Let’s see if this works…

I’m trying to link my blog to a FB account… Here goes…

Shit.

Nope.

Saturday morning

I am sitting on my couch with a sleeping Peach in my lap while The Zen Master does the dishes. Princess Punk is at my mom’s house with her latest “bestie” having spent the day at Lake Champlain and the Echo Aquarium yesterday. There is some ethereal Japanese music playing from The Zen Master’s computer. The Peach slept through the night again… well pretty much at least, she slept from 9pm to 4am which is a solid 7 hours. Can’t complain about that.

The day will be pretty busy; cleaning this morning, Princess Punk has a soccer game at noon (indoor still, outdoor starts next month), grocery shopping, a trip to the garden supply store for pet food and wasp spray (apparently over the winter a nest developed on our front porch… joy) and then to Burlington this evening with The Zen Master and The Princess and my mom to watch my dad sing Carmina Burana with the Burlington Choral Society. It is one of my favorite pieces of music. If you’ve never listened to it in it’s entirety, I highly reccomend it, especially when accompanied by a copy of the translation (it’s in I think 3 different languages, German, English and Latin). There’s nothing better than baudy monks singing about love and booze…

Life is pretty good 🙂

Mommy blahs

The Zen Master is an amazing daddy. I mean truly. It seems to come so naturally to him. His love and patience with Princess Punk and now The Peach are astonishing to me.
Me on the other hand?
I suck.
I love my girls. I love them more than I thought was even possible. My problem seems to be getting that across to them. I love The Zen Master but with him it’s so simple. I’m able to be loving and affectionate with him with no reservations, no discomfort, no doubt. My girls? It’s… Awkward. Even with the baby, I feel uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. It’s not the technical stuff, I know how to physically take care of my kids. It’s just when it comes to showing affection and positive attention that I seen hopelessly lost. Princess Punk gives me a hug or a kiss and my whole body stiffens up. It’s not that I don’t want to, it just feels awkward and confining. I hold Peach and she cries and I seem to be unable to comfort her. Something that should be natural and instinctive is completely foreign to me.
Add to this the increasing amount of opposition and dishonesty I’m getting from Princess Punk and I’m feeling helpless and a total failure as a mom. I don’t seem to have raised the older one with a decent sense of respect and honesty, two traits that are more important in life than most anything else and I am apparently dysfunctional in being able to provide the brand new one with the comfort and support that is so vital to her development as a human being.
I’m not sure what it is. My mom is incredibly caring and has never had a problem making it clear how much she loves me. As I said, I have no problem showing my love for The Zen Master, so why is it so goddamn difficult for me to give my 12 year old a hug and a kind word or to snuggle with my infant and soothe her crying?
What is wrong with me? Is this something that can be fixed or is it just the way I am and my beautiful girls are essentially screwed when it comes to maternal affection?
Ok. Done with the pity party. I totally feel like a shitty mom but I know I’m still doing better for my kids than a lot of others. And I DO love them. So much that it hurts.

Who’d have thunk it?

I have too much time on my hands.
The thing about me is I need to be useful. I need structure, a schedule, a list of things to do. Peach is finally sleeping more and as a result I’m slightly more rested. Problem is, I still have very little energy, I’m still dealing with some depression and she still has no kind of rhyme or reason to when she sleeps and for how long. As a result, I’m awake but lethargic and needing to stay within a few feet of the Peach because there is no telling when she will awaken.
It’s not like there is a lack of things to do around here… The house is a mess, there is a ridiculous amount of laundry to do and we have yet to do our taxes. Not to mention I should get out of the house every once and awhile but since Peach’s schedule is, well, not a schedule at all, there’s no way to plan any kind of outing.
So I hang out in my bed or on the couch, watching Law and Order and putting the binky back in The Peach’s mouth every time she spits it out and starts fussing.
I am bored.
I have no one to talk to and I’m so spaced out that I don’t think I could actually hold a conversation if the opportunity arose. Crazy Girl has come over to hang out a couple times and I babble aimlessly and then watch her coo over Peach. And I don’t want to go anywhere since it seems to cost me money every time I do and I think The Zen Master may kill me if I use the credit card again.
I think I’ve put on about 15lbs since I’ve been home because when I’m bored, I pretty much eat constantly. And unfortunately, even though I’m mind-numbingly bored, I can’t seem to summon enough energy to get something done around here. I’d really like it if I could just get my schmidt together for long enough to clean up just a little bit.
I’ve been avoiding my Ritalin since I’ve been trying to sleep some in the morning and afternoon when The Peach sleeps since overnight is still not guaranteed. I’m thinking I’m going to take some tomorrow and see what happens.
Oh and posting is a major pain in the ass as I’m still limited to my phone unless I go to mom’s house or steal The Zen Master’s netbook. Neither of those options arte either convenient or desirable.
Crap. Now I’m bored AND grumpy.

