You are good for me, now unsubscribe

*Update below*

You give me perspective.

I remember to feel grateful for what I have, and not just what I lack.

When people starting moaning about how poor they are because their portfolio dropped 37%; and really they aren't poor because they actually HAVE a fucking portfolio and they are moaning from a position of privilege, you write and remind me of Darfur or just the average kind of desperation that we real people struggle with.

And I shut my mouth.

I was at a fundraising meeting tonight and I was actually gone from my baby for an entire 3 hours. And when my husband emailed me on the berry trying to trasmit intense guilt about the lack of nannies and frozen breastmilk I totally rolled my eyes, because I actually was not worried. 25 tonnes of gourmet homemade baby food and twelve boxes of cereal means that life is not so bad peeps. The babe will make it.

(Google thinks that the correct spelling for breastmilk is buttermilk; am peeing with laughter *nevermind* *stupid aside* Sadly they also think that the correct spelling of Darfur is "deafer". Good God who is running Google? YOU ASSMORONS AT GOOGLE DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPELL DARFUR, no wonder everyone there is dying...)

Seriously, there is a point where you wonder if anyone in the real world; the meat world; can handle the real you. The terrible raw honest dead baby crazy lady you. And you try. You trust a few precious people with the real awful you. But they can't handle it. They pretend. They try. They find your blog by accident and they try to be so kind and not tell you that they know all about the real person you are, but it slips and the world is shifted and you just really honest to freaking god wish they would click away and never come back. So you could be you.

In case any of you care, I have a concussion, but not a fractured skull, only because no one has looked with their magic X-RAY machine, or the magic CAT SCAN machine. I also have ADD/ADHD AKA the magic disease that does not exist in the media world, but I'm only saying that so you will quickly unsubscribe from the the crazy lady. The concussion did not cause the ADD, it was already there. Suck it.

Anyway, we finally booked a vacation, but my husband hates me so it may suck a lot. Okay, he really doesn't hate me, but he is kind of peeved with me tonight. Enough? We are going to the Mayan Riviera for March Break, and we are going to an okay fancy-shmancy resort, but not the most perfect one on earth, because it is what it is, and we are going to be happy with what we have and that's good and we got a good price and we need some perspective. My hubs is okay with it finally!!!! Meanwhile, my BFF is driving me insane trying to get us to cancel and go other places, because she is like my sister and worries about us and wants us to have the perfect place. By the way, if you ever have more than two kids and want a vacation online, I know several places that will book five people in a room now. It should be more but really, people who work in the resort industry and have no business to speak of should be more flexible, like sayyyy-be willing to book adjoining rooms, or stick a baby in a room.

BTW, Jackie, who commented on my last post, and is quite welcome to promote herself on my blog, is THE GREATEST MOST TOLERANT TRAVEL AGENT ON EARTH. Feel free to hire her. Anytime.

She will put up with your crazie, anytime. Or at least my level of crazie. Maybe not yours, heh. Cause you just might suck more than me. Hard to believe, but true.

Just sayin'

Ok, only kidding, you really are good for me, likely in fact the best therapy evah. Ten times better than the dickheaded shrinks who drive me crazy.

*Just realized that this title is confusing. Regular blog readers please stay because you are good for me, people who know me from real life either political or personal and are secretly reading me, please unsubscribe.*

The real big winner

Lord, I am such a star it's a wonder the world doesn't just imitate everything I do.

Sigh....

Before I explain why, an update, Julius is feeling much better. We switched antibiotics last Friday and his fever is now completely gone and his ear seems better. He's off his schedule, but it's fixable. So that is the good news.

