Tantrumatized...

O is just about 16 months, but the Terrible Twos are in full swing over at my(ish) house....

Tantrum City!

I'd always sorta secretly hoped that through my sure-to-be-genius parenting, I would escape the screamy stalemates of tantrums.

Pssssh.
So foolish, I was....

O is a sweet boy.  But he is curious and stubborn and determined and smart.
He has got THINGS to DO.
Do not get in his way...
Do not thwart is path....

It will end badly.

Tears and arching and screams. Bloodcurdling screams.  ::Shiver::

I try to always be calm.  To explain the whys.
To acknowledge that he is upset and frustrated.
And that THAT  sucks...

BUT, Mommy and Daddy make the rules.
And sometimes the things he wants are off-limits (mostly because of safety/nutrition)...

It should totally be a peaceful exchange. Duh.

Except you cannot reason with a toddler.
He does not give two shits about safety or nutrition.
He has a world to explore and put in his mouth.
I am stagnating his journey of self-discovery.
And that, friends?


Is totally harshing his mellow.

Yesterday I was really stressed about this tantruming situation.

What if this becomes a habit?
What if he develops a behavioral issue?
Am I not doing enough as his Mama?
Am I too soft?
Am I too hard?
Is he going to end up on America's Most Wanted?

[They'll interview me about his victims as they flash all the pictures of his sweet little baby face....I can see it now.......Ahem.]

Perhaps, I spiraled a bit?

Anyway, later that evening after O went to bed my husband and I were talking about something and he brought up an issue that was absolutely going to fucking leadboot my plans....

I.was.LIVID.

I'm just trying to accomplish this simple g-ddamned thing and I'm being stopped at every turn!

WHYTHEFUCKCAN'TIJUSTDOTHISONETHING??? 

Frustrated, I commenced in raging to (not at) the husband about the injustice of it all and slamming shit around my desk...

After he fled, under the guise of cooking dinner, I raged on in my head and slammed some more shit....

Then the lightbulb went off:


Fuck.

The apple doesn't scream too loud from the tree....

O is totally his mother.
Including her temper.

He gets frustrated because he is constantly getting stopped from doing what he sees as necessary, AND he can't express himself on the issue-- other than to scream and cry.....

[Something I was pretty much doing last night]

My frustration at not being able to do what I see as necessary and my inability to express myself on the matter?


Totally harshes my mellow.


Sigh.

Sorry little man.  I feel your pain.  I really do.









But the toilet is still off-limits at the moment.  Mommy loves you.

P stands for "Pain in the Proverbial Pooper"

Not that it's a shocker, but I'm not so good at being an optimist.

But, I decided that I would try harder to cast a rosy glow onto whatever I could, and keep sippin' on that damn half-full glass o' life (not to be confused with "the Kool-Ade").

[It's all irritating as shit.]

I've spent the last 6 months or so, repeating this to myself:


"be Positive-be Patient-be Proactive!"

Literally every.single.day.

They are my P's of Peacefulness!

I thought it would help me be less stressed.  That by surrendering to patience (however violently, ahem.), I would begin to see how change comes in small, but important ways.  By taking a proactive stance, I would participate in making my life better and get to where I (and my family) needed to be, but I wouldn't be trying to FORCE life to happen...as is my usual MO.

I would be calm and serene.  I would be living in the moment.  Appreciating things in their own time.

Friends?  I am so not that fucking person.

You know what helps me to get through the day?

Planning for and expecting the worst. Truly, it does.

In doing so, I know what I  might be up against, and I have a plan! Or, at the very least, I've steeled myself for battle and will not be caught unawares if calamity is to strike.

Bestest part?

When the worst doesn't happen (which is kinda rare in neck of the woods), or falls below the level of expectation, it's a nice surprise! A breath of fresh air.

SADLY, today, I was caught unawares.
Positivity clouded my judgment!
Damn sunshiney rays blinded me to reality...

We are budgeted to the nickel.
And, to kick off 2011,
we just started paying my in-laws rent,
AND our car payments started up.

So that nickel is all the more teensy....

 Positive, albeit, money-draining changes.

Heeeey, though!  Turn that frown upside down!  We were gonna make it!  It'll be fine!  Husband's totally gonna find extra work ANY DAY NOW, and that will loosen the belt FOR SURE!

