to the neighborhood grocery store. It was hot as blazes, but we’re tough like that (or maybe a little crazy). And we ended up having 2 packages waiting at the post office too, so those were fun to cart around on the stroller. Anyhoo.

I was standing in front of D in her stroller in the produce area of the grocery store as R was picking out some veggies, when a man walked by with his cart and stopped to smile and wave at D. No big deal there, everyone does that. So I did my usual, “Can you say hi?” to her, while she just sat there smiling at the guy. Now here’s the weird part. His comment was, “So cute. That’s not fair of you bringing him in here. It’s gonna make every woman’s who walks by ovaries ache.” Um, ew?

First off, she’s a “her”, not a “him”. She had on a little blue dress with flowers across the neckline and matching bloomers. Whatevs, small detail there. But the ovaries comment? Ick. Sure he was just being friendly, but that kinda skeeved me out. I know I’ve said on here how my ovaries have kind of started itching to do the baby thing again, but that’s totally different. That’s me talking about myself, not some random male stranger making on off-hand comment about ovaries to a woman with her baby.

I asked R if he heard what that guy said on our way home, then relayed the conversation and how it grossed me out, and he goes, “What? I don’t even know what that means,” and started laughing. Silly boys.

What do you think? Was that a weird comment, or am I just the weird one?

** Side note, but still baby-related, I found out yesterday another good friend of mine is pregnant. Congrats, C!!! And 3 friends had baby girls last week while I was gone – congratulations, C with baby S, L with baby C, and F with baby B! This really is baby madness. **

 

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What? Huh?

Poor R. He probably hears those words come out of my mouth more than any others. And I know sometimes it annoys him to no end. But you see, I have this problem. I don’t hear things a lot. I don’t mean like I’m going deaf already, but if I’m not paying attention and you start talking to me, there’s a very good chance that I will miss the first couple of words you aim in my general direction.

I don’t do it on purpose, I really do want to hear what people say to me. But sometimes I just can’t help it and I’ll miss the first part of a sentence. This happens at home all the time. We’ll be watching tv, or I’ll be on the computer or something, and R will start talking to me. Well, I’m all engrossed in whatever it is I’m doing and not anticipating the words that are about to come out of his mouth, so 9 times out of 10 I have to ask him, “What?” Or, “What’d you say?” It’s even gotten to the point where if he says something to me or asks me a question and I don’t respond but instead just sit there blinking at him, he knows he needs to repeat himself. Sometimes he gets fed up and just shakes his head saying, “Never mind,” which then drives me crazy because I really do want to know what it is he said.

Again, I blame this not on disregard for what is being said to me, but on not paying attention. R will swear he’s told me something that I cannot remember for the life of me. And it’s honestly not because I’ve ignored him. It’s just because I probably wasn’t paying full attention to him when the conversation started. I’m not not listening to him, I just don’t hear him at first. And I’m sure he wouldn’t admit it, but he mumbles a lot too. He does. So that doesn’t help either when words start coming my way and my ears aren’t primed and ready for them.

I have so many dialogues and lists running through my head at any given moment, that if someone catches me off guard with their words it’ll take me a second to catch up to the conversation at hand. So if you start talking to me and I have to throw in a couple “What?”s, please don’t be offended. It’s just my own special little way of letting you know I care enough to want to hear what you’re saying. I’m listening, I promise.

 

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Another F

I had to give myself another F for Mommy for Saturday. The story goes a little something like this…

D’s torso and head were covered with a red, slightly raised rash Saturday morning, so I called her doctor’s after hours care line. Fortunately her doctor was at their clinic taking patients that morning, so we got her last appointment and headed in. Turns out D’s allergic to the antibiotic that was prescribed for her double ear infection last week. Awesome. Her doctor said it was either that or roseola (very similar symptoms – spiking fever followed by a rash in the shape of rose petals once the fever subsides, and apparently D’s just the right age for it), except roseola doesn’t itch. And as R put it, D was itching like a motherfucker. I’ve never seen her rub and scratch at her head like she did all day and night Saturday. Ok, allergic reaction it is, says the doc. And her ears of course weren’t better, so the doctor prescribed a different antibiotic for those and recommended children’s Benadryl to help get rid of the itch. Okey dokey, back to Walmart we went to get the medicine. My favorite place on Earth. (please sense the dripping sarcasm)

Why did we have to put her right away on another antibiotic instead of letting the allergy-causing one get fully out of her system before trying something new, you may ask? Well you see, we’re heading on vacation in less than 2 weeks’ time for a week, wherein we will have no cell phone or internet service, so if we need D to be on medicine to clear all this shit up we have to get her on it with time to spare to see the doctor again before we leave to make sure all the nastiness is finally gone. Whew.

