Binkytown

Balance

Transition, for most people is hard. For my little man it is especially difficult. It has been a long (my god has it been long) winter and clothes are a touchy thing for my child. He has spent many months rotating in and out of his same five long-sleeved tee shirts. He has become somewhat (very) attached and I have grown tired of looking at them with their dark blue hues and faded grays (not to mention with the sleeves that have wound up around two inches above his wrist like Frankenstein.) Spring is oh so slowly appearing and even though I have picked up a number of new short sleeved tee shirts in bright happy colors, every time I pull one out he recoils in horror.

I purchased new pajamas for him in the next size up- blue and white. A three piece set with a tee, long pants and shorts. Amazingly he agreed to wear the tee shirt to bed the other night. Last night, in the warmth of his bedroom on a spring night, throwing caution to the wind I offered to pull out the shorts for him to wear after he was tucked in bed. Are they blue or purple? he asked. As I pulled them from the drawer I said oh my gosh are you going to be excited- they are both. They were a deep blue color (which we call purple for the sake of not having another argument) with light blue panel down the sides. I held them up and he lifted up his little legs so we could slide them on. He rushed out of bed this morning to show his father, who had yet to see them. White tee, blue shorts, white socks. Isn't he adorable? I said when he disappeared out of earshot. He looks like a little gymnast.   

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There are babies being born all over the place. The day care teacher and my neighbor down the street within the past couple of days alone. I still have six weeks and some days until my due date but the baby's arrival feels very much less speculative and much more real. My thoughts are frequently railroaded with visions of being in the hospital bed with a monitor strapped around my water buffalo middle. Epidural needles. Nurses. You really do forget, until you consciously remember. It's like my body is starting to prepare in more ways than one.

I have a crib set, jungle animals, very neutral, almost like new that I can set up for number two. I tell myself, it's silly to spend money on a new crib set when this one is perfectly fine. But I can't stop looking. Today I found one, deeply discounted, with dinosaurs. I think I have to buy it. We are repainting and updating the nursery and this is not the same child and I don't feel the same as I did the last time.

I shouldn't have to preface this, but I feel like I need to: Without implying that I love my little man any less, loved him any less, I am looking so forward to meeting this child. That anticipation, that vision of a baby in the crib was heavily clouded the first time with such uncertainty and for me, the steepest divide to climb between my old life and the new.   

I know I am in for some hard days and nights. I know my little man is going to have a terrible time with this. I know my patience is going to be tested again and again and I will do things or say things that I wish I had not. But I feel mostly ready. More ready than I thought I would have six months ago.

Today. Ask me again in six weeks.

Those were the days

A year or two after we were married, but before we had a child, my mate and I were living the high life. We purchased a duplex and rented the upstairs flat ($$), we deducted everything under the sun (totally related to the house of course) ($$), we had good jobs ($$) and disposable income ($$).

It must be noted that I was before, and am again, only buying things on sale and only when I can totally justify it. I grew up without money, have always been very frugal and had very little that was material or just plain fancy. I am hard on things, and as such, have never spent money on anything that is not easily replaced.

Around this time my husband decided to purchase a big ticket toy item, a bright yellow kayak with a hefty price tag. It cost as much as three months of day care does right now, so that's like chicken scratch in comparison today's expenses but back in those days, wow, that was a LOT. I was also working with a woman who appeared almost weekly with a new shiny bauble of some kind and had enough gold necklaces to choke an elephant. Gold necklaces=not my thing, but I kept thinking, do people really do this? Buy jewelry just because they can?

I started dropping hints that I'd like some earrings. As a gift. I knew we would move out of that duplex one day and double our mortgage payment, I knew a kid would probably arrive and diapers aren't cheap, so I thought this was my chance. It was now or never. I didn't want the ones basketball players wear that are as big as chocolate chip cookies, I was talking tasteful, little, diamond studs. I also figured if I didn't tell him he wouldn't figure it out, gifts were never big in his house growing up and he does fine, but he's not an over the top, I'm going to SO surprise you kind of guy who picks you up from work with a suitcase in the car and whisks you away to a spa. Not his style.

