Realization

Yesterday, Charles and I had to remove the earrings that Alexis had in due to the fact that one of her piercings were starting to get infected. She Fah-REAKED the hell out, but really it was mostly histrionics. I base this statement solely on the fact that she got even more hysterical when Charles would dip the Q-tip into the peroxide than when he would actually, I don't know, TOUCH THE EAR!

After all was said and done, when we put her into bed, she asked Charles about his piercings. Thankfully, she has not noticed the stud through his tongue yet, just the ones in his nipples and his left ear. She was wondering why he only had one ear pierced...and came to the conclusion that he had not let his Mommy put an earring back in his ear and it closed up.

Charles and I were talking about this tonight, and kinda chuckling about it because it was classic Alexis. She is this wonderful combination of stubborn, caring, and mind-numbing insanity shaken, not stirred, with a tad bit of OMG, WHY WON'T YOU JUST BE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING???? I told Charles, "She is such a wonderful combination of sweet and aggravating at the same time and Oh My God...that must be how you feel living with me!" My husband just nodded his head.

I have a whole new appreciation for that man. Because to put it bluntly, my child is difficult. She came out difficult, was a difficult baby and toddler, and remains a difficult preschooler. Her life will not be easy due simply to her difficult-ness, just as mine has not been easy. This simultaneously breaks my heart and brings me great joy. She will never be one to follow the crowd...she will have a mind of her own. But as a parent, we want our children to have an easier life than we did. I fear that she will not...not only does she have my temperament, but she has a mother who will support her in making the very choices that will make her life hard because she knows that the discomfort that will come from not being true to yourself is way greater than the discomfort that comes from other's opinions.

Basically, my thought for the day: Shit. Alexis is fucked. But it will be so worth it for her...

Alone

My husband, in his infinite wisdom, has realized one thing about me that has probably saved our marriage many times over....I NEED alone time like Michael Lohan NEEDS Lindsay to sprinkle cocaine on her cereal in the mornings so he can continue to indirectly stay in the spotlight. Charles is a Republican, after all, and they believe in trickle down economics. While I know that in the real world, this is a complete fallacy and they are totally lying to themselves in order to justify corporate welfare and tax breaks for people who don't need them, my husband knows that in the small kingdom of our household which I rule completely and (mostly) benevolently, if Mama ain't happy, NO ONE'S happy. Thus, his willingness to take off with the girls for an evening and part of the next day so I can be alone. Imagine the possibilities here...I can pee in peace! I can sleep for longer than an hour without either being awakened by the furnaceImeanhusband emitting enough heat to explain global warming or Alexis crying out in her sleep at imaginary slights committed in her dreams by the dogs. I can become totally absorbed in what I am reading online without being interrupted to watch something on TV, check homework/chores, or to find something that was not put where it was supposed to be put to avoid having to look for it in the first place....you get the drift.

What is significant for me here is not that my family goes away...it is that I deliberately do not make plans to go hang out with other people. I deliberately remain alone for those few hours. Sure, I may go get a haircut or go shopping...but I do all of this by myself. It is MY time, to do for ME, to think what I want to think and not have to worry about another person. It is something that everybody should do every now and then. It is my chance to reconnect with what is important, to listen to myself and to see what I need for a change.

I am just as guilty as every other mother on this planet of not putting myself first. I am guilty of ignoring my needs until they forcefully spew forth and HAVE to be addressed. However, I feel that the fact that I now am able to ASK for this time when I need it (even though it was supposed to be my present for my birthday back in December...) shows how much I have grown. I highly recommend it for all women. Give it a try!

Conversations

After talking to Elizabeth about a choice that her friend made that was most likely designed to attract male attention:

E: Why are you telling me this Mom?
Me: Ya like how I slid that life lesson in there?
E: Yeah, and I just died a little listening to you.


Me: ....and teenagers are really more like toddlers.
E: So really, that is why Alexis and I fight so much!
Me: Yeah...what are you going to do if we ever have another one?
E: Well, if you have one that is just like Alexis, you will have to pay me $30.
Me: Uh...where the hell did you get that idea from?
E: Well, if you are so sure that it won't happen, you really have nothing to lose by agreeing, don't you?


Alexis, talking to Charles this morning:

A: Daddy, will you dance with me?
C: No, Baby Girl, I have to go.
A: But Daddy, I need you to be my prince!


Charles is getting ready to go outside to fill holes where mice might be getting into the house:

A: Daddy, are you going to stop the squeakers? (mice)
C: Yep.
A: Daddy, are you going to shoot fire at them? (Don't ask, cause I have no idea...)

Age

Why did I think that just because there are 9 1/2 years between my children that they would not fight? I am sitting here listening to them squabble just as badly as kids who are only 1 year apart, doing things to deliberately annoy each other, get each other into trouble (or attempt it at least) etc.

Age is meaningless when you are fighting for the love and attention of your parents, I guess. Though right now, I would not mind selling the two of them to the nearest gypsies...