They gave her the first dose of Benadryl at the doctor’s office to help her stop scratching, and by the time we got home from Walmart D was exhausted. So I gave her a bottle (she didn’t want any lunch) and put her down for a nap pretty much right away. R left for the afternoon to go to a WI craft beer festival, so it was just me and D. Little did I know what was in store for us. I thought great, she’s down for a nice long nap, I’ll sit out in the sun for a little bit to catch some rays, then get the house cleaned before R gets home. No sweat. HA! Damn, SM, why do you keep thinking your luck is so good? Let’s just say things didn’t go exactly as I had planned or hoped.

D napped for maybe half an hour the entire rest of the day. And that was from about 5 combined attempts, minimum, before R even got home. I knew from my days on maternity leave that accomplishing stuff around the house is a carefully choreographed art involving a combination of stealth and acute time management during the precious minutes of baby’s slumber. An art, I may add, that I mastered. I could get every chore and all the laundry done while D napped, no problem. So I thought yesterday was going to be a breeze. However, the doctor and pharmacist only mentioned that Benadryl may make D drowsy, not turn her into a demon spawn. I have never seen her so upset and miserable. This rash itched her so badly she clawed at her head constantly, and every time I tried to put her down it was like her crib was a bed of pins and broken glass. So she didn’t want to sleep, she didn’t want to eat, she didn’t want to take her medicine, she didn’t want to be put down, and then she’d decide she didn’t want to be held either. Well what the hell?? I couldn’t win – I couldn’t make her stop hurting, I couldn’t make her happy, I couldn’t get anything done, I just felt like a total failure. By the end of the afternoon I had reached my breaking point. I couldn’t take it any longer. She kept screaming harder and harder and nothing I did was working or seemed to be right, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I put her in her crib and walked away. If I couldn’t just have 5 minutes to get 1 thing done, I was afraid I was going to scream at the top of my lungs, and then what would the neighbors think?

I felt horrible. I was so mad, and I didn’t know how to make it stop. I wasn’t mad at her, I was mad at it, the sickness that was torturing her. I was so frustrated that I could neither placate her nor get anything accomplished, and it just took me to my boiling point. Of course R came home not 5 minutes after I’d left her crying in her crib, and when I said, “Welcome to hell,” he said, “Oh please, come on.” In case you were wondering, that was not the correct response. Yeah, you’ve been drinking beer out in the beautiful weather for 6 hours while I’ve been battling an inconsolable infant who’s sicker than she’s ever been. Come on? I’ll come on you with a swift kick to the nuts if you’re serious.

And so the evening continued. D alternating screaming with brief interludes of play and seeming relief, yet not going to bed, while R and I took turns trying to comfort her. What happened to the drowsiness of the Benadryl? Was that supposed to be a joke, or were they just flat out lying to me? For it seemed that drowsiness was the last side effect it caused for D. Finally at 11:00, hours after her normal bedtime, I was able to get her to sleep after a bottle. Ahh, fingers crossed. Holy hell! 1 hour later and she was back up crying. It was during this round of trying to get her back to sleep that Ryan said we were going to have to take shifts, I told him to just go back to bed, and he told me not to get mad, as I was holding the sleepless, writhing, monster that had possessed our child. “I CAN’T HELP IT!” I shouted. Seriously! I couldn’t. After that day and that night and my feeling completely inadequate, all I could do was get mad. But again, I wasn’t mad at him, I wasn’t mad at her, I was just mad. Because what else could I do? I had no more nice, patient Mommy left. It ran out hours ago. I know that wasn’t the right answer, but it was the only one I had at that point. And then an hour later, she was back in bed. Only to wake up at 3:50, when R had to take her out to the couch again, like we did earlier in the week.

And I had planned on being the one up early with D yesterday so R could sleep in on Father’s Day, then here he was the one dealing with her in the wee hours of the morning. Plus I didn’t wake up until 8, when he stomped into the bedroom to get his cup of water. Shit. Another F. When I saw what time it was I felt terrible, I’d ruined his Father’s Day morning. So I quickly got up, took over the D patrol, and he instantly climbed into bed. I thought maybe just not being around was what he wanted, so I took D to the store to get milk and diapers, since we’d run out of both during the night in her maelstrom of sickness and itch. I ended up driving around with her for a couple hours since she fell asleep and I knew he would be too, then I stopped at McDonald’s for his favorite breakfast items just before they switched over to lunch, to try to do something right.

