"It's Normal" That Isn't Helpful.

I find myself staring down a long road of anxiety and fear. I never expected to be here. Hoped, yes, hoped with the desire of a thousand suns. But Expected? Not so much.
 Here I am 2 weeks out from the BIG 4-0 and the stick I peed on didn't included the "Not" in front of the "Pregnant".
Pregnant.
PREGNANT!!!!!
4 years of trying, a miscarriage, countless needles and blood test. Having Little Man was hard fought, and hard won. I never wanted Little Man to be an only child. I know how much support (and pain) siblings can be, and I wanted him to have it all. And here I am, in the position to give it all to him. A week of knowing is followed by days of extreme anxiety. Doubt. Worry.
Spotting.
I've been there. I knew that time, I knew it was bad. And I waited, waited to see if it was just a one time thing. It wasn't. But that time, that time I knew things weren't going quite as planned. That development had appeared to stop. I had weekly Dr visits to help prepare me. "Ease" me into it. Help explain.
This time? No. None of that. There is some concern on part of the Dr's office. But it is more, "Wait and see".  For them it is routine.
This kind of waiting is torture. Don't they know that? I need answers. I need a direction. I need you to know this isn't routine for me.
I need a hand to hold.
In this situation, I am high maintenance. I'm not asking you to rub my feet, I'm asking you to ease my mind. Help quite my soul, and calm my racing heart.
I want this pregnancy to "stick". I keep telling the little itty bitty baby that it is already loved. That it is wanted.
That it needs to grow and be healthy.
Close my eyes.
Breath.
Pray.
Wait.
Pray.

You're Right. What Could I Possibly Know?

So I just had a co-worker try to convince me that my out-laws, "Can't be THAT bad. They CAN'T BE THAT BAD." She smiled and slowly shook her head at me like I was a silly little child who was upset that the sun was going down.
And that really made me angry. She knows many of the tales. Has crinkled her face in disbelief. And yet here she was, telling me I couldn't possibly be right.
I often do think that maybe I am being overly sensitive. Constantly on guard with them. That I should give them more slack. And then things happen or are said and I'm right back to where I started. Shaking my head and kicking myself for being so naive. Wondering why everyone keeps telling me that's just how it is and I should just deal with it.

So I come here, and I reread what I've written about the visits.  Relive the moments, the statements, the questions and some times I feel vindicated and other times I feel doubt.
Like when MIL heard of my plan to wait until Little Man was 6 months old to start feeding him solids, she wagged her finger at me via Skype and said, " You listen to ME honey, if you don't feed him food now, he won't like anything later!"
Um, what? Doesn't one of the nephews you pretty much raised only eat chicken nuggets? And he's 8? Soooooooo, what again??
Or how she gave me a necklace and out right lied about "having one made for you from The Homeland because you said you liked mine."
Oh, you read that and think how sweet! why is she complaining? I can't stand being lied to, especially when you give me a broken piece of jewelry as a gift and tell me it is new, especially made for me. To me that is an insult to my intelligence. And this is when I question myself. Just let it go! I say to myself. She is TRYING. But then my other side says, Is it really trying if it is lies and broken items?
I drive myself crazy with the back and forth!

 The constant battle between F and I over his family is harmful. Here it is almost 4 months out and I'm already stressing about heading Back East for Christmas. No matter what we do, someone is going to be miserable. I of course prefer it not be us.
How do you make yourself not care? How do you make yourself the person who is always seeing the bright side of things? How do I become Zen? How I ask you,  HOW?

Just Call Me Mommy

Oh my digital friends, I know I've been  MIA for many a months. My life is fully consumed with Little Man and all the ripples his existence creates.
As I am allowed to pump at work, twice a day, I am losing basically 2 hours of work related productivity a day. I have managed to stay on top of things by working through my lunch, but then my Boss went and reduced my project completion time. Things have been a tad stressful on the work front to say the least because of this. I don't really have the "spare" time to be writing this, but I need to clear my head of a few things and I know putting them out to the digital world would help relieve some of the stress. And possibly garner some ideas and suggestions.
Little Man is causing me all kinds of stress. I love him so, but seriously kid, SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT ALREADY. When he first arrived on the scene he would start to doze off and I would put him to bed still awake. As time went on, he would have to be completely asleep or he would cry and scream. We were creating a monster. I think the trip Back East was the breaking point. His entire schedule was off by a mile. All the pointing and prodding and smile demands really got to him, and me. At one point, after I was allowed to nurse him instead of his "Nanna" feeding him a bottle, (um, yeah, that's a post in and of itself) he just laid across my lap and rested. I would pat his belly and when I stopped he would make his little "eeehhh" sound and I would do it again. This went on for a good 20 minutes before F looked in on us.  Anyway, this trip is where I feel it all fell to hell. Getting him to sleep that week was hell. Napping was just as bad. When we got back it got a tad better, but never back to where we were. All my mom friends keep  telling me he should be sleeping through the night and to just put him to bed and walk out. Let me tell you, it DID NOT WORK. I put him to bed, told him I loved him and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. Little Man LOST HIS MIND. I went back in 2 minutes later, calmed him down, put him back in bed, and left. HE LOST HIS MIND. This went on for an HOUR AND A FORTY FIVE MINUTES. I increased the times between going back in, tried to stop picking him, but it didn't work. He SCREAMED at the top of his voice THE ENTIRE TIME, unless I was holding him, and even then he might let out a good scream just to let me know he was still pissed at me even though he was stroking my hair.  F? F was beside himself, almost in tears listening to it. He finally couldn't take it anymore, deciding I was forever damaging Little Man psychologically, he went in and held Little Man for half an hour until he feel asleep. I felt like such a bad mom. And I was pissed at myself for listening to the other moms. But I was SO TIRED. Little Man is still waking up at least twice a night. F rarely hears him, so I go in, comfort him, put him back to sleep and then get everyone up and out the door in the morning. I am beat.  But clearly, just up and leaving him isn't going to work, for any of us. So I've switched tactics to a more gradual, less crying sleep training version. And I'm sorry, but there is no such thing as the "No Crying/Tears" method. My kid cries, period. Anyway, we do our normal bedtime routine, lotion, pj's, nursing, prayers, a little song, now maybe a book, and then we sit for a little bit. When he is relaxed, I tell him it is "Night Night time" that I love him, and put in in his crib. He stiffens the second he feels me move to get up.  I lay him down, he is UP and screaming and crying. Yes. No cry method my foot.
The first night I sat on the floor next to the crib with my hand through the bars and if he was close enough to me, I would pat or rub his arm/leg, whatever. It took an hour of him crying and flopping dramatically on his mattress for him to fall asleep. He slept through the night.
The next night I sat in front of the crib with my hand through the bars, but didn't touch him. Well, too much. He would flop dramatically next to my hand and I would touch him with my finger. I mean, come on! The kid was crying and reaching his little chubby groping hand through the bars at me, I'm not made of stone people!
He slept through the night.
So basically, I am slowly moving away from him each night. How tired he is depends on how much dramatic flopping and crying goes on, but it is NO WHERE NEAR the over an hour of crying and screaming, mostly screaming. The most so far I think was 40 minutes. I haven't made it out the door just yet, and I'm not completely sure I will. If I step out to get something during this process the wailing kicks in. Can I spare 10 minutes to sit in my kid's room until he falls asleep? Yes, I can. Is this the wrong thing to do? Probably. My hope however is that I will be able to put him down and walk out of the room like I used to do in the beginning. I'm sure I'll get this put into place just in time for us to go Back East for Christmas. And have it forever FUBARed again.
So there is that. Sleep training is a bitch and I hate it.
Next? Again, Little Man. He has gone from being a Champion eater to a non-eater. He has dropped to the 3rd percentile. I can see his rib cage when I change him. Some nights he just refuses to eat. Even Cheerios!!
Other nights he stuffs whatever he can lay his hands on in his mouth to the point where I'm afraid he's going to choke. F and I are completely beside ourselves. We are worried, confused, at a loss. No one else seemed concerned though, even his Doctor thinks he is fine. And he is growing, reaching all the important "milestones." But we, as his parents still fret over every morsel. I am sure we are developing an eating disorder in him.
And lastly, the nursing. In the beginning F and my Mom; while she was staying with us, (another post unto itself) had me in tears with worry over not producing enough for Little Man. My mother kept telling me to just stop and switch to formula. Eventually though production went up and all was well, we were stockpiling like mad. Then I went to visit CBF for a week, got sick, passed out in her bathroom from dehydration and it has been a struggle ever since. I was able to stockpile some, but no where near what it was before. In fact, I don't think I've stockpiled anything in over a month. I am producing enough for him to have one bottle a day. The rest is formula. He is almost 10 months old. Most people tell me that it is GREAT to have gone so long. But I wanted him full breast milk for his first year. I'd like to know how in hell these people are doing it for six years! I will admit though, that the gradual decline is making it much easier to accept. I'm not tied to him, or the breast pump. I can go quite awhile without worrying about the need to pump. It is, freeing. I will miss it when it comes to an end though. Little Man and I have had some of our best times together, thus far, while he is nursing.  We've also had some of our worst. He continues to bruise my upper arm because he likes to pinch my bingo wings while nursing. F thought I was crazy until he saw the bruise. Despite that, I feel sad whenever I think about it. I remember how hurt I felt when he refused to nurse while he had a cold because he couldn't breath. F didn't get it, to him it was logical. And I knew that, the poor kid couldn't breath, but my feelings were hurt. It felt like rejection. Silly. I know.  I think it all stems from the guilt. My mom was a stay-at-home mom for the most part until I was 9. I spent all day with her. Not that I remember much of it, but I do remember some of it. I spend very little time with Little Man. F even less. So every moment I get is precious gold. I really wish I could switch to part time so I could spend more time with him. But unless F gets some kind of dream job or we win the lotto, that ain't happenin.