On to my tales of woe, last Friday, I got my Form 6 in for a delegate spot for the Liberal Party Leadership at the very last second on earth, and discovered later that my husband had gotten confused and thought that I was going alone, but since it's April 30th-May 3rd, Julius will only be 11 months and still breastfeeding and there is no way I'm going without him. Except for the fact that my nanny can't come since she is going to be elsewhere, and the Liberals generally don't provide childcare at conventions. And now I am either stuck trying to find a nanny out in Vancouver who can watch him in the hotel room while I go out to parties and he is sound asleep, or at least someone to help me during the day so I get to eat and shower and pay attention to the speakers.

And of course, my husband has to agree to let me take the baby all that way. He is hesitant because when I've taken one of the kids to a convention before, it was really crappy and I did not enjoy myself at all. And the baby at the time, Kaz, had his schedule all screwed up by the end. Not fun for him either. Mr.C. could take care of him, and I'd just leave frozen milk, but I'm not sure that will be so great.

Thing is, I went to a conference when Mac was 11 months old and left him behind, and hauled a breastpump with me all over god's green acre, and missed him terribly and that wasn't much fun either. I missed loads of stuff because I was pumping in my room all the time, and because I couldn't freeze it and it was too many days, in the end I had to dump the milk I pumped, which killed me. I don't mind breastfeeding in public, and dammit, nobody better even try to stop me, but I am not going to use a breast pump in the middle of the convention floor. That would just not work.

I'd been mentally preparing myself to be away from Julius for BlogHer in July and thought that would work since he would be a little older, and breastfeeding a lot less, if at all, but this feels just too soon, you know?

Stupid Liberal Party.....gahhhh, and they wonder why so few women and men of parenting age show up at these things. They have loads of singles, and young people and old ones, but almost no women between the ages of 25-45 ever show up at these things. If they do, they are mostly staff. (Based on my observations anyway.) Honestly, I am going to have to fight to get to bring my breastfeeding baby into the individual meetings.....some idiot will likely make me pay an observer fee for him! Which means I either miss some debates because I am somewhere pumping, or I miss the debates because I am feeding him outside the door, straining to hear. The NDP has fabulous free childcare, pretty much round the clock, and it let's all babies and small children into conventions whereever parents go. They have had it for over twenty years with huge success, but that would be waayyy to progressive for the Liberals, practically socialist, so that's a no go.

Oy.

A smarter person would have checked this out sooner and made better plans....fuck I am stupid.

Plus we put off taking a vacation for so long that my husband is not thrilled by the selection and price, even though we have one of my blog readers who is a travel agent, Jackie, working her tail off for us, trying to find us a deal. She is doing a fabulous job, but even she can't make a five star all inclusive resort in the high season suddenly drop it's price to nothing. He is slowing accepting this, sort of like he is slowly accepting the fact that when your roof falls in, you might have to renovate. You know?

More Oy.

Again, a smarter person would have checked it out and done a better job, maybe gone in February. I am stupid.

And bound to get stupider. Last night after the Oscars, I was sprawled on our bed, half asleep. My hubs comes in the room and I awake with a start---and smack my head right on the glass corner of the night table. I howled in pain, grabbed my head and saw blood. My husband ran for a cold cloth and ice, but I suddenly realized there wasn't just a little blood, but a giant gusher and ran to the washroom. After we cleaned up what must have been pints and pints of blood, we figured it was only a tiny cut, (the head is a veiny place, yes?). Bigger problem, I think I have a concussion, and with my crummy osteoporotic bones, likely a hairline fracture. Definitely a headache and dizzy anyway.

So there you are folks, don't you want to be just like me? Yeah, I thought not.