He mostly ignored me.  One night while watching TV a commercial came on for one of those chain jewelry stores advertising a sweetest day sale or some crap like that and I said, innocently enough, if you don't want to buy them for me I think I might buy those myself. He rolled his eyes and questioned why I would want to spend money on that. Well you bought a kayak, I observed, not because I was trying to guilt him into anything, for real, I just wanted to point out that I didn't stop him from doing that (Go ahead- ask me how many times he's used it in the past 5 years. Please.) so what was the big deal if I wanted something fun for myself?

Fast forward a couple of months. The mini obsession with the diamond earrings had faded and had been replaced by a little dog. We had a big dog and while what I really wanted was a baby, I was perfectly happy to satisfy that desire with a dog small enough to fit into my purse. I talked about it constantly. It wasn't realistic, and we decided not to do it, but I wanted it none the less.

Christmas arrived and we have a tradition. One big gift and a bunch of little miscellaneous goods wrapped up for fun. I unwrapped a stylish black leather clutch, a lovely Christmas gift and proceeded to unwrap my packages of gum, bendy straws and nail files. The last package was soft, you could squeeze it. Tearing off the paper I uncovered a teeny stuffed animal dog. Just like you wanted he said. My smile went from ear to ear. He got it, he got me, what I wanted. In his own way.

I started to pick up the paper scraps and clean up, tossing the dog lightly aside. He snatched it away quickly. What? I asked, puzzled by his attention to the pretend dog he had just thoughtfully given me.

Look again.

In the dogs ears were two pretty, delicate, stud earrings. Diamond earings.

Wow.

He totally blew me away.

I was surprised, I was touched and I was happy- in that way you get to be when someone gets you a gift that you really, really wanted but didn't expect. So clever, my man.

I have still have those earrings and wear them all the time. Except for the 5 week period in 2007 between Thanksgiving and Christmas when I left them on a shelf at my in laws house and had no idea I did that and searched frantically, all the time, for them (in drawers I never use, in the vacuum cleaner, in every pocket of everything I own) completely terrified of having to tell him that I lost them. Thank God I didn't have to. Not only because they were more costly than your average pair of earrings, but because that Christmas morning, and his creativity and thoughtfulness has yet to be outdone and I will never forget it.

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And I only know this much

Is anyone following the story of the Polygamist ranch in Texas? Of the women who are starting to gain some publicity and attention?

Granted, it takes very little to make me cry on a normal day, when I'm not gestating. While pregnant it's a constant free for all, bursting into tears without warning over very minor offenses. But this, this is almost too much to handle, yet I feel like I can't look away. And I'm not just talking about the dresses and the wild, wavy, wacky hairstyles, although, that does involve some study.

It's those children. Hundreds of children. 

How does it feel if your seven year old child is in a shelter with the chicken pox and you can't be there to hold their hand. To whisper a sweet good night, to arrange the blanket just so?

To say I don't understand this lifestyle is an understatement. I am not religous, rural or young and I think two people in a marriage is quite enough thank you very much. I also think if you want to get married you should have to wait until you are 30. My husband and I don't even have a joint checking account, much less joint spouses or rules about how one conducts themselves. 

I don't know what went on there besides the obvious and that some of these mothers allowed very young daughters to be married off to very confused men, and for that, I question their judgment. From the outside, it's obvious. That's clearly the wrong choice. But for them, they must have believed they were doing the right thing for those girls. Isn't that what we all do as mothers, as parents, every day? Try and make the best decisions we can with the knowledge we have? I feel sorry for them, their grief is as plain as their face.