So tell me, my digital friends what are your tips on getting your kid to sleep? To eat?  How to deal with being a parent who maybe cares a little too much??

Seriously, how cute are they together? 

It Has Begun

Last Post I told you of the impending trip Back East to visit with the Outlaws. From day one the "discussion" about where we would unpack our suitcases began. It has not been pleasant. I made my case, crossed my arms over my chest, drew my line in the sand and considered the discussion closed since F agreed to a hotel.  MIL on the other hand does not agree. And over a month later she is still harassing F. Still crying to him on the phone.  F is absolutely beside himself with guilt and God only knows what other feelings are churning inside him. I can only guess at what is being said to him. And it makes my blood absolutely boil. I am stressed out by extension because I know if I would just give in and agree to stay there, things would be pleasant. For the moment.
I have however made up my mind that I am standing my ground. My little family deserves to be treated with love and kindness, not anger and disappointment. No matter what we do, there is always something that makes them unhappy.  And by "them" I mean the entire family.  We don't visit often enough. We don't get there fast enough.(I'm not exaggerating about this.) We don't stay long enough. We don't spend enough time visiting with each family member. We don't allow MIL to make us enough meals.
It is exhausting.
And stressful.
And sad.
F is between a rock and a hard place. Visiting with family should be exhausting, but because you've done so many activities and late night card games, not because you've been emotionally tormented.

If anyone has any suggestions on how to deal with this, I would greatly appreciate them.

Blessed Be Bitches

Today Little Man is 5 months old! I cannot tell you how much we love him. It isn't quantifiable. As much as I want him to stay the same, I love all the changes I see in him. His smile is a heart melter, let me tell ya. FLIRT just like his daddy.

Anyway, I believe I promised you a Baptism story.  F did all the planning. I did all the shopping.
There were countless discussions about where the Outlaws would stay upon their arrival. F of course wanted them housed with us. I of course, did not. I managed to make enough logical points(or so I believe) that they, and the other out of towners, stayed at the local hotel. How this went down with them, I don't know, F has taken to not telling me certain things where his family is concerned, but I am sure it was not received well.
MIL immediately dedicated herself to telling me that Little Man was catching his death of cold in the meat locker I kept him in while dressed in mere rags. This continued for the next 4 days. Even when we were in a restaurant that I kid you not, was above 80 degrees and Little Man was in his sheep skin lined car seat, with fleece pants and jacket on. I told F to remove said fleece jacket so he wouldn't over heat. "Isn't he cold?!!!!" MIL quivered worriedly as F reached to do as I asked. He stopped dead mid-air.
"No, he's not. F, take the jacket OFF."  F did as I asked. Bless him. Crazy Best Friend was seated beside me and later gave me her take on the whole situation.
"They must think you are one bossy bitch."
"What?!!? Why?!"
" 'F! TAKE OFF HIS JACKET!!!'  Seriously DH, you were bitchy about it."
I was floored. I floundered about for why she, who knows me so very well would say this. We are decidedly honest with each other and I knew she wouldn't say something, obviously, just to make me feel better.
"I'm going to guess you didn't hear MIL say "Isn't he cold!?" "
"She did?"
"Yes."
"Oh, well then, you were fine."
As the long weekend came to a close CBF saw more and more instances of MIL questioning my parenting choices and of her "poor pity me, I'm such a victim" manipulation tactics. They are subtle, but they are there.
 I'm not going to lie, it was nice to be validated. I'm not just being over sensitive, these things really do happen.
Every time I would try to take Little Man into a separate part of the house behind closed doors to feed him or try to quiet him down for a nap or just because he was being over stimulated by all the activity, MIL would hunt me down, burst into the room without knocking (I breast feed in my own home with it all hanging out, no cover); and insist that I needed help. Was she truly wanting to be helpful? Maybe. But I took it as her continual questioning of my parenting skills. I had been doing it without help up to this point, why did she keep insisting that I needed it?
MIL's parting conversation with me? In a heavily concerned voice; "DH. I don't know how you can do it *heavy sigh* but you MUST find a way to keep him warm in there (Little Man's bedroom)." (a room that has its own free standing heater. Set at 70. With the door closed.) 
 FIL on the other hand insisted that Little Man, at all of 3 months, smile on demand. And became disgusted when Little Man didn't comply.
He was told a day in advance at what time he needed to be ready to leave for the church.  15 minutes from departure time he insisted that he needed another 30 minutes to get ready. F hit the roof. FIL managed to get himself together in the allotted  time but upon arriving at our house, REFUSED to get out of the car and come in.  True to form he was grouchy and sullen for most of the visit. After picking up CBF at the airport and getting her settled into the hotel we went back to our house. The moment my foot touched the tile FIL demanded, "WHAT IS GOING ON????!!!!"
Bewildered I asked, "What is going on with what?"
"With M and L!"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Have they landed!!???"
"I don't know. Didn't F leave to go get them from the airport?"
"YES. But they were delayed because of the snow. So what is going on! Are they coming here or what??!!!"
"I haven't heard anything from F, so I don't know what is going on. You know more than me. Have you called him?"
"YES. He's not answering."
He was not at all happy with my lack of knowledge and glared at me until F and his passengers walked through the door and then it was as if the long lost son (M, not F) had returned.
When Little Man would start to cry he would loudly inform me, "HE'S HUNGRY! Feed him!"
By the end of the long weekend I had all I could do to continue to bite my tongue.  M even mentioned to F that he was shocked when I snapped at FIL after FIL had informed me that my son needed feeding. I didn't even remember doing it. I was that exhausted by dealing with them. (Later I would also realize that I was coming down with the stomach flu that weekend, so yay!)
The stress was was insane for both F and me. I felt bad for him and how his father was behaving.
But we made it through intact.