Oy

one more thing

sick baby now has bronchitis
annual fundraiser a big 'ol mess
friends not available right when I need them
birth relatives violating emotional boundaries
in-laws turning into unrecognizable schadenfreude experts
husband and I having huge fight about unattractive schadenfreuders
roof has an ugly tarp and ceiling still falling in
architect unable to remember previous instructions, keeps sending weird drawings
hormones now undetectable (LH & FSH) so I may have another disease to battle
unable to schedule diagnostic sonohysterogram due to 12 weeks worth of unrelenting bloodloss
kaz's school made several commitments to us on friday after I raised hell - and still nothing
behind on billpaying, even though I have the money, because the paperwork is so screwed up
no groceries in house, no supplies cause I barely have time to move, never mind shop
skin cancer spot on nose, or else I am growing an ugly spot
new car is still not working right
bloglines messed up, can't pick up feeds
feedburner messed up, can't figure out feeds
blogger messed up, keeps barring comments
ISP messed up, unable to get me on the net
gmail/blackberry both messed up, unable to send/receive messages
and last but not least
husband's long-standing, inactive auto-immune disease is active again - the one I can't discuss here, that scares the fuck outa me

enough people just enough

Blueish

I'm a bit down right now. My hormones seem to be a bit off. I don't know if it's my thyroid again, or my estrogen but I'm dragging my rear I tell ya.

It could also be the lack of sunshine. Or the overwhelming sense of anxiety I feel today.

Last Saturday we went out to dinner with a very nice couple we like, but they started to bicker over something minor at one point, and my husband and I jollied them out of it, but now, I haven't spoken to her at all this week, and I'm beginning to wonder if something went wrong? Everyone seemed happy?

Monday Julius got measured for his helmet. It was unpleasant to say the least.
Nothing like draping a baby in wet slimy plaster to induce screaming in him.
Hell, nothing like presenting mommy with a bill for $1500 to induce screaming in her.
(Yes, this is considered cosmetic, and therefore not covered by public health insurance. Because children with funny looking bent heads will never be bullied on the playground....eyeroll....issue #873456137 on my list of shit to fix in government....)

Tuesday I finally got the paperwork in for my passports and the childrens' passports. With absolutely no fucking help at all from my husband, who had promised me that HE WOULD HELP. Grrrrr. Anyway, I spent the entire time in the Immigration building convinced that I would be stopped by the guards and given a *special* government cavity search. Mostly because every single time I have ever been in a government building Very Bad Things have happened to me. (I was shaking, polite, and whispering the entire time, hard to believe, but true, I don't rant every second of the day.)

At one point they insisted that I need to have my adoptive name on my passport, except of course for that whole "legal" name change to another name. Ummm, HELLO, I changed it!?! I swear, if it comes back wrong, I'm going to change my last name to "Passport Canada sucks donkey balls" and then get THAT on my passport. That'll show em, right?

Ok, maybe not.

Actually, I'm more concerned right now about Julius' photo. There was a teeny little wrinkle in the background blanket behind him which may screw the photo. His expression was perfect, and blank, and fit all the regs. Yes, I got a baby to behave perfectly and pose nice, no drugs involved. But apparently that is not good enough. Teeny tiny babies must BEHAVE dammit. Here's hoping the wrinkle in space passes scrutiny.

Poor Kaz, though has the worst end of the stick. He alone will be required to carry his long form birth certificate at all times, or his passport will be invalid. The other children, will not have to do that. The reason, as I've discussed, before, is that we were not married when Kaz was born. We got married afterwards. The rules say that all children born to unmarried parents, aka bastards, must carry proof of parentage, because the department believes they are at higher risk of parental kidnapping than children born in wedlock. There is no statistical proof of this, by the way. Lots of parents get divorced and have custody issues, none of which the department can ever discover unless an opposing lawyer notifies them. Basically, they treat common law couples like criminals in waiting, and married couples like they are always perfect and innocent.

This leads to the bizarreness that says that my husband and I are quite likely to kidnap and transport across the border our oldest son, but fuck the other ones, who cares about those little buggers, right? We'll just dump them in a ditch, correct? Sigh...in case you are wondering, I asked, and they will be placing a note on Kaz's passport that denotes that he is different from the other children and must carry a long form birth certificate, along with notarized letters attesting that we "share" custody.

We don't have to do that for the other children.