I agree the thirteen year old girls should be removed from the fifty year old husbands. Maybe it's worse than that, I don't know. Maybe there is compelling evidence that says these mothers need to be immediately separated from those kids. I just don't know how anyone could know that today, given the circumstances. There clearly is not a handbook to follow to deal with a situation like this. Until authorities know more, gather more, learn more about what happened, I wish those mothers could be with their children. I read that only women without children and those with babes under five were able to go back to their homes. What of the eight year olds? Experiencing the most amazing mind altering culture shock they could have ever dreamed of. Without the lifeline that they have always known.

I understand there are laws and processes to follow when a child has been abused. Law enforcement is doing their job. But the media will grow weary of this, the spotlights will fade and then what will become of them? Where will they go? Let's say half of these kids wind up in foster care or placed elsewhere. Hopefully if they are young enough they will adapt.  But their mothers. Do you think they will ever get over it? Losing a family? The conflict of being told every minute of every day that the life you lived was wrong. What you believed in, twisted. Reconciling a life, before and after.   

So much heartbreak. Past, present and future.

I'm not religious, but this is so troubling that I am tempted to say I'd like to offer up a prayer of some kind to someone about this. To ease this burden.

But it sounds like maybe that's what got them into trouble in the first place.

Wouldn't you like to know

I've been tagged by the fabulous Gray Matter Matters who so far is the only person I know to share my King Henry crush as hard core as I do. In honor of his Majesty, and the Season II Premiere, I give you:

5 Royal Answers, presented as if I were in Court

First, the rules:
1. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
2. At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves a comment letting them know they've been tagged and to ask them to play along and to read your blog.

What I was doing 10 years ago - 1998
1. April 1998- Met my husband
2. Having a lot of sex (with my then-future husband). King Henry would approve
3. Living in a Castle (two bedroom apartment) with my best friend
4. Spending a lot of time on my long hair
5. Not thinking about having sons

Five things on my to-do list today
1. Not get the plague (Son has been throwing up and/or threatening to. Husband has chest cold)
2. Gathering. Maybe eating with my hands. 
3. Finding someone (Old Navy) to tailor me some maternity Capri sweat pants
4. Take a nap. Probably won't happen-see number one
5. Sweep

Snacks I enjoy
1-5 chocolate

Things I would do if I were a billionaire
1. Buy and wear some serious bling
2. Not wear sweat Capri's
3. Have many many ladies in waiting (so I could have sex again and take naps and play with my son)
4. Build a country estate or two
5. Paint

Five of my bad habits
1. I yell too much. (But I'm passionate. Like Henry)
2. I eat too many sweets (He was like 300 pounds at the end. I'm not that bad)
3. I don't try hard enough to pay attention to my husband. That one I used to have sex with a lot. (But I wouldn't behead him)
4. I hate paying attention to my finances. Good thing I'm not a billionaire
5. I don't wash my hair all weekend. The Tudors wouldn't see anything wrong with that.

Five places I have lived
1. Here
2. Here
3. Here
4. Here
5. Oh my god- I've never lived anywhere but here! Thats so sad!

Five jobs I've had
1. Serving wench
2. Clerk
3. Letter writer
4. Merchant
5. Scribe

Put any twist on this that you like- I command you: NonLinear Girl, Wisconsin Mommy, Moosh in Indy, lifelongplaydate & The Gav Menagerie.

Then=Now

Then: Working a half-day, if it all, to leave and go to Slim McGinn's or McGuillycuddys, where we knew the bartenders. Drank all afternoon and made it home by early evening, you know, before the drunks really went crazy.

Now: Why in the world is the Today set lit up in that awful green color? Two hours later: OH YEAH. That's why.

Sorry. I thought it was enough.

I thought it was enough that I fed (with difficulty), clothed (with much struggle) and wiped bottoms (not difficult or a struggle but still gross) of my three year old. That I dried off freshly bathed feet and tousled wet hair. That I found just the right car to make the fit-having stop, at least momentarily. That I've made a special trip across town after a long day to get the right kind of yogurt.