I may be recovered by the time we head BACK EAST to visit with them for a week in June.

Not What I Expected

We went through a lot to get Little Man. And now that we have him I am finding I don't want anyone else who isn't blood related to have him.
This is going to be a major problem.
In the beginning, before he arrived F and I were looking at day care places. I remember sitting in the first place feeling just fine about leaving him there until we started discussing drop off and pick up. And that's when the panic set in. It wasn't the person or the center that I had an issue with, it was with the base premise of leaving him. I don't want to leave him.
This has been delayed by the fact that my mother up and announced at my shower that she would be watching Little Man when I went back to work. This was news to us. VERY WELCOMED news. So for the last few weeks I have been happily dropping Little Man off with his very loving Grandma. She loves having him, I love her having him, all is right with the world.
Until this morning.
Last night she asked for a week off. Not a problem!  This morning she upped it to two weeks and when I hesitated she then tells me that we'll have to put him in daycare come April. Now I am sitting here at my desk with the bile churning in my stomach and tears welling in my eyes. He is just a BABY!!! He needs cuddles and love, not to be one of many. This is going to kill me, I can tell. I already feel like I am missing out on so much. I hardly see him at all as it is. But to hand him off to strangers when he is just months old. I can't fathom the idea. I never expected this from myself. I thought I would be glad to rejoin the adult world. And to an extent I am. But I miss him so much. I don't want him smiling at someone else. I don't want him adoring someone else. I want him to be all ours. Sharing with family is one thing, but sharing with outsiders? I can't do it. Oh how my heart is breaking already.
Why does this have to be so hard? Why can't I work from home? I don't need to be in this office to do what I do! Why can't we be rich enough for me to stay home or work part time?
I'm going to go cry while I pump now.

You Won't See This Pregnancy Story On TLC

My pregnancy had been pretty easy. All the NSTs (non-stress tests) had gone very well. Little Guy was a mover and a shaker. So much in fact that my very first NST landed us in the Hospital because they couldn't get a clear read on him. But an hour and half later I was back home chillin.
Yes, I had Gestational Diabetes from pretty much day one and was put on insulin, but I was doing incredibly well controlling it. My Dr had agreed to let me go to 40 Weeks if everything in that area stayed under control. She knew I didn't want to be induced. And I felt we were well on our way to a "normal" delivery pretty close to my due date.
Um, yeah, no.
I think it was about week 35 that things started to go haywire. 
At one visit my Dr informed me that I had dilated to 2 cm. But in my gut I knew I was no where near ready to deliver. Then my sugar levels started to drop. Which in turn made my insulin needs drop. Not a lot, but enough. In fact it took me a few late night sweats for me to figure it out.  I was in the middle of week 37 and was desperate to go to week 40. My Drs decided that because my need for insulin had dropped, that my pancreas was shutting down and the baby needed to come out ASAP. I was not at all pleased with this. At WORK, on a Wednesday the Dr shut down my hopes by telling me that I was to come in on the following Monday. After I calmed down a bit, F and I were able wrap our heads around a Monday delivery and even made plans for the weekend. Luckily we went shopping for a few important baby items. Thursday, the very next day, the Dr called me at work again and told me I was to report to the Hospital THAT VERY NIGHT.
 I freaked the hell out.
 I was not ready for this! I truly felt that if I had the weekend, my body would do it's job and make the baby ready to come. I still had an appointment with the Dr that afternoon and hoped I could push this whole thing back to the original Monday plan.
Then the Dr called again and said there was no room at the Inn for Thursday night but hey, come Friday!  I'll see you at your appointment!!
No, no, no. I still needed that extra day to finish work! I still needed that extra day to find some peace with this. The Dr would not budge. Even though in two weeks I'd only dilated HALF a cm more. Nope doesn't matter; Friday, come on in!
I knew in my core that this wasn't necessary. That the baby was FINE and we could make it just a little longer. Let my body do what it was meant to do. I thought about refusing to go through it all, but I knew if putting this off meant something would then go wrong and Little Man would somehow be affected, I would never forgive myself. So I relented.  We went in on Friday morning, and were late getting there. They still didn't have a place for me, so we ended up waiting. Little did we know that it was going to be  waiting game for a full day while they monitored me and Little Man. We were none too pleased to discover this since we thought by Friday night we would have a baby. Not so much.

It only got worse once I was "settled" in my room and the medical side of things started. Needles and I are not friends. IVs and I are mortal enemies. So needless to say when they stabbed me 6 times before they managed to get the IV in; I almost passed out. My mom told me later I was whiter than the pillow case. Then my sugar crashed because I hadn't eaten since 6 am ("something lite" like I was told, total bs, btw, eat as much as you want) and my system was used to snacking right about the time they decided to stab me.  By noon time they were just starting the medicine to get my cervix to dilate, since it wasn't doing it on its own. (duh) Little Man and I were continually monitored throughout the day.  At 2 pm I still hadn't been feed, and was being told that wouldn't happen until after I delivered. MANY HOURS LATER. (WTF?) When the Dr on rotation came in and told me that they might send me home to rest for a few days and "let things progress naturally" then bring me back, on MONDAY to try again; I had all I could do to not start swearing up a storm and crying like a little girl. They were so worried about the baby that they MADE me come in and be induced, but NOW it was ok to send me home?  At home who would monitor me, the baby, my sugar that was low, or my blood pressure that was continuing to climb? The nurse did her best to talk me into it, but she couldn't answer any of my concerns. Needless to say nothing more was said on the topic.  The new nurse ordered me food on the sly at 5pm.   VERY late Friday night I got feed again, again on the sly, because within the hour they would start the Pitocin to induce contractions.  By Saturday morning I still hadn't progressed much more. All day long on Saturday they pumped me with pitocin and monitored my sugar and blood pressure. Throughout the day they upped the pitocin dose until they finally maxed it out.  Late Saturday afternoon they broke my water which kicked the barely felt contractions into high gear. That in turn made my blood pressure soar. They put me on bed rest and the nurse highly encouraged me to get an epidural because my blood pressure just kept climbing. I had wanted as natural of a birth as possible. Granted, I hadn't completely ruled out the epidural, but to me it was a last resort. However, putting me on bed rest due to my blood pressure killed all the plans I had to walk, shower, or use the birthing ball to help the process along. So I went along with it, I mean, if I was going to be confined to bed, why should I suffer? F had just left to get something to eat, but he came running back to be there when they stuck me, IN MY SPINE. Yeah, a NEEDLE in my SPINE? SERIOUSLY? Thank God that stuff is fast acting. They put a skull monitor on Little Man and one inside me since I wasn't going anywhere and it would give a more accurate reading of his heart rate and my contractions. I still had to fight to be feed and was only allowed broth, and they were still talking about a vaginal delivery. At this point, a day and a half in with 2 sandwiches in my stomach and no real sleep to speak of, I was beyond that. I was tired, extremely hungry and knew there was no way I would have the strength for "4 to 6 hours of pushing, people do it all the time." WTF????  Yes, this wasn't the way I wanted to give birth. But NONE of what was happening was how I wanted to give birth. I probably could have done it, but I still knew that my body was not ready for a vaginal delivery.