Sure, there was no way that my husband could ever take a sick day on this budget, but that NEVER happens...even when he is a little under the weather, he makes it to work!


Until he wakes up at 4am to have a vomitfest this morning. No work for you, pukey!

 Craptacular. I did not budget for this.
Curse you, Freaking Optimism!



Did I mention that we're already counting down the days and the pennies 'til next payday?




(10, in case you were wondering...)


This, darling readers, is why I'd  pick my P's to propose:

"be Pragmatic-be Planning-be Prepared (for the worst!)!"

They are my P's of Progress!
They just aid in making life's bitter pills a little bit sweeter....

For Me, anyway.

Trims and tears.

O has such beautiful blonde locks, with little curlies at the end.
He has his daddy's coloring, but my obstinate hair-temperament. Ha!

I love his hair. Luuuuuuuurvvve.


BUT, it is getting a little long and shaggy.

Daddy says it's time for a hair cut...

Mommy says NOOOOOOO.

When we talked about it, I just burst into tears. Ugly ones.
I thought I was ready, I really did!

But I'm not.

I'm not ready to cut off his baby hair and for him to have a big-boy hair cut.

He's so big already. He's so independent. He wants to do everything himself. People always think he's like 18 months or older.

(He'll be 14 months next Tuesday.)

Half of me is beyond proud, and the other half is kinda heartbroken.

My little tiny baby is growing faster than I imagined. Everyone told me he would, and still, it surprises me DAILY at the speed.

I know it's stupid, but I feel like cutting his hair is like cutting away the last of his babyhood.

I'm sure that's melodramatic, but it's how I feel.

Totally NOT helping the situation is the fact that I'm still feeling the heat-wave of baby fever...

I know that we can't have another baby right now, or any time soon, but my biological clock is thundering loudly.

My husband said that he had thought O would turn the clock off for a while, but apparently, we just hit the snooze button.....sorry, Querido.

Maybe it'll pass????






No. Not with preciousness like  this.


I mean, HONESTLY. Honestly.




Maybe a hair cut for New Years...New Year, New Do'?


Sigh.

Maybe.


I make NO promises. 

Ain't that a kick in the Teeth?

As my lovely readers may have figured out, things have been a little less than rosy around here...

I can't really say it's lookin' up.

Monday, I got a notice from Medi-Cal that my Share-of-Cost coverage was terminated as of the 1st of October.

Ummmm, come again?!

I have a SURGERY scheduled on Friday. THIS FRIDAY.

Immediately filled with the urge to vomit, I tried not to panic. There's was nothing I could do until the next morning...

My fervent hope is that I would call Medi-Cal and it would all be some silly misunderstanding...
Ooops! "Silly Us!" They would say.


Yeah, NOTSOMUCH.

My insurance is canceled. As I am no longer pregnant, O is no longer an infant and I happen to be married, we no longer qualify for squat.

Our income is "too high" (tell that to our bank account) and we are an "in-tact" family, therefore ineligible for aid.

Since when is being a stable family a bad thing?
It is in the eyes on Medi-Cal.

I was able however, to skim under the radar somehow, and since my surgery was already approved, it will be covered with the $2000 co-pay.

BUT, any medical care costs or anything related to the surgery/post-op that occurs AFTER the 31st of October will be our responsibility 100%.


Yippee?

Please cross your fingers for me that the surgery goes smoothly and is laproscopic, so it can be considered an out-patient procedure. If they have to go in all Mash-style, I'll be laid up in the hospital for a few days, and we don't have that kind of scratch....

Hey, did I mention that we also need a new car? SchWEET.








PS. O's Birthday Bash was Fab! I will post as SOON as I get all the pictures!

The "D" Word.

No, not Divorce.

(Calm down, Querido.)


Depression.

I am depressed. As much as it PAINS me to admit it, it's true.

Tuesday night, I woke up in the middle of the night to pee...You know, like ya do...

As I sat down to take care of business in the silent darkness of 2am, I just lost it.

I sat there sobbing like a child for a good 30 minutes, desperately trying to muffle myself so I wouldn't wake the Husband or the Boy.