Baby Blues?

I feel like crap. I’m tired and I’m starting to feel like I’m completely useless for anything other than taking care of Peach. My house is a godawful mess, I can’t remember the last time I showered (overshare?), Princess Punk has basically decided that listening to me is a waste of time and The Zen Master is still working 6 days a week. Not to mention that when he is home, he is either giving me a break from Peach so I can go to the bathroom by myself out he is zoned out playing video games since that’s pretty much all he has energy for.
The last time I left the house was Thursday and that was for a dentist appointment. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had an adult conversation that didn’t consist of me weeping on The Zen Master’s shoulder.
My living room is piled with so much laundry that there is one seat on all three couches where you can still see the tv. There is not a single clean dish left in the house. I took chicken breasts out of the freezer yesterday so we would have something to eat besides leftover lasagna and chinese food but even if I could find a clean pan to cook them in (or god forbid, wash one myself) I am too f***ing tired wiped out lazy to cook anything.
All I want to do is stay in my rom and watch tv but I can’t even do that because we can’t find the remote because it’s a mess in here too.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I’d have to leave my baby, I swear I’d go back to work tomorrow. At least there I’d feel like more than just a waste of space.
Apologies for the grumpy, whiney and depressing nature of this post, I just felt like I need to vent a little.

The hospital stay

We had decided prior to my admission that we would stay at the hospital as long as the insurance would cover it. I wanted the extra support in the hospital and the time away from all the chaos at home was welcome during the first 48 hours of The Peach’s life outside the womb.
Staying at the hospital had pluses and minuses…
Plus- the nurses were fantastic. I mean truly fantastic. They were all super helpful, friendly and knowledgeable. Not to mention that at least two of them sat down and let me cry on their shoulder about my epic fail with the whole breastfeeding thing. One of them is even following my blog now 🙂
Plus- the lactation assistance was phenomenal. Between the nurses, the lactation consultants and the pediatrician, I got an amazing amount of information and help for breastfeeding and now I feel as though even if I’m not producing milk, I’ve ready done everything I can to make things work. I’m still not giving up but I feel less like a failure with all the information I’ve gotten.  Plus, The Zen Master was happy to see my boobs get manhandled by more women than Tila Tequila’s.
Minus- the food… Honestly, as hospital food goes, this hospital did very well, just not right for me. Their menu was based on a “mediterranean style” food plan, high in complex carbs, low in fat, less than average amount of protein. With my DS, I need to eat high protein, low carb and a meister amount of fat. Whole grain pumpkin pancakes sound delicious but will likely make me sick and hold no nutritional value for me. I’d be much better off with an omelet with ful-fat cheese and a side of bacon or sausage but it was a flipping war with the food service people to get them to give me what I needed. The nutritionist came to seeme and “had a talk” with the kitchen so that finally, on my last day there, I was able to get extra chicken breast with my lunch, regular cheddar in my omelet and actual meat with breakfast. It was a major pain in the ass though and I ended up going to the visitors cafeteria a couple times just to be able to get the amount of protein and fat my body needs. Oh and I had my dad bring me a double whopper when he came to visit.
Minus- The Zen Master was on his 32nd straight day of work the day I went into labor. So my lovely plan of us having some bonding time in the hospital with our new baby basically boiled down to me gazing at her while The Zen Master slept 90% of the time.
Plus- designated visiting hours allowed time to rest and relax without feeling bad about kicking people out.
Minus- bathroom was in the hallway. Hospital gown? Nuff said.