Late Saturday night/ Early Sunday morning they stopped the pitocin to give my system a break. They started it up again about 3 hours later. For a total of 27 hours of pitocin. I think it was a record.  I was so incredibly bloated it was horrifying. I could have given the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man a run for his money.  During the night Saturday Little Man's heart rate went down a few times. Just before 7am Sunday morning I was still stuck  at being dilated 6cm  and 70% effaced.  It was at this point that they decided to do a C-Section. I was fully on board at this point. I just wanted to be done. Poor F had all of 15 minutes to pack up all our stuff so it could be moved to Recovery. He saw his son born while still in his slippers, pj pants and a t-shirt.  They stuck me AGAIN to have a "fresh IV line", so I had TWO flipping IVs in me for the next several hours. At 8:54am on Sunday they pulled my little baby boy out of me. And then stapled me back together, again WTF??? STAPLES???????????
So yes, I didn't really get to "deliver" or "have" my son. He was taken and then given to me. But damned if he's not the  most precious thing I know.
The next several days in the hospital were surreal.  Nurses, Doctors, Aides, all came and went. Little Man and I struggled to breast feed. He was so tiny and thin!! I felt like my huge boobs would crush him. Family came the same day. I fell asleep on more than one visitor. F and I were so spent. Hospitals are not known for their restfulness. Twice I sent F home to try and get some sleep in a real bed. It didn't really help.  
Finally we were released into the wild as a new little family unit. As we pulled out of the parking lot it hit us full force. We had a baby in the back seat!!! Holy crap, now what???? There wasn't going to be anyone checking on us every hour, no call button to bring immediate answers.
SHIT.
We were on our own. On our own with a little 6 pound 6 ounce person. There would be no leaving him in the car to run into grab a pizza. Those days were gone.
Do I wish it had all gone differently? Of course. Did the end justify the means? To a point. I will always believe things could have progressed on their own just fine if left alone. But when I look at Little Man and he smiles at me, I know I would do it all again.
He is the best gift God could ever have given us.

Baby Chicken Legs

Pinch Hitter

We are closing in on the end of the whole I'm PREGNANT phase and approaching the I'M A NEW MOM phase. And honestly, I am a little sad to see the end of the pregnancy. I've had a really good one with few problems and I'm not going to lie, I enjoy the special treatment. Who wouldn't? I get to sit and watch Ghost Hunters while F cleans the house? Um, YES PLEASE. I get to nap instead of doing laundry? Where's the pillow??? Seriously, I could really get used to the pampered lifestyle.
But I know it is coming to a close. And I am ready to meet this Little Man who loves to punch his mommy in her bladder making her stop in her tracks while the ringing vibration of the hit subsides. I am ready to be done with the swollen feet. The end of October and I am still wearing flip flops because it is the only thing that fits. I am also ready to be done hearing F say, "Well how can you TELL your feet are swollen??" When CLEARLY they are 4X their normal size and there are strap marks from your flip flops still cutting across your foot an hour after you've removed your shoes and propped your feet up. When the doctor looks at you at during your appointment and says, "So, how's the swelling?" as he hitches up  your pant leg to take a look at your "elephantinus" (Sailor Mouth's husband's assessment) ankles. And then proceeds to tell you that you better remove your wedding ring while you still can and put it on a chain to wear.  When I told F this new development that would require the purchase of a chain? "Just don't wear it."
Um, yeah. Cause the stigma of a pregnant lady without a ring is non-existent. I received no chain and have been "just not wearing it" and feel completely judged every time I go out. This brings us to the newest phase of being pregnant. The Birth Class phase. When I realized there were various classes offered I signed us up for as many as I dared before I thought F would start refusing to attend. F claims to not be a novice with this whole baby thing, but seriously, he so is. Some of his comments over the last 7 months has really made me wonder about his knowledge of the birthing process. It is minimal ya'll. We had our first class together this weekend. I was concerned about how he would take the 7.5 hours of birth Birth BIRTH!!!! But he did remarkably well. Half way through he said he was learning all manner of things. I was surprised but very glad that this was the case.  His interest began to wane at the end of the class when it was focused on making your baby momma more comfortable during labor. He was not pleased about being my pillow, but I did get a half hearted attempt at a back massage later that night, so something appeared to have sunk in.
What I'm finding "sunk in" was bits and pieces, not the full scheme of the "L&D" process.  I think we've discussed that  F is an engineer?  And hence has a VERY different thought process, very linear. When the instructor informed the class that at 35 weeks you are considered full term and can deliver safely anytime thereafter,  F heard "DELIVER ANYTIME, IMMEDIATELY." On the way home from picking up the crib mattress he queried as to how far, exactly, was I along?
"Just the start of 35 weeks."
"When do you start counting?"
"Well, on Wednesday I will be 35 weeks, 5 days."
"So the 35th week started.......?"
"Friday?"
"Yes, FRIDAY. So you could go into labor ANY MINUTE."
"Well, yes, I suppose."
"ANY DAY, ANY TIME!"
"Um, yeah?"
"We have to be ready, we HAVE TO GET THE CRIB!!!!"
"ooook."
When we got home he fixated on the crib and the need for it to be in the house RIGHT NOW.
This discussion brought me almost to tears because my feet were swollen, my back hurt, I'd just spent 7.5 hours in a class I really didn't need to attend and then was dragged to a sketchy Toys-R-Us to pick up the crib mattress. I was SPENT and just wanted to be done for the day.
We agreed that the next day we would go order the crib. Thankfully they had one in stock and there was no need to wait 6-8 weeks for delivery because I was due NOW NOW, ANYTIME NOW!!!!!
I thought after procuring said crib we'd moved on into safer, calmer waters of understanding.
I was wrong.
While at dinner at my mom's later that night the topic turned towards her readiness for the impending day and the need to put together her own hospital bag since I asked her to be part of my L&D team. And by "Team" I meant her, F and anyone with a medical background and a hospital ID badge. I made her a list as we discussed what she might need clothes wise F chimes in with, "You know, you really should line up some other (birthing) coaches. Like maybe call S_E_S."
"What?"
"Well, if labor really does last 20 hours (a factoid from class, 20 hours is the average from the very start to finish) then I'm going to need someone to relieve me."
My mom stopped mid task and stared at him.
My mouth was stopped from hitting the floor only because the kitchen table was in the way.
"WHAT?!" my mom and I said together.
"That's a long time, someone will need to relieve me."
"REALLY? And just WHO will I get to relieve ME and take over having the baby?"
"Well, no one."
"EXACTLY. If I have to be there the whole time, YOU have to be there
THE. WHOLE. TIME."
"Nuh nuh."
"Yuh Huh."