That I've managed to stay away from tuna fish, not had a single drop of alcohol in six months (boo) that I kept my fingernails neatly trimmed so as not to scratch anyone. Kept the house stocked with shampoo and soap and clorox wipes. That I've emptied the dishwasher and filled it back up ad nauseum. That I've paid my bills for the most part on time. That I've drank enough water to stay hydrated and separated my recyclables.

That I've come to work every day and done my job the best I can. That I've decided not to buy those shoes I really don't need. That I've had difficult conversations that I didn't think it was fair for me to have to have. That I let it go when my boss came up with an idea I suggested a week ago.

That I parked on the ninth floor of a parking structure that is secured, has cameras and security guards that drive around on mini golf carts. That I didn't lock the doors because my hands are full with a toddler, my bags, his bags, gloves and the like.

Apparently that's not enough to keep my things where I left them. Like my half used bottle of perfume with no cap on it. Because you decided to come in to my car and take everything out of my glove compartment and leave it strewn around the seats. Because you took the .18 cents in change that was in various compartments of the car. Because you had to be a particularly ass-holish person and lock the doors when you left and turned the volume of my radio all the way up so when I started the car, already shaken, I got another jolt.

I hate it that you must have sat in my seat. Touched my son's sweatshirt with your dirty fingers, carelessly tossing it aside. You left the maternity jean jacket. What? Not your style?

You didn't take anything of value, but it was still mine and not yours and why don't you know that? What are you doing right now with my perfume? Really? Did you give that half empty no cap bottle to your girl? Or are you wearing it? Are you desperate? Did you drink it?

Fuck you.

 

109 Days

One of the reasons, aside from my general penchant for worrying incessantly, that I wanted to find out the sex of this baby was so that I could be prepared. With all the stuff.

Because I was in such a hurry to leave babyhood and the mania it caused me behind, I tended to whisk away things I was no longer needing. Somewhat carelessly. Then I moved. I have some idea where baby clothes are, but the hand me down crib, while still functioning, was a bit rickety and is now in pieces and I'm not sure I have all the brackets in one place. The Pack N Play, also donated, got somewhat messed up in a mad dash to put away up in the attic before we showed the house on a moments notice. I was never able to fold it up again and it made it's way to the trash. I'm starting to regret my short-sightedness now. Back then I found one baby so overwhelming I didn't think I'd ever want to have another. But I didn't think about what if I did.

So here I am, gripped with that same quasi panic that I had approaching this the first time, wondering what I actually need and how I am going to manage to get it all. At last tally I need a Pack N Play, a double stroller and maybe a new crib. Big ticket items. Even thought I have boy clothes, I have winter newborn baby clothes. Not exactly appropriate for August.

We tried official-stop-with-the-diaper-put-on-those-Diego-underpants potty training on Saturday. It went So. So. Badly. I should have anticipated this. He was so consumed with the change from the diaper to the underwear that I could do nothing while he tore them off shrieking again and again. I KNOW this child. I should have started this in baby steps three months ago so he could get used the sensation of something new on his body. But I didn't. Way to go mom. The full on, flip the switch just isn't going to work for us.

Which OK, it's not the end of the world but I was counting on this going smoothly so I could then tackle the Binky problem. Which now isn't going to happen anytime soon.

So I did what any right minded pregnant woman does on a Saturday afternoon. Sobbed in my car outside the grocery store for a solid twenty minute crying jag. Which helped some, but not that much. Until a good friend reminded me that it was just one day. One day out of at least 112 days until this baby gets  here.

Well, 109 as of today.

Sleep well

The big poodle, getting older, now prefers his soft, low bed to ours. When the bath water runs the dog creaks up the stairs and curls up in a ball next to the spaceship sleeping bag with his name embroidered on it. The down is warm and envelopes him. Outer space litters the bed.