Unfortunately, I DID wake my Hubs, who panicked and wanted to know what was wrong.

I couldn't answer...

Nothing? Something? Everything? ME?

We got back into bed and he held me while I cried some more.

As the tears subsided and his snores started, I realized that I was depressed.

(I know-I'm THAT quick)

SuperFuckingSadExhaustedAngryOverwhelmingly DEEEEpressed.

I mean, I've battled depression my whole life, so I know the signs, but I kept finding ways to tamp it down or skirt the issue...I don't have time to be down, G-ddamnit! I'm already Physically DOWN as it is.


But that's the funny thing about depression. It doesn't give a SHIT about what you want or have going on, it's going to take root anyway.

Sometimes I can fend it off, sometimes I can't.
And I don't like talking about it.

The subject makes people nervous, and they spout superficial platitudes at you in an effort to help, but instead just culminate in you feeling like an ungrateful asshole.

I loathe feeling this way.
I'm good during the day, as I have to be. I can put on that happy face.

But at night, after everyone goes to bed, not.so.much.


Even the Hubs is depressed.

We're a sad lot around here. No pun intended...HA!

We just have so much stacked against us, and we need help, but no help is coming.

Instead, we just get "shoulded" to death, with no practical applications (or resources) as for how to fulfill that list...

We're barely treading water, but if we were "responsible" we'd be doing more...





It's enough to drive a person crazy. Oh, Wait......

It's my party, and I'll whine if I want to.

Pity party, Table for 1?

Yep, that's me.

I hate that I'm sick. I hate that I feel so powerless. I spend nights wondering where I went wrong and how I'm going to make our lives okay.

I feel constantly guilty.

Guilty that I'm not healthier.
Guilty that I came into our marriage with so much debt.
Guilty that my family (for the most part) is a bunch of nutjobs.
Guilty that I can't make our financial situation better.
Guilty because I'm so fucking tired all the time.
Guilty because I am not the perfect wife/mother I always wanted to be.

As I sat in bed crying the other night, my husband said:

"Stop blaming yourself for this. You've been through hell in life and that's gotta take its toll on a person. Think about all you've been given to deal with-None of this is your fault!"

Maybe I should think about it...

Let's reflect on that shall we? Get ready to Pity-Party it UP!

The Hit-List: They Just keep on Coming!
(no pun intended...okay, maybe a little.)

Born super-early w/ lots of complications

Diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy which meant a childhood filled with pain and surgery
-also? Bullies. Kids are vicious when you have a walker...and coke-bottle glasses. I was a hot mess.

A violently abusive mother who was also an emotional terrorist. Still is.

I've never known my biological father

A junkie stepfather who was, shall we say, "inappropriate" at times

A violent, unstable, poor household

Too much work and too many obligations starting at a young age
-practically raising myself and my younger siblings
-working since I was 14 to help support my family and later myself
-taking care of the madre. I was more her parent than she was mine

My mother has stolen thousands from me, stole my identity, and for several years, ruined my credit

Raped at both 18 and 22

Two miscarriages

Been hit by a car AND run over by one (2 separate occasions)

Years upon years of running myself into the ground, stress and overwork because I was desperate to break free from my familial cycle.
-I have this overwhelming need to always put on a brave face, to look "fine", to act "fine" and convince myself that everything is FINE and I can handle everything without worrying anyone because that's my job, so best keep my mouth shut and my self busy. No one likes a complainer.

Diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome at 23

I've struggled with severe depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember

I suffer from insomnia and migraines

When I do sleep, I have nightmares. Every.Night. Always have.

I live with chronic pain

I'm drowning in debt b/c of college, medical bills, ID theft, and life in a dismal economy

(Not a super-sunshiney list. Sorry folks!)

It's all of those things (and more) that make me feel like I must have been Hitler in a previous life....

[It is by no means the worst history, but it's fairly intense.]

To think that I may be even sicker, and have to go deeper into debt is almost too much for me at this point.*

I know people will say that I should be proud of myself for overcoming so much, or point out how all of this has just made me stronger, OR that I've built so much character through a life of adversity...

But with all due respect and at risk of being rude, character and strength can go take a fucking flying leap.

I'm exhausted. And terrified. I'd like the option to take the easy road now, please.