Yep, complete and total understanding.

I am NOT that F'ing OLD!!!

The other weekend I picked up my phone to check Face Book and saw that I had a ton of "private messages". Since the "upgrade" for FB on Android SUCKS SWEATY BALLS, I was unable to see the full source of the messages.  I commandeered F's laptop and ended up spending the next hour reading message after message concerning my TWENTY YEAR HIGH SCHOOL REUNION.
The Fuck?  Twenty years??? 20 YEARS.  How the hell has it been 20 years? HOW!!!???
I decided instead of everyone in the class scrolling through enumerable messages, it would be quicker, and easier, to just set up a FB Group for said reunion. That is how I found myself the Admin of my TWENTY YEAR reunion FB Group.  I'm not even the one who started the discussion! I simply created a group. Easy Peasy. So far it seems that most people are quite willing to attend said reunion next year. I am actually shocked at how quickly the "Will Attends" started adding up.  I am also rather shocked at how many people are requesting to be my friends. Honestly? Some I am having a really hard time remembering who they are. I read through some of the names on the "Members" list, and I'm all, "Who the Fuck? That person was so not in my class!"
And then I got one friend request that made me slam the laptop closed in disgust. "Seriously?!!?" I mentally screamed at the FB request. "SERIOUSLY?!?!?! After YOU unfriended ME you want to be 'friends' again?? I am SO NOT answering this right now!" Then I remembered that I chronicled my disgust back when the self important unfriending happened. That I could relive the moment clearly instead of just from memory. I still haven't answered his friend request. I  just don't know if it is really worth it. Is it silly of me to still be hacked about something that happened 2.5 years ago? I don't need to be "friends" with everyone that asks, right? I have control over that. Might it seem bitchy? Probably. But I can't say I really care. Ok, maybe a little, I hate hurting people's feelings. I just keep going back to how he unfriended people to begin with and how it has been almost three years and he is just now noticing that I'm no longer one of his friends.
OMG, Face Book, you create too many issues!!!!! I am slightly disappointed in myself that I am even spending time on this! I just decided, I am NOT going to accept, so there, NAH!

I Am Not Sucking On Sugar Cubes

So, I know in the last post I said I was going to try and avoid making this an ALL BABY ALL THE TIME type Blog. I realize however that being pregnant is currently apart of my daily life, and therefore will need discussing. So forgive me if my snark has temporarily left the building. Right now I am just irritated, and I need to vent.
 Way back in the very beginning of my pregnancy they decided because of my age and my weight that I would get to be lucky and be tested for Gestational Diabetes way before normal testing would take place. I'm talking week 8 instead of week like 30. And guess what people? I FAILED.  Monitoring started and diet change started and my life with pasta ended as I know it because no matter how hard I tried I just could not stay within the levels they wanted me to.  I cried, no, let me be honest, I LOST MY SHIT and BALLED HYSTERICALLY when the nutritionist informed me that the Dr would most likely put me on insulin. I could barely speak when I called F. He promptly sent me home. I promptly went to my mother's and cried some more. My boss, I'm sure, thought someone had died because I DO NOT CRY and again, I was crying to the point that I could not speak properly. She agreed that I needed to go home. Why did this news hit me so hard?  So many things. So. Many. Things. And this was just the one thing I was really hoping to avoid. I'd had enough with the needles and drugs getting Little Man that I really thought I was all done with it. And here this not very motherly older lady was telling me that I had a good SIX MORE MONTHS of needles and poking myself.  Straw, meet the Camel's back.
I inform them weekly of my glucose levels which I take 4 times a day.  And again, no matter how hard I tried, I still was not getting the levels where they needed to be.  Each week my dose would increase. I've had a few weeks here and there when I would be allowed to maintain the same dose. I cannot express to you the joy this would bring me.  Today however, I was, I felt, scolded. I felt the nurse was "What is your problem? Why can't you get this under control?" type attitude as she sucked on her soft drink. I could hear the straw squeaking  and the ice rattling through the phone. I get this nurse on occasion, and I DO NOT LIKE HER.  "Well I just don't know, Did you eat a snack before bed? You know, Did you take this at a different time of day because you SLEPT IN?"
Yes, I eat my snack before bed. But she never actually waits for me to answer these questions.  And NO I did not sleep in. 5 out of those 7 days I WORK, so sleeping in is not possible. Plus, I don't know, I'm PREGNANT and everyone knows pregnant women get up to pee A LOT. My body is so condition to wake to pee it is chart-able. And if I did manage to attempt to sleep in Puppy would not be havin it! She needs to pee too. She also questions the manner in which I report my levels. The App I have on my phone lists the dates from most recent to which ever previous date you tell it. And she complains EVERY SINGLE TIME that she read it wrong because of how I reported it.  Seriously? How about you, I don't know ACTUALLY READ what is written? This is MEDICALLY important information, maybe SCANNING it isn't the right way to do it? Ya' Know?
I am stressed out enough as it is about the whole Gestational Diabetes thing, I don't need your judgement on top of it. I've been considering asking my Dr's office to please not have her call me back, but I really don't know if it is worth it.
Speaking of stressing out, did I tell you, my digital friends, that Mrs Mannerless cornered me in my office and questioned me about my sugar test? Yes, she did. Then she proceeded to tell me, as she whipped out her phone to check dates, that, "Oh, they'll start talking to you about being induced in October."
Oh? I was unaware that you had a medical degree.
"Did I tell you the EXTREMELY funny story about the dream I had before I went in to labor?"
Please dear Lord, NO.
 I'll save you from the details, but it wasn't really all that funny, it was actually, disturbing. As was  her LABOR STORY. I need to bleach my brain just thinking about it.
"If you want to hear a good labor story come talk to me!!!  Don't go to the other two ladies [who have birth around the same time], they have HORROR stories! Come see me!"
Luckily she only gave me an overview of her labor and delivery story. I continue to try and avoid her. At least once a week one of my co-workers tells me "She is CRAZY!"
Yes, I know, in more detail then I think you'd like to know.

Sugar levels, disagreement on names, which freaking car seat out of A MILLION we should choose, can I handle sewing curtains for the nursery, which crib will I finally decide on, will the nursery be ready in, all of the out-laws possibly coming to visit while I am in my ninth month, who will watch said baby once he arrives; these are just a FEW of the things on my mind.
And I can't even indulge in a Dunkin Donuts Vanilla Chi Latte to give me a small moment of peace.
How is that fair?

News FLASH: I Have No Patience

I am trying to avoid turning this Blog into ALL BABY ALL THE TIME, I don't know if I can, but I will try. So this post will be about how freaking stupid people are. Some of it is Baby related, some of it not. But this is what has been boiling my blood lately.
"Do your boobs hurt?"  
We are not friends, you are a co-worker, this is an inappropriate question.