Even though Kaz can speak and discuss and argue points as perfectly as an adult can. He stays in the house by himself. He has a cellphone. He can go on the subway by himself. He has his own bank account and manages his own money. If a cop or a customs officer asked him if he was with the right person, he'd answer properly.

Even though Mac is pretty naive at eight, not old enough to stay alone even for five minutes, and Julius is small enough for someone to pick up and carry away---no one will ever ask who their parents are or if they are at risk for being kidnapped.

None of it matters, because their slutty mother wasn't married before she gave birth to the first kid. Sigh....well at least I'm in good company. heh

I pick up the passports on December 2nd. Supposedly. We'll see.

Final bit o anxiety....I made the mistake of trusting someone I've known for years in the meat world with my add diagnosis. I came out and it was a dumb mistake, now they won't speak to me. Won't return emails or phone calls. I'm no longer a person to them. Back in the closet for me. Just praying this person won't out me now.

Scuse me, I need to go be scared of my own shadow now....

Again...

The internet broke again and I spend all day fixing it with the help of the good citizens of India. And in case you were wondering, I fixed the whole internet, not just my corner of it.

And I did it backwards, in heels, dammit.

Without a nanny. Who went home sick at noon. Leaving me to fend for myself preparing the house for my sister-in-law to visit and see Julius for the first time. This btw is the sil who does not like me, but makes an effort because of my husband. Same for me towards her. And she and Mr.Cotta have been fighting about Mr.Cotta's brother P. and it's all really straight to hell in a handbasket.....so the family was gathered tonight to try and gingerly get along and make up and be nice and supportive.

And it worked, sort of. My estrogen is incredibly low, almost non-existent so I'm on edge like a madwoman, but I kept it in check and we all tidied up and stuff. Even so, I think that everyone we've met is freaked about something, like schools, or money, or politics.

Money mostly, this financial craziness on the markets has got everyone on tenterhooks, everyone worried, even when they don't have any real worries. Like us, for example? We're okay because we have concentrated on paying off debt. Credit cards, lines of credit, and the mortgage, all gone bit by bit, then we have saved up some money in cash, and we have income from the business, more income than before, simply because we paid down the debt and I'm not making interest payments to the evil banks. A far cry from four years ago when I sometimes had to pay the mortgage with credit cards, and be very very careful.

When it gets down to it, we don't have much invested because we didn't have any real money to invest, apart from a little in RRSPs. (retirement plans in Canada, for my US readers) And most of that is in boring stuff like bonds and things.

Meanwhile, I'm continually amazed by the otherwise sensible people I know who have huge debts and then in the last few weeks, took whatever money they had and tried to play the market and short sell risky stocks. (They figured they could beat the market, make a killing and pay off their losses. *Eyeroll*) Or others who had large amounts of stock and investments and had never even thought of paying down any debts. Just lived like they were having fun forever. Now---they are wiped out financially and worried about paying the bills. They can't cover their margin calls, much less the groceries.

And those people, are now infecting others with their fear. Like some friends of mine who have government jobs, steady income, guaranteed pensions---they are FINE, but are freaking out by association. Others who are retired, no debt, and were very conservatively invested and have no losses are also freaking out by association. I mean, some people are recession proofed in every economy yet their perception is that they are not. Interesting how human psychology works, eh?

I personally am not going to let this thing affect me. It's bad enough when your hormones are on a rollercoaster, but when you let other people's finances affect you? Nope, no way. If we get into trouble, then I'll change my tune, but until then, I'm just going to feel bad on behalf of others.

So how many of you are in trouble? Little trouble? Lots? Enough to screw up your fertility funding? Your houses? Your health?

New schools

(Dudes, I know that some of you are interested in politics, and some are not, so what I'm going to do until the election, is post a little paragraph or link or something about it everyday, and if you don't want to read it then scroll down and comment about other things, and if you do want to read it, then go for it, and comment away.)