Shopping

I walk into Walmart and get a cart from the smiling, happy Door Greeter. I automatically turn to the left...I always go to the pharmacy/beauty supplies section first, and I need to get Charles some knee braces. I then meander over to the food, starting with the produce. I see that apples and pears are on sale...Sweet! You have to be careful about the produce at Walmart, but today they actually look good (ah, the joys of living in a rural area where the only option to grocery shop is Walmart!) I take my time, strolling through the produce where usually I am gung-ho to get the fuck out of the store and back home. I notice some dried fruit...pineapple and mangoes. They sound delicious and possibly something I might get for Alexis...until I look at the nutritional information and see sugar listed as the second ingredient, and that they contain 26 grams of sugar. Uh, I don't think so!

I continue on through the frozen foods, grabbing these mozzarella bite thingies that I have been wanting to try. I select our chicken, grab some thin sliced turkey that is on sale, and compare brands of yogurt to see which has the best nutritional value (I am getting concerned about Elizabeth's diet...just because she has a high metabolism does not mean that she can just eat shit like she seems to think!) All of this is ordinary, nothing too terribly special.

Yet tonight, it is. Today, I just found out that the baby that I thought might be is not. Today, for the 6th time, I had to deal with a medical professional telling me the worst possible news that a person can get, in a very professional and sympathetic voice. I am at the point where I can totally tell when they call what is good news, what is bad, and what is indifferent. Today, when I heard that voice say, "Is this Laura Lambkins?" in their uber-professional voice, today, I knew, with a complete and sinking feeling of dread, exactly what they were going to be telling me:

I am very sorry to tell you that you are not pregnant anymore. Your Hcg level is at an 8. Dr. H wants you to stop the Prometrium, stop everything, and come back in a week to get your levels checked. I am very sorry.

Then I walked home and saw it on my porch. The package from the mail-order pharmacy, the package that has my heparin in it. The heparin that I never took, for a baby that never was. Now don't get me wrong, I am completely 100% pro-choice here. But I CHOSE to get pregnant, I chose to go through this, I made these choices knowing full well that this was a very possibly outcome. And for some reason, it is hitting me very hard this time.

Maybe it is because I still felt pregnant. My other m/c's since my son, I ALWAYS lost the pregnancy symptoms before I lost the pregnancy. This time, I did not. Up until I got that call (and even now, to tell the truth) I FELT pregnant. I had the symptoms. All in my head or no, they were very real.

Maybe because I had some fantasy of beating the odds, that THIS ONE would FINALLY be it. I wrote a post about denial before...maybe I was so there.

Or maybe it is because I am tired of the universe shitting on me, of my body failing me, of it being the wrong combination of my genes and my husband's genes...IDK. Recurrent pregnancy loss sucks in so many ways...

So as I leave the store, with all of my groceries in the cart that I had no desire to purchase, the food that actually made me kinda sick to look at, I look up at the stars and silently curse. I curse that I had to walk through that store and pretend that I was OK when I was not. People, when they looked at me, may have thought that I was just another worn down, tired mother. Maybe a little sad...but they had no idea of what was playing out in my uterus at that very moment. I get to my Jeep and see my hanging file cabinet of papers I use for work. I don't even want to think about work at this moment (my job that I love but that I might be forced out of soon...) so I quickly cover it with bags of groceries. I briefly think that I should one day opt to buy some reusable grocery bags, but the thought flits out of my mind as quickly as it came. I slam the door shut, thinking that it is not fair that I have yet again been put in the position of having to pretend; of having to be the strong one. The few people that I have told are incredulous. Some question if I was even pregnant in the first place; if there is not something wrong with the test, or something that the docs missed. They can't accept that RPL can be unexplained. I sure as hell don't want to.

I push the grocery cart into the corral, perhaps with a bit more force than is warranted, and get in the Jeep to drive home. I fight back the tears that are welling in my eyes, as well as the despair that is in my heart. I have a lot of good things in my life, true. I KNEW that my life would be hard when I chose the path that I did. But just for once, it would be fabulous if it would be a bit easier.

Friends

Charles and I were talking tonight about how difficult Alexis's life is likely to be. We say this based solely on the fact that she is a lot like me, and that she will definitely not pick the easy path. Great in theory, but painful to watch I am sure. Elizabeth, while I have definitely educated her about liberal and feminist things, will be more likely to follow a typical path. Nothing is wrong with either of these; it is just indicative of their very different personalities.

I mentioned that the one thing that I want both of my girls to do differently is to cultivate female friendships. I do not have any friends in real life. Granted, I have a group of women that I met on a Mommy's Board who I consider to be some of the closest people to me, but that is very different than having people who live nearby, who you talk to on the phone daily, who you go out with, and with whom you have some (ahem) wild stories to share. The memories, the shared history, the ability to pick up the phone and to just talk, to sit and have coffee while you chat...those kinds of things. It is important, and I want to make sure that they know this. Unfortunately, I cannot lead this by example.