I hate those days. Those days where all forces combine to create the perfect storm of my parenting failure, and I just can’t take it. I did what I could and it just wasn’t good enough. What else am I supposed to do?

 

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Validation

Both good and bad, I guess.

Last night I went to a Jockey Person2Person clothing party at one of my good friend’s houses, and it was awesome. I was completely unfamiliar with that line of Jockey, but the clothes are fantastic. High quality, beyond comfortable, stylish and flattering for a woman’s body, and washable/dryable without shrinking or pilling – excellent! I ordered a pair of black modal active bootcut pants and I can’t wait until they arrive. I could seriously live in those things if it was socially acceptable to never change your pants. And what could be more fun than sharing a couple bottles of wine with girlfriends while trying on a bunch of new clothes? Yeah that’s right – nothing.

(side note – if you see anything you like in the catalog in that link above, or if you’d be interested in either hosting one of those parties or becoming a rep yourself, let me know. i’ve got the hookup)

So anyway, as we were tossing around shirts, workout tanks, dresses, and other various articles of Jockey clothing, of course the conversation turned to boobs. Why wouldn’t it in a house full of topless women? Most of us there have swum together for years, so we’ve all seen each other in more stages of undress than just bared to our bras. One girl had just had hers beautifully lifted after having her babies, and can I just say they looked spectacular!! I was of course envious of her gorgeous rack, and was lamenting the current deflated state of my own micro-rack and the fact that none of my bras fit properly anymore. Then one of the other girls said, “Thank you! That’s exactly how I felt!” Sweet – I’m not crazy or the only one who thinks her post-baby boobs have turned into little tiny niddlers! (name the movie that has that description of boobs in it and i’ll give you a cookie) The universe hasn’t singled me out with this punishment, it does happen to others! We both said how now we have to have all these different sections of bras in our collection – pre-pregnancy, pregnancy, nursing, then post-nursing. Bleh. I may as well just be wearing a training bra at this point. Again – who’s got suggestions for comfy, properly-fitting bras out there?

On the flip side, here’s where the bad validation came into play. Well not bad bad like I’m now thinking harmful thoughts or anything, but it totally cemented my notion that these things really have shrunk. This past weekend as I was vomiting out everything that’s been tumbling around in my head to R, of course I landed on how I hate the current state of affairs on my chest. I’m like seriously, there wasn’t much there to start with, but now what little I had has even disappeared in recent days. He said oh yeah right, and I’m like no, really, feel. So he did, and you know what he said? “Well, maybe they are a little smaller.” See! See?! I told you. I told him I need a boob job now when we’re done having kids and he just laughed and said don’t be silly, maybe they’ll come back. What?! Why would they just decide to come back once more tiny mouths have sucked the life out of them? I might have to get the number of my friend’s doctor who did her work, see if she also specializes in miniature versions.

I’ve heard so many women say that their boobs just kept getting bigger and bigger with each successive child they had, and I was so hoping that would be the case for me too. Ha! Yeah right, SM, you should’ve known better. That’s not how your luck works.

Boobs – you didn’t think I could talk about them so much, did you?

 

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Brain drain

This post may seem kind of rambling, crazy, and pointless to many, but that’s just kind of how things are rolling around in my head right now. Lucky you.

Now that I’m done breastfeeding and the milk has completely dried up, my boobs are utterly and totally lifeless. And I hate it. I think back to how full and nice they were while they were producing infant life force, and it makes me sad to look at the shells that have been left behind. They were certainly nothing special to begin with (emphasis on the nothing there), but now I swear they’re even less so if that’s at all possible. And for whatever reason none of my pre-pregnancy bras fit right anymore. Maybe I’ve just forgotten how underwires feel after not wearing one through those 9+ months of nursing, but damn if they aren’t uncomfortable! I used to avoid bras without them, but now I can’t seem to find one in my drawer that I like. I’m debating going to have an actual bra fitting done, but I’m afraid the woman will just laugh in my face and say, “Hon, what are you thinking? You don’t even need a bra!” The only one I’ve ever had done was while I was pregnant, and I was actually wearing the correct size at that time. But now I’ve lost that cup size I gained and it seems like every other aspect is out of whack too. Hmm – anyone have suggestions on comfortable bras they like?