After the books, the potty, the four toothbrushes, the harmonica, the horse riding, the hat tipping and the drink or two of water he wiggles in. Zip me up, he instructs, as he rolls this way, then that way. We zip him up knowing it will only last a minute, maybe three. The lights are out and the gate is up. Un-zip me, he says, wiggling down to the bottom of the bed, careful not to kick the warm body next to him.

He climbs up onto the rocking chair. His feet clad in striped pajamas, once at my knees, now dangle closer to the floor as he finds a way to make his body still conform to mine in the small space of the chair that stays the same, even though the both of us are getting bigger by the day.

Sometimes it's a song, sometimes he tells me don't sing that and we just rock. One more minute I whisper then we're going to your bed. No. Is the response. Thirty seconds. Twenty seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight. Sometimes I make it to one and even though I'm desperate for my own pajamas and warm blankets I hold him still.

Time for bed I say, wanting to lift him up and lay him down softly like I used to, but know now I shouldn't, so he slides down and shuffles back to bed. Hoisting himself up he positions himself back into the bag, waiting until he's cocooned once again to flop onto his belly, his most comfy sleep position and sighs.

I watch his hands, they give it away every time. Even if his eyes are closed, if they are moving he is fighting the sleep that is inching closer. If they are still he is almost there. Sometimes I escape while he is drifting through twilight, other times the creak of the old rocking chair stirs him just enough to say mama lay with me.   

I crawl over him and wedge myself into the divide of cotton that separates my two sleepy ones. I stroke his hair until he bats my hand away. I place a kiss where I always have, even when he was tiny. That sweet place on the forehead where it curves to meet his eyes. I wait. My own eyes close, then open and close. All of us soft and sleepy, I prop myself up on my elbow, wondering how I'm going to manage this in a few months, though desperately still wanting to, and shimmy till my feet touch the floor.

Later I creep silently back in for one more check, to nudge the dog away, to adjust, to unzip once more, untangling the arms from the rocket ship and blanketing him in stars.

My heart full, I sleep. Well.

Irritating AND Expensive

I have never been a huge believer in pregnancy brain. Then again, I have the short term memory of a gnat. I forget birthdays, anniversaries, the location of where I parked my car and have lost my keys more times than I can count. It's a good thing my toddler talks because hearing him really helps me keep tabs on where that little guy is.

I always thought it was sleep deprivation or the fact that there were a lot more things to think about or maybe even just an excuse that some women used when they forgot to stop and buy milk.  I really did say that out loud to a pregnant friend (in my defense while we were both pregnant) and she gasped at me so loudly you would have thought I said she looked fat in those pregnancy jeans. (Which is another whole rant in and of itself.)

So far this week I have spaced out an appointment with my therapist. It was on Thursday January 10 at 9:30 AM. I have the little appointment card. I looked at it every day last week, dreading having to go. I looked at it on Thursday January 10. The same day I noticed it was Thursday January 10 on my phone, my email, my calendar and my computer. Then I decided to show up on January 11, thinking January 11 was January 10. I apologized profusely but they have a policy and the policy is they will bill you for a missed appointment that you do not cancel ahead of time. Cha Ching.

Last night as I was gathering my things getting ready to leave work I was making a pile next to my briefcase. Gloves- yes. I will need my gloves. Lets put those next to my briefcase. Phone. Yes, I need my phone, lets put that in my pocket so I don't have to fish it out. iPod. All nice and charged up. Check. I'll set that on my gloves because I wouldn't possibly forget them sitting next to my briefcase. Time to go. I picked up my briefcase and left.

This morning the gloves were sitting right where I left them. Minus my shiny happy fully charged iPod. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh it hurts. Hurts because I can not survive with out it. Hurts more because it's totally my fault.

Wait, what was I talking about?   

   

Famous Last Words on a Snow Day

I am not taking a nap

Thats what you think. (The big black blob is my dog)