Not a bad experience overall and I enjoyed the extra time with someone taking care of me.

Then I got to go home… yay

Hooray! My pregnancy hell is OVER!

Ewwww… Sticky baby… Happy mommy though 🙂

Okay, so I know that no one really wants to hear the gory details of my new little one’s birth so I shall spare you. Let me just say it was painful, fast and an absolutely amazing event. Everything was so different from my total ordeal with Princess Punk and I was able to really experience this birth in the way I had hoped to, pain, joy and amazement all wrapped into one. The Zen Master was instantly in love with her as was I. She will from this point on in this blog be referred to as “The Peach,” so named by the Zen Master because she is “all pink and fuzzy.” Since she was almost 2 weeks early, she’s still has a lot of languno, the tiny hairs that cover infants when they are in the womb. Peach still has soft, fine, almost invisible fuzz covering her back, neck and shoulders.  Princess Punk got to come to the hospital the next day (Peach was born just before 1am) to meet her new little sister and she has fallen in love herself.

Peach is tiny. I mean really tiny. She was 6lbs 11oz at birth, almost 2lbs less than The Princess. I honestly totally forgot how little newborns are and this one is on the small side anyway. She is perfect though. Beautiful and tiny and perfect with pretty little fingers and itty-bitty feet. It still amazes me that we made this little person and she is ours to keep. She’s a very calm baby… She seems to take after the Zen master that way. She does seem to have a temper though which obviously is all me. Since all newborns really do is eat and sleep, she gets tired or hungry and will get pissed if she doesn’t get her needs met in a reasonable amount of time. She actually sounds indignant. It’s truly kinda funny.

I’ve been trying to breastfeed but as with Princess Punk, I’m not really producing any milk. It really sucks and it is very hard not to feel like a total failure as a woman that my body is unable to do the most natural thing that it was made for. Working on it though and with the formula (which smells GROSS btw) Peach is happy and sleeps for 4-5 hours straight which is keeping me sane since I am able to catch a little bit of rest.

My beautiful little Peach

Oh, and if it should ever come up… You should never lecture a new mom on parenting skills. This evil effing woman at the doctor’s office yelled at me in the parking lot because I had neglected to put enough blankets on my baby before going outside and her lungs were going to freeze. Seriously? She made me cry since I’m all hormonal and stuff, if I hadn’t been, I would’ve squared up and kicked her right in the damn taco. Oh and this was AFTER she touched my 4-day old infant’s FACE in the office without any invitation or warning. I’m sorry crazy woman, what gives you the right to touch my infant? I have no friggin idea why you are even AT the doctor, you could have effing ebola for all I know. AND, when we went to the pharmacy on the way home, the evil snitch was there too and this time she totally ignored me to the point where she pretended I wasn’t even there and cut right in front of me in line. GAH…

Anyhow, I suspect I’m not going to posting much for the next few weeks since… um… newborn and all. Gotta say though…  I’m SO unbelievably happy thatI ‘m no longer pregnant and I have this amazing and perfect little new person in my life.

Oh right… It’s Monday

I was wondering why in the hell I am so ridiculously grouchy today then I remembered it’s Monday.

~sigh~

I woke up in a foul mood. I passed out at around 7pm last night then woke up at 10 and proceeded to stay up until at least 2 (I stopped looking at the clock after that) My alarm goes off at 430. Snooze button anyone? The furnace was out so I had to reset it and it was 63degrees in the living room. Got Princess Punk up… wait, let me clarify… Told Princess Punk to wake up then went to get dressed and came back to find her still in bed, passed out like a frat boy with too much Jager… I’m pretty sure that’s when I started cursing… Actually, come to think of it I started before then when I got my clothes out of the drawer, put them on and realized the top of the pants no longer met the bottom of the shirt. Of my maternity shirt. And my maternity pants. Yay. I am now down to a total of 3 outfits that I can wear to work that still cover enough of my ginormous belly that I won’t be sent home for public indecency. Oh and both pairs of pants are PJs/sweats. VERY professional.