Work sucks. There, I said it. People always ask, “How’s work going?” because they know my company has gone through round after round of layoffs the past couple years, and I have been fortunate to survive them all. Trust me, I know how fortunate I am, and I’m definitely not taking my employment for granted. And I usually answer that question, “Oh it’s fine. Work’s work,” but to be perfectly honest I get more and more restless every day. I like my job and all, but I just keep feeling useless. Like, what am I doing there that no one else can? When is the next round of firings going to come with my head on the chopping block? Fortunately I think we are past that point in the survival of our firm, but I still can’t help but wonder. There really isn’t a career path for me much past where I am now, which is actually totally fine. I’ve aimed to get where I am now my whole time in this industry so far, and I’m perfectly happy in my current role. But I always feel like one day someone is going to expect me to want more, and when they realize I’m content where I am now they won’t be able to understand that and run me over for the next hungry young guy (i say guy because this is still a fairly male-dominated industry, even though there are very many extremely talented, smart women in it. ok, hungry young guy or girl). I can’t help it, though – I get a paycheck, I have excellent benefits, I am good at what I do, I don’t need more and more responsibilities to feel validated in my career, and I enjoy the flexibility that I have now to leave work each day at a pretty reasonable hour and go home to be with my family. For that is what’s most important to me now – my family. And I just feel that so many people in my office make their life revolve around their job that I get further and further removed from that mindset every day. Maybe it’s just because things are a little slower at work right now, my mind has time to wander into this dangerous territory. I don’t know. I know I need to keep my job to help sustain the livelihood of our family, but I just really don’t want to. Isn’t that terrible? I should be considering myself lucky that I even still have a job as great as mine, and here I am complaining. I’m such a brat. (which in itself doesn’t help my feeling of uselessness either)

When are we going to have more kids? Woah, there’s one for ya. I swear every other second I start trying to figure that question out, and it’s beginning to drive me a little crazy. See, here’s the sitch – I know we want more (one, maybe two more, probably definitely no more than that), but when should we get to work on that little side project? Maybe it’s because now my body’s getting back into its groove and I know that project is possible again, or maybe it’s all the awesome babies coming into the world right now, or maybe it’s just because. Who knows. All I know is that it’s fairly constantly on my mind right now and I just don’t know the answer. And I don’t like not knowing. I originally thought it’d be great to give D a sibling about 2 years younger than her – have them pretty close together so they’d grow up close, plus if we decide to go for more after that I’d be that much younger when the time comes to work on #3. But then I started thinking wait, is that fair to D? Should we give her another year or more where it’s just her, so she can enjoy having all of our attention and love a little while longer? Would we miss out on precious moments and memories with D if we decide to go for it sooner rather than later and have to focus a chunk of ourselves on a new baby? And I have no idea how to answer that. I can see the pros and cons in both, and I feel like I’m about to tear in half when I try to come up with a solution. I teeter back and forth between leaning strongly one way, then the other, then I get all messy when I try to reconcile my feelings. Ugggghhhhh. Why is this worm eating away at my brain right now? And why won’t it tell me the answer? And when is it going to stop making me itch?

Well we’re still on our mini-vaca, so maybe some of these things are getting resolved as you read this. And maybe not. But throwing them out of my head for once helps it feel a little better, so thank you for letting me do that.

 

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One of those days

You know, the days where you feel like you just can’t win. Like whatever you do, it’s not good enough, or you can’t get it done fast enough, or it’s just not right. Yesterday turned into one of those days when I got home from work.

All I wanted to do was sit and relax in the sun for half an hour when I got home, while it was still shining on the back part of our driveway. I’m feeling seriously vitamin D deficient after this miserable “Spring”, and I was exhausted. Well I had to take D out there with me because R was working on something, so I grabbed one of her books, her water cup, and a little container full of Cheerios, and I strapped her into her stroller so she couldn’t boogie away from me. This worked well on Monday – she played in there for quite a while as we grilled and ate dinner outside – so I figured it’d be a fine alternative to hauling her playpen outside again, especially since I was only going to be out there for 30 minutes. Of course not. She played with her stuff for a minute or two, then got totally fidgety and everything started being thrown overboard. After about the fourth time of retrieving and replacing her Cheerio tub I just left it. Whatever got thrown out and onto the driveway stayed there, while she contorted her body into every angle possible trying to launch out of the straps. R came out to take out some garbage and I think could sense my growing frustration, so he took D with him when he went inside. Thank you! Too bad my quiet sun-filled glory that I so desired was short-lived, because after no more than 2 minutes I heard D start screaming. Good lord, now what? She’d apparently fallen into the side of her playpen holding her water bottle and I think scared herself more than anything, but either way my chance to relax outside was now thoroughly shot to hell. And only 20 minutes later, a good portion of which was spent picking up baby paraphernalia. Hmpf.