Big Fat Mouth opinion of the day: Elizabeth May should be in the debates, period. This is getting stupid people....just let her in and give it a rest. I'm not a Green supporter, hell, between the SUV I now drive, (34 mpg btw), and my incessant use of plastic bags, they likely think I'm a she-devil, but so what? I'm trying in other ways! So let her in, because lots of us want to hear what she has to say. What's the worst that can happen? That we might have to hear from the only female leader of a party, and *gasp* listen to her?

Other linky thing I saw: Guess what? Turns out that Stephane Dion has a hearing disability, which is why his pronunciation in english is so bad. Poor man has been hacked by the media over and over again and it turns out that he has a disability! I wonder if this will change the coverage he gets?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know how new baby mamas always think that the newborn stage is the most stressful, and that preschool dropoff is terrifying and the worst thing ever?

Weeelllll, these things never get any better, in case you are wondering.

I've been having huge stress attacks over Kaz going to his new school, which is basically a high school (Grades 7-12) and my husband acts like it's no biggie, but to be honest, he's kind of stressed but mostly excited about it all. I think he'd rather go to this school and relive all his memories than send his son! It's adorable, but it does kind of ignore the reality that this is a very different era. Sigh.

Thing is, we're once again kind of fighting about it all. (Hey, you didn't think that just because he knew about this blog that I'd be any less honest about things, did you?)

Firstly, I don't think Kaz, at twelve, is old enough to go on the subway by himself. Neither does his pediatrician. And all of his schoolmates at this age, either go with a large crowd of buddies on the subway, or they go on buses, or parents drive them and pick them up. And guess what? My husband, based on his own experience in life, in another city, thinks that he should go alone all by himself and get home alone. I think that is insane and I'm happy to drive him, but I think again, nostalgia is driving this, and frankly, this city is too large and too dangerous to risk letting my tiny little kid get on the TTC. Not yet, not alone.

He also wants Kaz to go to school with no LD support and no mention of anything to anyone at the school, and I want to get it taken care of quietly with nothing on his permanent record but lots of tutoring and extra help in class so that he stays on top of school assignments and doesn't get behind. ADD medications are great, but they don't work alone. He still needs help here and there.

Plus, the new school is driving me crazy with the special ed teacher wanting them to do an IEP or get something on paper official so that she can stick a label on his head, mostly because for this school the entire concept of LD accomodations is new and she wants to have something to back herself up when the teachers and administration think that all of these kids are faking it to get something extra. And honestly, I'd rather stab myself in the heart than wreck my kids future by labelling him. The "era of stigma" is not over. It's still in full flight and people like me, are well aware of it. I will never ever let my son's future opportunities be harmed because some bureaucracy decrees that all students be labelled and classified. As far as I'm concerned, that's as bad as it gets. Much worse than what was done to me, where my needs were never met.

So I am trying to get him another assessment, since the old one is five years in the past and we need to update it, and have a meeting tomorrow to go over it all and find a solution with the school.

Plus, Mac needs to get assessed and my husband has finally agreed to it, and please God let this work out.

Maybe this is why I have an issue with Palin. She makes raising a kid with special needs sound like sunshine and puppies are blowing out her ass and that her husband or her can handle it all easy-peasy--and frankly, that's just not my life experience.

It's just not realistic, regardless of the diagnosis. I don't care how much caffeine she drinks. She's either in denial, or full of crap.

Ooops, sorry about adding in politics to my mommyranting! Maybe they really do go together, eh?

Okay, the men are gone, let's party!

First, thank you so so much for all the lovely things that you said about me to my man. I am blushing, really.

So in the end, that went well. My husband thinks that blogging is like an online diary and that I seem to do well at it. He didn't read this entire thing, not enough time to go back and do it all, but what he saw was fine with him. As he put it, "Feel free to complain about me as Mr.Cotta online, if it gets it out and you can commiserate with other women about your husbands and you are happy, that's fine with me." I think he prefers that I do this as opposed to talking in real life with him, sort of like he used to view my pregnancy loss support group. He likes to talk to me, don't get me wrong, but like most men he prefers not to analyze every moment of every emotion we have.