And before you point out that the hard road has led me to be blessed with a wonderful husband and son, I'm on it. It did indeed.

All I'm saying is that I would like to switch lanes now.

[I do want it known that I am extremely GRATEFUL for my Hubs, my son and my friends. Thank you for loving me-for keeping me afloat. You all are my heart.]

I don't freak out about this stuff for myself. It's for my little family.
I want my husband and my son to have the best life possible.

I want my son to have the life I never did. I want my husband** to have a partner, not a liability.

I'm terrified that I have fought and sacrificed and struggled for a future that is never going to come to fruition, and that my entire life is going to be one battle after another....and I've just dragged two more people into the fray.

Perhaps that is too negative of a view, but those are the feelings I am flooded with right now.

I just want some peace.***



Alllllright!

Well thanks for partying with me! I'm gonna go try and put my Big-Girl Panties on now, and resume dealing with life in a mature fashion.



















* Note: just in case anyone was worried, I'm not going to throw myself out the window or anything...I'm just having a rough day, er, week, er MONTH. But still! No need to worry!




** Extra Shout OUT to my hubs who knew ALLLL of this stuff and more whilst we were dating and still wanted to marry me anyway! I know, right? He's a catch.


*** Again, not in the funereal kind of way. Girlfriend just needs a Break!

When it hurts to brush your hair...

Maybe it's time to mellow out a tad.

I've been a little stressed lately.

I thought I was handling it pretty well. Sure, I stayed awake at night trying to figure out how to fix all our (and the world's) evils, but I've been doing that since I was eight, so status quo right?


This morning, as I'm getting ready for the day, I start brushing through my bird's nest, and it hurts. Not-ripping-out-the-tanglies kind of hurt, either. My scalp was sore and tender....WTF?


I have a scalp full of raw spots and scabs.

(Sexy, MMMmmhmm.)

Confused, I go about my morning by returning the health insurance guy's call.

As I listen to him tell me that because of our (but mostly MY) health history, insurance will cost us $400 a month (bestest case scenario, and not likely) to up to $700 a month (more likely scenario), if we get approved AT ALL--I begin raking my nails through my hair.

Then my hubby calls to tell me that he's sitting at work doing NOTHING because they're internet is down (they're an interwebs-based workplace), and after a rather annoying convo with their provider, they discover that the reason they have no intertoobs is because the bill hasn't been paid, and there is an outstanding balance.

As paying the bills are the higher-ups responsibility (who live out of the country and only communicate via the web, ohhh wait...), and they just recently "laid-off" the accountant, my hubs and crew can do nothing but sit there and hope one of them can eventually catch them by phone (remember that rusted-out method of communication? No?) so this situation can be remedied {read: PAID.}...

I don't know about you, but to ME, this does not bode well to the stability of my spouse's job. Which does not bode well to our ability to pay our bills. Which does not bode well for either of us maintaining sanity. Or a good credit score.

But, I did not want to have a freak-out fest, and rile up my already wound up husband (who I know is picturing us living in a cardboard box feeding O cat food or me running off with the pool boy that we don't have because at least his job is stable--renaming O "Pablo"), so I took a deep breath and told him I'm sure it was probably just an oversight.

As I hung up, I realized that my nails were entrenched in my scalp, and upon inspection, there was a tiny bit of blood under a few of my fingernails.

I honestly didn't even realize that I was doing that all the time.

Looking back, I do, but as we all know, hindsight is better than therapy-blah, blah, blah.

Maybe I shouldn't have quit biting my nails?

I realize that I shouldn't have yelled at the CSR, but...

I just lost it.

If it's not ONE thing it's another, and why aren't they ever good things?

Because. THAT'S why.

I logged onto our bank accounts today, to make sure that all of the bills that are going to go thru this week without overdrawing us.

Just barely, but we're used to that around here...

Then, I decided that I should check our credit reports. I don't know why, as I hadn't gotten any alerts, but hey--better safe than sorry.

SORRY IS WHAT I TURNED OUT TO BE.

There's a delinquency on the report.
A $500 hospital bill that had been sent to collections.

How could that be? I don't remember getting a bill....

So I call the collections agency. They can't give me any details about the bill other than the hospital it originated from and the balance.