Last night I also wanted to get a load of laundry done and D’s and my clothes packed for a mini-vacation we’re taking this weekend. After the playpen crying, though, she was all upset and cranky, so I decided it was time for some supper for her. And then, oddly enough, she was covered in food and sticky whatever leftover in her hair from daycare, so she needed a bath (no, i don’t bathe her every day. babies aren’t that dirty, but this child was pretty filthy last night). I finally got a chance to get the first load of laundry in the washer after her bath, and I could tell she was getting sleepy and ready for her bedtime bottle at that point – it was 6:45. So I heated up her milk, got situated with her in my arms on the couch, and almost instantly her eyelids became heavy as she drank down the moo juice. Just as she was about to konk out completely, R shouted out from the bathroom to get him a towel since I’d thrown the ones that were in there in the laundry. What?? You’re joking, right? Just step on the mat to dry your feet and walk out to the hall closet to get one yourself (our hall closet is approximately 4 steps from the bathroom door). And of course I didn’t want to shout that I couldn’t come running at that exact second because I didn’t want to disturb D as she was falling into slumberland. So after the third bellow from the bathroom, I tried as hard as I could not to jostle her and carried her into the hallway with her bottle to get a towel to throw into the bathroom. Failure. She was totally awake and then ready to play once she saw Daddy. Back into the living room we went.

It took 3 tries to get her to bed last night, for each time she’d doze by the end of her bottle something would grab her attention and it was playtime once more. Boo. Then when I finally did put her in her crib, she began another screaming session, which he haven’t had for months now. Why can I not please this child?? Ear infection back? Sickness of some sort (she was kind of pukey last night)? Just mad at the world (hey, i know the feeling kid)? Whatever it was it was not helping the mood of my day. Thankfully R put her to sleep that time with a little rocking, so I could switch the loads of laundry (when i was only expecting to do one in the first place) and get something to eat for myself. Just as I was finishing my sandwich and getting ready to simply sit for a few minutes, which was all I’d wanted to do since I’d gotten home, D started crying again in her crib. Silly Mommy, you don’t get any down time. So I went in there after a few minutes when it was obvious she was really awake and not just doing her little sleep cries where she puts herself back to sleep, and picked her up to rock her. Then she barfed on herself. Then she barfed on me. And it’s no longer just the little spit up of sweet-smelling breast milk, oh no. It is now curds of foul-smelling sour whole milk and whatever else she’s eaten that day. Lovely. So I had to change her onesie, and fortunately through all the screaming and crying I could tell she was still wiped out tired, so it only took a minute of rocking after that and she was zonked out for the night.

Okkkkk, now where was I with the rest of the shit I wanted to get done? Oh that’s right – NOWHERE. By then it was 9:30 and I had to start the dishwasher, get the second load of laundry out of the drier and fold everything, then go to bed. My exhaustion from earlier in the day certainly hadn’t magically worn off, and I wanted to get to bed early. Failure again. And the packing I wanted to at least start? Didn’t even get the duffel bag out of the attic. Mm-kay, fun. So my lack of progress there, coupled with the unexpected trials and tribulations of D at bedtime, more laundry than I felt like doing, and late bedtime once again made for one crabby SM.

But things always seem better in the morning, right? Wrong. D woke up crying 15 minutes before my alarm went off, and of course I was the one who got up with her. Of course. Sorry, R, that’s why I slammed the door this morning. I just wanted those 10 extra minutes of sleep by the time I actually got out of bed to go into her room. So the mood to begin today picked up right where it left off last night – shitty.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot the best part. For the first time in 19 months my body is doing that thing. That thing that women’s bodies do monthly-ish? Yeah, that thing. Oh sweet, let’s have a parade. On one hand I’m actually glad to see it again, since it means my body is getting back to normal after the whole experience of pregnancy, child birth, and breastfeeding. On the other hand it could be contributing to this funk. I’ve never been a “PMS-er”, thank god, but man if I’m not in a mood right now. And I just feel bleh – my body looks gross to me, the milk machines are done and now back to their original non-existent state, I need to do more exercise, my skin has decided to give me the gift of breakouts, and I’m still tired (crazy, i know!).

And now I get to add packing to my to-do list for tonight. Joy.

 

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Perceptive

I just now realized, at noon, that the pants I’m wearing today are not the ones I thought I was putting on when I got dressed this morning. They’re the same color and all, but a totally different pair than the ones I meant to grab out of the closet. Nice.

I thought there was something odd about them…