Yes, men are from Mars and women are from Venus. And isn't it fun?

The deal is that he doesn't want to read the blog, and I keep it pseudononymous, and he hopes that I make it clear that I AM NOT A DOCTOR, so none of you think I'm giving real medical advice.

Hahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahaha

Lawyers are so adorable. Honestly, if blogs hadn't taught me about heparin, and how much to get per dose and how to shoot it up without becoming a black and blue pin cushion, Julius wouldn't exist. He would have died! Geez, it's not like my frigging doctors were any help. "Oh, that miscarriage was an aberration, a bad egg, just try again and see what happens!" ---yes, lovely advice from my friendly neighbourhood medical professional.

Like I just have to point out the crazy thing I read last week, about how Doctors were surprised that in large studies the flu shot did not prevent pneumonia. And all I could think was---duh. The flu shot prevents the flu, barely, and the pneumonia vaccine prevents pneumonia. You know, the vaccine that is given once, and gives lifetime protection against 23 strains of streptoccocus and is cheap and so is free in Ontario and is highly recommended for anyone who is elderly or immunocompromised, or has a genetic clotting disorder like mine, or several other medical problems----oh, your Doctor never mentioned it? Maybe because they make so much freaking money off the annual shitty unnecessary flu shot? Or maybe because Big Pharma does not promote it because it's generic and fuck why do anything that impedes profit margins?

No honey, I'm not a Doctor, but that's a good thing I think. Less Koolaid to drink....

Women need to talk to each other. We're not men, we can't just mumble and shuffle our feet and pretend we're fine all the time. I'm not always fine, how about you?

So I am just going to blog the way I always do, and hopefully he won't mind.

Hi honeybear!

Yes, that is my affectionate name for Mr.Cotta, and yes he now knows that this blog exists....oh good lord this could be a rollercoaster.

I had been having a difficult time with my life for a long long time, not knowing what to do with myself, feeling like a failure at a career, (Thank you ADD!) feeling like a failure at school (ADD, how you stalk me!) and feeling like a failure as a woman, since my fucked up body couldn't seem to maintain a pregnancy or an estrogen level. And yes, certainly a failure as a wife and mother, since I was struggling so much with the basics....I'd rather throw dishes away than wash them, for instance. Not a winning strategy....

Then I discovered blogging, and it seemed like such a wonderful thing---a support group that I could hang out in 24/7 and maybe even contribute to in some way.

Thing is, I knew that I would likely fuck it up in some way at some point, because of course that is the pattern of my life. So I never told my very accomplished, brilliant successful husband that I had a blog, because I assumed that it was going to go down in flames instantly. Why start a problem when it could all be over so fast? And the blog did get fucked up. Two years ago, I started this thing, and only a month or so later deleted everything, and abandoned it, then started all over again.

I figured after that I'd last a month, maybe two. But it kept going, and going, and going.

And here I am tonight, having a heartfelt talk with my husband telling him that I have a blog and I never told him because it was such a stupid little thing at first, and then it was bigger, and then it was amazing, and it has really really helped my self-esteem, and mostly I never told him because I figured that he might think that what I wrote wasn't good enough.

And that would crush me if it was so.

Because even when he exasperates me to no end, I still admire his opinion more than anyone else's.

Funny thing is, he is very happy that I have been doing something creative with my time and not just commenting on other blogs. He told me that he is glad that I do have a blog since he views that as pursuing my passion to help other women who have been through pregnancy and loss. But then again, he *might* just think this blogging thing sucks.

Monday morning he will be reading this I guess, or he may just not. We'll see.

Meantime, say Hi to my Honeybear!