I used to have a best friend. We would do all of the things that I mentioned above. However, she was also a "Toxic Friend", one who was not happy unless there was drama. She would become very upset when good things happened to me...to the point of sabotaging them and/or acting like she did not believe me or care. I eventually woke up and realized this, and "broke up" with her. Best move I ever made...but it left me bereft, because like a situation with an abusive partner, I had no other friends.

I would occasionally start to hang with other people, but nothing ever materialized into lasting friendship. So here I am, age 29 years, in the position of having to go through what most girls go through at the age of 4 or so. My husband, the awesome man that he is, is always willing to shoo me out the door to go hang with females (not that I would need permission, but I know some women for whom it is a fight for their hubbies to be OK with this...). Really, it has been my overarching fear of any kind of intimacy that prevents me from moving forward. I hate being vulnerable in any way. This is why I force myself to be Supermom, why I have such high standards for myself, and why I am riddled with anxiety and tension. Being vulnerable, in my distorted mind, is akin to setting myself up to be hurt again. My issues, kinda perpetuated by society, I know...but ones that I do not want my kids to inherit. God knows that there are plenty others to choose from...let's hope that they at least avoid them one that will cut them off of any kind of support.

Conversations

A: Mommy, Daddy a boy.
Me: How do you know?
A: He has no hair on his head, Mommy! (Laughs Hysterically) He has hair on his face!
Me: Who else is a boy?
A: Josh a boy, cause he has no hair and has hair on his face. Dirk a boy...he has hair on his face. Uhhhhhh...Uncle Nicky a boy.
Me: Uncle Nicky does not have hair on his face. How do you know he is a boy?
A: Cause he's not a girl.

(Duh. How obvious was that?)

Charles, whipping out his penis to show me because you know, that will totally make me want to jump his bones:
Me: What the hell are you doing?
C: Just figured I would show it to you so you remembered that I have one. It has been a while since you have seen it, you know...

(Think he was hinting? His idea of a while, just to clarify, is anything over 24 hours...)

Later on, pulling my neckline out to look down my shirt:

Me: (again) What the hell are you doing?
C: Just wanted to make sure they were still there...
Me: Let me guess...it has been a while since you have seen them?
C: Yep.

(I want to live in his fantasy world some day...)

Me: (glancing at the thermostat) Oh shit, I forgot I turned this up. (To Charles) You must be burning up...
C: Uh, yeah... (Mind you, it was set at 70*. Not high by a lot of people's standards...)
Me: Elizabeth and I were cold, so we turned it up. (Turn it down and start to walk out of the room.)
E: (To Charles) It was totally her idea. I had nothing to do with this. Just remember that.

(Thanks a lot, kid! And for the record...it was so not totally my idea.)

Old

I now know that I am getting older.

How do I know this? It is not because I find today's music insufferable, it is not because I now require Depends (though when I don't keep up with my Kegel's I do leak a tiny bit when laughing, sneezing, or just, I don't know, BREATHING, thanks to my children), it is not due to being completely baffled by all of the new technology or thinking that today's clothes are horrendous. Though skinny jeans still look as retarded now as when they were out in the 80's...

No, I know this because I inwardly cringe when I get a text with poor grammar. I have no problems with posting on my Mommy's board or fertility board and using abbreviations such as DH, KWIM, CM, and FRER. I have even been told that I use a lot that people don't know. I am the Queen of Abbreviations. But to get a text that says, C U l8r! is akin to my grandparent's being horrified by Elvis's gyrating pelvis.

I understand the rationale behind these texts...quicker and easier, etc. But honest to God...fucking call me and speak to me. Don't subject me to the horrors of no capitalization and punctuation and a code that even the Queen of Abbreviations can't decipher. This is my rock and roll, my Elvis, if you will. I can't be the only one!

Top ten reasons I love my husband

Since this is roughly halfway between the anniversary of the day we met and Valentine's Day, I figured I would get all mushy here for a second...

1.) He somehow has overcome his parent's influence and is a very involved, very loving father to both of our girls.
2.) He does things like come out of the house when I get home at dark to remind me that the hitch on his truck sticks out and to not trip over it.
3.) He kisses all of us and tells us that he loves us every single time he leaves the house.
4.) He has the same warped sense of humor that I do.
5.) He absolutely, completely refuses to engage me when I am in a pissy mood because he knows that all that will lead to is trouble....no matter how much I bait him.
6.) Despite the fact that I am about 50 pounds heavier than when we first met, he still can't keep his hands off me and gropes my boobs daily. Again, because he is technologically retarded and will likely never read this, I can say here that that is actually a bit reassuring, as annoying as it is.
7.) He is able to see beyond my moods and my quick temper to the vulnerabilities.
8.) He is not ashamed to admit that I do in fact wear the pants in this family because he also knows that I am only as strong as he is and I would be lost without him.
9.) The sex. That is all I am going to say about that, pervs.
10.) He completely, 100% has got my back in whatever I do or want and loves me unconditionally.

And a #11, just because I can:
He ain't bad lookin' at all, either.