It was extremely cold outside. Vermont. December. Nuff said.

Not today Rosie, not today.

I stopped at McDonald’s on the way to work because a morning stomach ache was just what I needed to improve my mood. I was 30 minutes late to work. Actually I was 40 minutes late to work because I ended up sitting in my car in the parking lot for 10 minutes internally yelling at myself to put on my Big Girl Britches and go to work instead of turning the car around and going home like I really wanted to.

I’ve done very little today.I got promoted on Friday which should be a good thing but honestly all it did was make me feel like there is no more reason to stay here until the Moose comes. Great work ethic right?Oh yeah, and I’ve been having contractions all morning. Not painful, just uncomfortable. They’re sporadic enough for me to know I’m not in labor but constant enough to make me want to leave work that much more.

I am unmotivated, grumpy, tired and unbelievably sick of being pregnant.

I would really like it to be January now. Can someone make that happen please?

UPDATE: Okay so today was not completely crappy, I just got thrown a surprise baby shower at work where I got cake, a Charlie Brown Christmas tree and CASH… So maybe not so sucky a day after all 🙂

‘Cept mine had money tied all over it 🙂

One in Six

One in six American women has been a victim of rape or attempted rape. (RAINN.org)

Ok… As a warning… This post is something that most people probably don’t want to think about and may make you uncomfortable. It’s been somewhat of a struggle for me to decide whether or not to actually post this. This is something I’ve been dealing with for a long time and even after 16 years is very raw and fresh on my mind. I’ve decided that in the interest of honesty and frankness and in the hopes that somewhere out there my words might be helpful to someone, here it is…
I was raped when I was 16.
I had run away from home for some silly reason. I took what money I had and rented a by the week apartment 2 doors down from a crack house with a bag full of clothes and my ridiculously neurotic dog. I slept on a blanket on the floor. My “boyfriend” at the time, a 28 year old drug dealer stayed with me on occasion when he wasn’t “handling business.” I had been there about a week when my boyfriend and I got into a fight. He had dropped me off at his friends house, took my car and left me there for half the night. In hindsight I think he had actually been trying to pimp me to his friend. We fought all the way back to my place. When we got there we yelled at each other for awhile while my dog cowered in the corner.
I’m not sure at what point he pulled out the knife.
It still hadn’t occurred to me at that point that I was in actual danger. I believe I said at some point that he should just go ahead and kill me.
The next thing I knew he had pushed me up against the wall with the knife at my throat.
I will never forget what he said next.
“Your own mama doesn’t even know you’re here. I could kill you right now and no one would even care.”
He fell asleep after he was done. Like it was nothing. Like he had a hard days work and he had earned his rest. He left the knife next to the blanket like he knew I wouldn’t dare touch it. I actually sat there with the knife in my hand for about an hour, wondering if I could work up the nerve to do something. Eventually I talked myself out of it, not because I was above it or I was the better person but because I had never tried to kill anyone before and I was scared if I didn’t do it right he would wake up and kill me.
When he woke up in the morning, I took him home, dropped him off and went home to my mom. She found out years later what happened.
I wish I could say I smartened up and went to the police or at least never talked to him again but no. I didn’t tell anyone what happened for years. I didn’t talk to him again for awhile but I did date him again briefly a few years later. I honestly can’t say why. He never admitted any wrongdoing or even talked about that night again. It was completely insignificant for him. I think that bothered me more than a lot of the wrong of this whole ordeal. This was a life-changing moment for me. Something that shaped every day that followed. For him? It was just another day.

So yeah. That’s my story. In the past few years it has become easier less painful to tell. When I started dating the Zen Master, old feelings and memories became intrusive and found themselves seeping into my every day and night. At some point, The Zen Master broke through my wall and he got hit by an avalanche of memories and pent up feelings. And this wonderful amazing man absorbed it all and loved me that much more and I finally figured out that I am ok. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.  I’m not overit, I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely free from it but it has shaped who I have become and I’m okay with that. I only pray that the other One in Six women out there can find the same kind of resolution.
There should be no victims, only survivors.