I ask them why I wasn't notified, as they have my address and info.

The lady on the other end of the line did not have an answer.

Then she asks me if I want to settle the outstanding balance today....

That's when I start crying and kinda flip out:

YOUWANT500DOLLARSFROMMETODAY? IDON'THAVE500DOLLARSTODAY. ORTOMORROW. IAMPREGNANTUNEMPLOYEDUNINSUREDAND500DOLLARS ISALMOSTHALF OFMYHUSBAND'SPAYCHECK! SHIT!!!

Ignoring the tirade, she then asked me if I could pay $100 a month until it was paid off.

I collected myself, transferred a hundy from savings, quickly made the payment over the phone, hung up and started sobbing.

I feel like we're never going to get ahead.

Oh, you wanna know what they charged me 500 bones for?

Someone to shine a light in my eye, say "oh, it's a minor scratch on the pupil," had me a little sample tube of antibiotic ointment, and send me on my way.

I never got a bill, because we moved into my ILs like 2 weeks later, and EVEN THOUGH I forwarded all of our mail, the hospital never forwarded, and just bounced back to them. And then they helpfully bounced it on to a collections agency.

Follow the bouncing Ball O' Debt. When you get to the end of the page, please empty your savings account!

I love being a grown up.


In baby news, Owen is GINORMOUS.

Based on his size, he's measuring at 38 weeks instead of 35. He weighs almost 8 lbs.

But he's totally healthy and my fluid level is staying stable.

According to the perinatalogist:

"Some people just make big babies."

This is my husband's fault, I'm sure of it.

I love my son, but he can't be born fast enough.

I want him out!

(Does this make me a bad mom?)

My mind is lost. There is no "losing" to be had.

I cried on Monday evening for over an HOUR.

Why? Because I had planned on putting away a basket of laundry, but never actually did it.

My husband did his best to console me, while trying not to laugh.

THEN,

I almost had a full-fledged panic attack last night because I realized that (2 weeks ago, mind you) I took two Ibuprofen for a headache, when what I should have taken is Tylenol.

All these horrid scenarios of harm to my son starting galloping through my head....

Madness.

This weekend will probably be just as absurd.

Hubs and I have a wedding to go to, and I'm dreading it, because I feel/look/move like a hippopotamus.

I bought a dress for the wedding, which I have been told looks great on me, but I think that they're neglecting to mention the Circus-tent similarities.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm pregnant, I get that--but this is a very small wedding. I have nowhere to hide. I will not 'blend'.

The bride is twice my age, but stunning, and the two other women that will be my comadres for the day are these tiny, gorgeous, TAN girls with killer bodies and new boobs.

Just shoot me now.


If that weren't enough, my 10-year high school reunion is the same day....

(I'm actually bummed we won't be able to make it, there are several people I'd love to see)

Great, now I'm an Elder Hippo to boot!


Pregnancy is amazing....Pregnancy is amazing....Pregnancy is ama......

Attack of the Nagging Hausfrau.

Okay, so I am so BEYOND irritated right now, but I'm torn as to who I should be more irritated with: myself, or my husband.

Having moved in with his parents, we live in a very small space as compared to what we had before (a 2bd/2ba entire apt).

We now have:
Two bedrooms which are connected by a jack n' jill bathroom being used as our "apt.".

In that space, we have a small living room/office area, and then a bedroom area. Now, we are trying to negotiate how to fit our son into all of that as well.

This is a hard task. It's made harder by the fact that my darling spouse is a SLOB.

Trails everywhere he freakin' goes. Clothes strewn wherever he happens to take them off, crochet paraphernalia (yes, he crochets) here and there, whatever magazines or book he decides to flip through, dishes, shoes, etc.

Basically anything he touches/uses in his daily life gets scattered through our little abode.

It drives me FUCKING nuts. Partly because I am, in fact, a Type Aer who has inherited her mother's reverence for cleanliness (although not nearly as psychotic), but MOSTLY it's because a small space immediately becomes unlivable if it's not kept clean and organized.

And I have TRIED. I've let a lot of things go in the 2.5 years that we've cohabitated, and I've done my damnedest to try and give everything a place, so it's easy keep stuff picked up.