*Making a face when I tell you names we are considering* 
If you are going to be an ass about it, don't ask! Seriously, I'm not offering, and it is rude. It is not like we are considering Babi Boi, or Owher Cyd.  And I am sorry to my pregnancy partner because I just realized I've done this to you.

*Touching my stomach*
Granted this has only happened once, but seriously, I DID NOT KNOW THE PERSON. Why do people think this is ok?

*Coming to work while sick, with MONO* 
Um, really? I know we have covered this in the past, but seriously, MONO. "You can only get it through saliva". Well ok then, so if your husband isn't sick, and your kid isn't sick, or anyone in your family then, pray tell, how did YOU catch it?
"A person with mono can also pass the disease by coughing or sneezing, causing small droplets of infected saliva and/or mucus to be suspended in the air which can be inhaled by others. Sharing food or beverages from the same container or utensil can also transfer the virus from one person to another since contact with infected saliva may result. The incubation period for mono, meaning the time from the initial viral infection until the appearance of symptoms, is between four and six weeks. During an infection, a person is likely able to transmit the virus to others for at least a few weeks. Research has shown that, depending on the method used to detect the virus, anywhere from 20%-80% of people who have had mononucleosis and have recovered, will continue to secrete the EBV in their saliva for years due to periodic "reactivation" of the viral infection. Since healthy people without symptoms also secrete the virus during reactivation episodes throughout their lifetime, isolation of people infected with EBV is not necessary. It is currently believed that these healthy people, who nevertheless secrete EBV particles, are the primary reservoir for transmission of EBV among humans." 

Well thank you WebMD, that is not at all comforting. Please inform my Boss and HR that is this possible, they seem to think all is well. Even for us pregnant folks.

*Bringing your cell phone/iPad to a meeting*  
If you are bringing the iPad to take notes that is totally fine. But if you are responding to emails or surfing the web, that is NOT cool. Answering your cell? Also not cool. Leaving to answer your cell? Again, NOT cool, but at least you realize that talking on it during a meeting is not the way to go.

*Arriving late to/Leaving early from a meeting or mandatory training* 
 I do not understand why this is allowed to happen. You are not that important. Trust me, I know what you do for a living and the world will go on if you are unavailable for an hour. And the mandatory training? It is MANDATORY because *hint* YOU ALL SUCK  at what we trained you on before.  And since it is specialized to each group; attending the "Last 15 minutes of the next one"  IS NOT GOING TO BE THE SAME.  Along the same lines? Falling asleep during training. TRUE STORY.
*Continuing to ask me for data that I have already told you I do not supply*
Oddly, this keeps coming from the person who falls asleep in training.

*Calling one group out on hate speech, but not calling out your own group's hate speech*
My Aunt continues to do this via Face Book. I really have to sit on my hands or otherwise we would be in a consistent battle. Today I decided that from now on I will remove her comments like this. I cannot stand hypocrites.

What makes your blood boil? Do you tell people off or just let it slide? DO TELL!!!

"THE APPOINTMENT"

Next week is "THE APPOINTMENT", which is quite literary how even the O.B. staff refers to it. With the dawn of new technology, it has become more common place to find out the sex of the as yet born child.  I am completely and utterly torn on this point. To have a definitive answer would make some things easier to decide on. Nursery theme. 50% fewer names to come up with/chose from. Stocking up on baby clothes. etc. When we first got the news that this extremely long, emotionally defeating, needle infested process had FINALLY taken hold, F claimed to want to know; he has since changed his tune, SEVERAL times over.  I however, am unsure. After "When are you due?" is asked, the follow up of  "Are you finding out what you're having?" is hot on off the lips.  I waffle between wanting to know and sticking with "tradition" and not finding out.
It did occur to me after my Mom asked me if she could attend "THE APPOINTMENT" since she had never seen an ultra sound before that the "tradition" of not knowing was not so much of a tradition as it was just how things were. They had no way of telling until the baby came out. Many blogs and websites are split 50-50 on this topic.  Anyone you talk to will have an opinion on this.
 I am going to be completely honest about this, please do not judge me. I want a girl, and I am concerned and disappointed in myself that I will be horribly upset if we find out we are having a boy. Of course I want a HEALTHY baby, no matter the sex. And I WILL love this hard fought for child NO MATTER what. Let me be clear about this. I already love this child. How could I not? It is the coming together of F and I. 50-50. I have always pictured myself with a family of both girls and boys, but since this is most likely the only child we will have, I want a girl.  I adore boys, they are just as cute and of course momma's boys, what is not to love? I am just confessing what I feel.  Granted our family is short on the male side. We are clan that produces girls, so me having a boy would make my only nephew probably extremely happy.
But there it is. My darkness in my heart.
This pregnancy has brought about many feelings in me. Fear. Love. Doubt. Joy. Shame.
Today I am sharing my shame of myself. Shame for giving thought to my baby beyond its health and well being. I am going with the Shame because I cannot handle the bone chilling, heart stopping, tears inducing Fear that something will be wrong with little dh.
So judge me if you will. Just know you cannot judge me any harsher than I am already judging myself.

Let the TMI Begin

You, my digital friends have been introduced to Mrs Mannerless. Mrs. Mannerless has often cornered her pregnancy partner and regaled her with all manner of stories and updates, much to her PP's displeasure. Let us call Mrs. Mannerless' pregnancy partner Rustie. (yes Rustie is a woman, a very nice one at that. Trust me on this.) Mrs. Mannerless and Rustie had their babies not even a week apart and therefore were on maternity leave at the same time. When they got back Rustie went to Mrs Mannerless' cube to inquiry about her and the baby.  Since Mrs. Mannerless sits near me I over heard the entire thing.
Rustie: "Hey, how are you?"
Mrs. Mannerless: "I'm fine. If you came here just to chat I really have A LOT of work to do and DO NOT have time to talk."
*stunned silence*
Rustie: "oh, well, I just thought I'd see how things went with your delivery. And how things are now.............."
Mrs. Mannerless: "Everything went well.....blah blah blah...whatever else she said."
RUDE!!!!!!!!! Completely and utterly rude! Yes, I will give her that she had a lot of work to do, maybe. But to be so completely and utterly rude is just, amazing.
After this little exchange Mrs Mannerless apparently changed her tune and has since decided that Rustie is her new bestie and shares EVERYTHING with her. She seem to also rather enjoy degrading Rustie's mothering skills.
The following was relayed to me via text directly from Rustie:
"Today's direct quote: "I know you don't make his own baby food but I'm super mom."
Rustie was of course completely floored by the matter of fact manner in which this was stated. She however cannot bring herself to tell Mrs Mannerless off because she's just not that kind of person.

It is because of things like this that I have been DREADING the time when  Mrs Mannerless brought her sage advice to me.
I didn't have to wait long and I was greatly validated where my sense of dread lay.

Mrs Mannerless plants herself in my cube doorway and inquires and to my plans concerning breast feeding. Mind you Mrs Mannerless is an avid breast feeder and DEMANDED time off during the day in order to leave work to go feed her child at daycare AND then a place to pump throughout the day. Our small office doesn't not employ enough people to fall under the law on supplying a Lactation Station, but they accommodated her. It has recently become common knowledge that she would extend her time in there by watching TV online on the computer in the set aside office. The computer was removed to prevent this time stealing task, which she circumvented by taking along her iPad.
That aside, let me get back to my main story.  I answered her inquiry truthfully and told her I was hoping to breastfeed. And that my digital friends is where I made my mistake. Mrs. Mannerless launches into her HORROR STORY of the lactation nurses at the local hospital. Let me just say here, that it was truly horrible and I would have been swearing bloody murder if I had been treated in such a manner, but what I didn't need, now or ever is her visual help aid. 
She told how her doula informed many of the people on the hospital staff that the baby's tongue was misshapen and therefore would  have problems latching on during breast feeding. Apparently they all choose to tune out said information when trying to help Mrs Mannerless feed her baby. When she would ask for help or complain to the lactation nurses they were rude, abrupt and completely unhelpful.  She told me that on more than one occasion they would grab her breast and shove it into the baby's mouth saying THERE, he's feeding, you just need to try harder!

Bitches! I cannot imagine being treated in such a manner!!! I still feel for her. Despite the fact that upon telling me this portion of the story she grabbed said breast to give me a visual aid to go along with her story.
Let me repeat. As she stood half in my cube and half in the hallway, SHE GRABBED HER BOOB and recreated the shoving and pinching motions for my better understanding.
Um, yeah.  I did not need to see that, let alone to help me better visual it happening while her breast was naked. I do however thank her for the warning, because no one man handles the girls, NO ONE.
Add to that Crazy Co-Worker telling me how I shouldn't be wearing my shoes and how said shoes won't fit me through the summer, and I can see why women used to leave the work force until after they give birth.

It Be DONE Yo

From this dull nastiness

To this "Spa Like" loveliness
co-worker's words, not mine.

My favorite part is the tile mosaic, which everything was built around

I See The Finish Line

Ok, so I know it has been awhile folks. We have been so very busy I can't even explain it all.

HOWEVER, somethings have moved forward. 

The House, IT BE SOLD ya'll!!!! The Mortgage Co finally got off their collective asses and approved the sale. This occurred after an intense panic attack brought on by an email F received from our Realtor/Next door Neighbor.

­ I was at home with a major headache and he calls me, “Did you see the email from Realtor???”

“No, why?”

“Something about needing papers? I’ll forward it to you.”

“OK, let me check.”

Now mind you, we had gotten an e-mail right after the New Year telling us the buyer was getting “ansty” to close.  It ever so lightly hinted that he might pull his offer. This sent us into a tailspin. And now, after that had calmed down, we get this email that had gotten F in a frenzy.

I read the email and felt it was directed at the buyer and the buyer’s agent for the need for some papers to be signed. F however was not satisfied with my assessment and insisted on calling Realtor. Who in turn informed him that the Buyer wanted to close NEXT WEEK.  I believe this was on a Wednesday.  F was mad at me for not being more involved, even though mind you, I’d received no indication or even the email stating this, that is was eminent. I supplied F with our Lawyer’s phone number and sat at home worrying myself over the loss of the sale, F’s anger, my pounding headache, you name it.

When F finally arrived home, he claimed not to be angry. He did not get ahold of our Lawyer, but left him a message.  It all turned out to be the Buyer’s Agent wanting this buttoned up before she went ON VACATION. Thank you, you simple mind wench for giving me a heart attack. 

She went on vacation, came back, and we closed a few weeks later. What was the rush? Really?

Also, the Negotiator ticked me off by stating, "I BELIEVE these are the papers you need." When pushed about the final approval letter from said Mortgage Co. I in return stated to my Lawyer and Realtor, "Am I the only one who thought 'She BELIEVES? Shouldn't she KNOW?'"

That aside, we will be single home owners once again! With some extra money in our pockets!!! YIPPIE.

Oh, also, my bathroom went from this:

Peel and Stick Tiles(which was coming up) laid over 1955's 1 inch tiles

To this:

Studs and a new sub floor

Gotta love a good reno. I think by the time it is done I will be banned from quoting anything from Mike Holmes.

GLUE IT AND SCREW IT BITCHES.

Sailing along in a Whirlpool…

  “Hurry up and Wait.” 

I remember when my sixth grade music teacher announced to us new sixth graders that is was going to be the way of the world from here on out. Even at the all-knowing age of 13, this concept dawned anew, yet very wise to me.  You tend to forgot this, when you are waiting for 45 minutes in a paper gown on crinkled paper atop a pleather table, or on hold with the electric company; but I think if we kept it in mind during these moments it would help alleviate some of our blood pressure issues.

My most recent case of “Hurry Up and Wait” pertains to the Short Sale of my house.  Things were sailing along rather smoothly despite the Mortgage Company and their feet dragging ways or the buyer deciding they needed to be an LLC and the Mortgage Company saying no.  We had moved past that. The Mortgage Company came with an offer, PAY US MONEY for the next five years and we’ll call it good. I, in need to be done with this, was ready to jump at the offer as is. Our Attorney, (and F) decided it would be best to go back to the Mortgage Company with our pockets out and the lint dangling from our elbows as we croakedly asked, “Please Sir, can you make it less?”

Fine, less out of our pockets is a good thing. I agree. But time is of the essence here, and all this back and forth takes TIME. Lots and LOTS of time.  Mortgage Companies move SLOWLY, even when it comes to collecting your money. Just read the news about how far behind they are on foreclosures, at least a year.  So I was settled in for a long wait. Our Realtor had told us at the onset of the process that the minimum was six months.  We are at month FOUR from the ORGINIAL offer.  On October 19^th  the Original Buyer decided to be an LLC. We then moved through changing names and resubmitting the NEW Buyer offer to the Mortgage Company. New Buyer appeared on October 28^th.  That puts us at TWO AND A HALF months. As opposed to SIX.  Am I wrong that I started counting over when we had to change names? That took time.  Plus the Original Buyer took a little trip out of the country and papers weren’t getting signed or notarized, and that was a cluster.  So here we are, two and a half months later, after THREE major holidays, and the “Buyer” Original or New I am not sure, is “(g)etting antsy.” So says the Buyer Realtor.

Seriously dude?  Now I know I thought your realtor was kinda flaky, but I at least figured since she made such a show of how many short sales she was juggling she would have told you that this takes time. Months of time.  Apparently, I was correct in my judgment of her lack of sense.  I gave her too much credit.  Silly me. I do have a problem when it comes to going with my gut instincts. It has been an issue I have struggled with since childhood.  That aside, I truly do hope the ants get out of your pants, or I may be suing you for mental anguish if you pull out of this sale. I cannot take much more of this.

Patience is a virtue. 

Please have some of both.

There Was No Snow for Christmas.....

And no Peace and certainly not Joy.