This does not register with him.

The thing is, I feel bad for getting mad at him about it. When we both worked, I didn't feel bad, but now that he's the only one working, I feel like the LEAST I can do is the housework. So now, I DO feel bad, because I feel like I'm not pulling my weight.

This feeling is not as a result of him either. He doesn't care if I clean or not. He's fine with the mess and overflowing baskets of laundry. I'm the one having the nervous breakdown about it.

Before I got pregnant, This wasn't that big of an issue. For the most part, even though I got annoyed from time to time, I did all of the cleaning/laundry, and that was that. But now, it's a different story.

I'm so tired. All the time! It seems like the messes are creeping up on me more and more frequently now. Oh, and the laundry. Good LORDY LOVIN', the laundry. There's always been a lot of it, because my husband is sweaty and changes at least twice in a day, but lately, it's just overwhelming. I can get it sorted, washed and dried, but by the time I get to the putting away/hanging up portion of the program, things fall apart.

I just don't have any energy or focus, which is worse than the fatigue.

So we end up with baskets of laundry lined up on our window seat or next to the bed, which end up being rifled through by the Hubster, and thus strewn throughout creation.


And a day like today will come, a day that is hot, one in which I am tired and headachy, where I look around our space and its piles of mess/laundry and try to imagine our son and all of his stuff coexisting with it all, only to realize that it's going to get SO MUCH WORSE.

--this is when I CRACK.

Yelling is imminent. My poor clueless spouse will walk in the door any minute now, and I will unleash a torrential bitchfest upon him.

But I don't want to. He works hard, and I SOOOO appreciate that. He doesn't care if I do nothing but sit on my ass and eat bonbons...

So what right do I have to chew him out for not putting away his crap?

But at the SAME TIME, shouldn't he put away at least some of it?

Sometimes as he sits there, after work, playing his Xbox, amid piles of laundry as I once again gather up his dishes, I briefly visualize strangling him with the controller cord and throwing the machine out the window....

Other times as he sits there, after work, detailing the mind-numbing day he had, amid the piles of bills he's trying so hard to pay, I'm so thankful that he's willing to do it and come home so happy to be with me every day.

Does any of this make any sense?

I think I just needed to vent.

Paranoia, Party of 1? Paranoia, Party of 1, your table is ready....

I am a plan for the worst-and-hope-it-won't-be-that-awful kind of a person. Some might say that because of that, I am a pessimist...

Maybe I am, but I prefer to think I'm more of a realistic optimist.

I want and hope that the best will come out of a situation, but know that if you don't plan for the alternative, you might end up on your ass.

Pregnancy has put this tendency of mine into overdrive. In the bad way...

This is me at night, lying in bed:

What if that half a margarita I had the night before I found out I was pregnant gave our baby fetal alcohol syndrome?

What if my inability to keep food down leads to malnutrition and causes our baby to have developmental delays?

What if my mom is right, and we DO have twins? And they're conjoined?



What if...and it just keeps getting more and more ridiculous.

Under normal circumstances, I am a pretty logical, level-headed person.

Now, I am just a crazy person who is developing a fear that our baby will be born with 4 legs or something.

I just, like every other mother on the planet, want my child to have the ability to do/be anything and everything it wants.

I don't want them to miss out on anything.

As a child with a disability, I missed out on a lot of very basic things:
I couldn't run or participate in PE
I couldn't ride a bike or rollerskate
I couldn't take dance or sports, and I was kept inside a lot.

You add braces and a walker to the mix, and it just doesn't bode well for childhood activities....

Then as a teenager, things normalized quite a bit for me physically, after surgery, PT, and Rehab, but there were little things to be missed, like high heels and most shoes, to big things, like driving...

I'm so afraid of my child having to miss out on things like that as well. Granted Cerebral Palsy is not hereditary, so I'm not fearful that my child will get it, but will rates of things like Autism and Down's syndrome climbing, I worry a lot.

That being said, it wouldn't change how we feel about the pregnancy, or how feel about our child. We have already declined to do an amniocentesis, because the results wouldn't change our minds about having the baby, even if there was something scary.

So why obsess in the middle of the night?

I just can't help myself....


I blame it on the hormones. I'm allowed to do that now, right?