That's right my digital friends, F and I drugged and packed up Puppy and headed Back East to spend the Lord Jesus' Birthday with his family.
 I have to say that once again this year things were less drama filled than in the past. However, F and I found ourselves smack dab in the middle PLUMBING GATE: 2011. Please read here about the use of vinegar and baking soda. FIL attacked F about our use of T.P. as the cause of PLUMBING GATE: 2011. F HIT THE ROOF. He told FIL not to accuse him and his wife(that would be me) of causing a problem he (FIL) already knew he had and refused help in fixing. Apparently FIL's response was: "Oh, so you're going to be a MAN now are you?"
Oh, the love, it is overwhelming.
After this little male pissing contest we took MIL shopping. F turned on her in the car. She refused to talk about it which enraged F even more. He declared, once again, that we would NOT be staying at their house when next we visit. She declared that in THAT case we need not visit, AT ALL.

And here my digital friends is where FIVE YEARS ( i know, not all that long compared to some, but quite long for me) of keeping my peace came to a very dramatic end.
I LOST MY COOL.
I YELLED. YELLED. Not spoke sternly. Not through gritted teeth and pursed lips. FULL ON YELLED at MIL.
I don't remember verbatim what I said, but the gist was; Stop the drama! Do not Threaten us! Not visiting is VERY MUCH an option as far as I'm concerned, so DO NOT PUSH ME.
 F, was stunned. I was stunned. MIL was crying.
MIL's response was that she wasn't threatening us, that we just don't understand what it is like with HIM everyday since we are only there ONCE a YEAR and ONLY for a FEW Days. (ah, still able to get a dig in). It hurts her feelings that we don't want to stay in  her house; and how would we feel if she did that? I told her I wouldn't care. Whatever made her most comfortable was fine by me.

I apologized for yelling. And then I told her she could come visit us, that we want her to come visit us. She wailed that she can't go anywhere!
She was still crying, F was crying. I was shocked and horrified at myself. I was also waiting for F to lose his shit on me for losing mine on his mamma.
I did feel some sense of relief though, I have to say. My friend at work felt that it was unfair that MIL took the verbal beating for FIL, but as I told  her, she lets him get away with it and sits silently by as the victim. And who knows? A verbal beat down most likely is still in FIL's future.
Oddly enough, all was well after that. FIL even called a plumber. I wish I had been a fly on that wall for conversation with MIL and FIL about me losing my cool.  Why else would he suddenly decide to call a plumber? Maybe I am over crediting myself, but who knows. SOMETHING knocked some sense into him, if only temporally.
There were no ugly clothes received this year. W and T only fought once. The boys LOVED Puppy almost to death. No, really, they were very good with her. FIL groused that he had NO say in Puppy coming with us, to which F said we would happily have stayed at a hotel. Disbelief all around that a hotel would allow a pet. F and I both lost our cool with the boys once over a slapping incident. We both slept like shit despite the new mattress, see link above.
And, I did NOT get sick!! How amazing is that??

Hansel & Gretel Couldn’t Have Left a Better Trail

    I swear to all that is Holy there is a well-marked road map and several sign posts with possible runway lights that lead straight to our dishwasher and kitchen. It is miniature sized. Mouse sized. We have another one, or several, or however many.  F and I were away on vacation for a week. Puppy was at the Dog Sitter’s house.  When I entered the kitchen I noticed all the “spare” pieces of food Puppy had left on the floor surrounding her bowl were gone. Then within minutes of Puppy making it in the house she was tail deep in a corner of the kitchen where we keep a bag of bags.  I thought that was odd since she never goes in that corner.  I moved said bag aside and low, there were droppings. 

“Shit.”

Then as I grabbed the bread to make myself some toast, I noticed a hole in the bread bag.  “Is that melted? From being by the toaster oven?…. even though it was nowhere near the toaster oven?”  Then I noticed the chunk of bread missing.

“Fucking shit.”

Checking the counter top where said bread was kept I spied more dropping.

“Mother Fucking SHIT!!!!!!!!!”

I started opening all the drawers looking for more droppings because that is where they have been the last few times. I saw none. I also saw none in the dishwasher.  Another favorite spot.

“This could be not so bad.”

“F! the mice are back! Please call an exterminator ASAP. I am sick of dealing with this.”

F: “grumble, complain, makes excuses…..”

Next day

“Holy shit! The mice have made it into the half bathroom! Please call an exterminator!”

F: “grumble, complain, makes excuses…..”

Another Day Passes

Puppy and I are filling the dishwasher when I open the door and there is a small grayish thing sitting there.  I realize it is a mouse and slam the door shut hoping to knock it unconscious with the door.  Puppy is completely clueless even though half of her breed is “standard size dachshund was bred to scent, chase, and flush out badgers and other burrow-dwelling animals”.  Mice are burrow dwelling, aren’t they? Anyway, she did nothing.  The mouse was dazed, but not completely out of it. I stared at it for several moments trying to decide if I should just reach into the dishwasher and grab it. I was afraid it would bite me. During my indecision period the mouse had made it to its goal, the vents or something in the bottom of the dishwasher door.  It crawled right up in there. Where it went from inside the dishwasher door I have no idea.

“F! The mouse is in the dishwasher door!!!”

“I don’t know what to do about that, I have no idea how to get to it. Just run the dishwasher.”

So I did.  Then I washed all the knives and emptied the drawers. Everything is now on the dining room table and you have to walk there to get a knife, or spoon or fork. 

F is picking up mouse traps today.

Advise Me Please

For the last several years I have been on the hunt for a new winter coat. The coat I currently have, albeit extremely warm is over 10 years old. I bought it while still in college. I graduated from college in 1998. Needless to say, it is out of fashion.

Ahem.

Anyway, I thought it would be extremely easy to lay my hands on a coat that I would love. I do after all live in the Midwest, home of the great white winters and freezing temps. I could not believe how sadly mistaken I was. This hunt has gone on for at least 3 years now. I came oh so close last year while “Back East” for Christmas, but they did not have it in my size.  Bastards. However, it did lead me to know that I could find a coat in their store if I started looking early enough.  The ninety degree heat of August was apparently the right time.

I purchased about six coats, all of wool. I settled on this little number.

I really love it. I will wear it without the belt however because it just cuts me in the wrong spot. It is currently with ES because in order for the coat to close over my chest I had to order a bigger size. So she is taking it in to give it more of a nice shape.  The color is amazingly rich and the double collar really completes the look.

Where I am stuck at however is what color I should have for accessories. My last coat was tan suede so it really doesn’t go with egg plant.  Because the throat/upper chest area is so open, and I’ve been known to get bronchitis at the drop of a hat, I really need to have this area covered and warm.  So I need scarf. And of course matching gloves.  My neighbor and I thought dark green, but then I decided that I didn’t want to actually look like this:

So I’m on the hunt for color suggestions. Cream? I already have a lovely cream scarf from my mom to go with another coat. But I don’t know if it would "pop" enough.  I’d really like to stay away from black. Multicolored? I just don’t know! HELP ME my digital friends!!!

Now is Not the Time

The "Buyer" of my house has requested that he be listed as an "LLC" or a "Limited Liability Company" on the sale even though that is not how he presented himself on the paperwork and that is not who I agreed to sell to.  The Mortgage company will not allow it.
Please Lord, let him back down on this point. We really need to be done with this house.
Say some prayers for me my digital friends.
*****The Mortgage Company/Bank has refused to sell the property to an LLC.*****
The Buyer is backing out.
We are fucked.
Thanks again Mortgage Company.