After that last post

I think that a little clarification is needed---at this camp, as with all sleepaway camps, no parent is ever allowed to speak to a child, and no child is ever allowed to speak to a parent. Camps are the only institution on the planet that are allowed to do that. For all I know, they could be abusing or beating the children and covering it up. They could be serving them crap for food and no one could stop them, because there are no regulations and no authorities to overlook.

I am also sick of the idiotic argument that there is something good or wonderful or better in terms of personal development if a child lives away from their parents. 95% of children NEVER GO TO CAMP, and they turn out perfectly awesome. In fact, many of them go on to be CEOs and lawyers and Doctors. Do you know who goes to sleepaway summer camp? Rich, white overprivileged kids and occasionally poor kids who are recipients of charity trips. In the past, perhaps middle class kids could afford the fees, but no more. This camp is typical of the price that most in Ontario charge, some are less, some are more.

It cost us $3000 to send Kaz to this fucking camp, for 3 weeks.

Yeah, you read that right.

The one last year was a shorter time period, but a higher rate per week.

There are hundreds of pictures up on their secure website of all the kids. Don't get me wrong, they are all smiling and well-scrubbed and cute. But they are all white. Not one black kid, not one asian, in fact, the only brown faces in the crowd are the white kids who forgot their sunscreen. And it's not that we didn't look for a diverse camp. The problem is that they don't exist. The reality is that in most cultures around the world, people simply don't send their kids to strangers to be raised. Family in an emergency, sure, but not strangers.

The other issue, is that my husband does not understand my stress----and frankly neither does everyone else. I am sitting here terrified my child is in danger, and honestly, I need you all to think about something---one of my kids almost died two months ago, and I have lost three others. I need everyone reading this to let go of their preoccupation with the word "summer camp" and their own personal desire as children to go to summer camp and just think of me as a fellow bereaved mom whose child's life is currently at risk. Can you do that, please?

Because in real life my husband doesn't worry, and neither do my friends who all went to sleepaway camp. In my mind, allowing my son to go to sleepaway camp is huge sacrifice to me. It violates every single childrearing belief I have and every value I hold dear. I did not go through all this infertility and loss just to send my kids far away and not even get to be with them. I did this for my husband, as a gift, so that he would feel like his child got to experience something he did as a child. But he doesn't think of it that way.

He views my sacrifice as nothing, totally irrelevant, and of all the things that have come of this experience, that hurts the most.

Feet in my mouth

Feeling really down here....I really really screwed up in the last day or so, between being excessively late for various appointments, to commenting and emailing things that are the exact wrong thing to say to various people. My house looks like a disaster according to my husband, and he cannot understand why I can't keep it perfect. Meanwhile, things have disappeared all over the house? Half of Mac's clothes are missing? Both kid's are missing their asthma meds? Can't find them anywhere....

I am off my ADD meds, mostly because of my BP, and I am a total fuck-up as a result. Which has left me in tears and beating myself up.

Plus, Mr.Cotta's family is fighting over P. and what he wants to do now. P. is in a stage of anger and resentment at my husband and the rest of the family are choosing up sides, conveniently forgetting the thousands of dollars we spent on his care and support, and conveniently forgetting how close he came to death and that the only thing the Belgium government was going to do was put him in a hospital then jail. He has enormous legal problems if he goes back there, and can't afford lawyers, never mind supporting himself, so the joke is, how does he even afford a plane ticket? Oh geez, maybe the money we loaned him for his apartment? Sigh....He won't be allowed to see his ex-wife and kids due to the multiple restraining orders against him.....so what the hell is the point of going back?

He's conquered the depression, but he's still an asshole I guess, and instead of trying to put his life back together, get a job, get healthy, and make peace with his ex---he thinks email threats and legal fights are the way to go. And it's killing my husband because he knows that the only people who ever win in family law and divorce court are the lawyers. Literally, it is better to burn your money than spend it on a divorce lawyer because at least you'd be warm if you burned it.

So half the family is blaming my husband, when all he did was decline to unplug the life support machine and try to give the guy a chance. The other half just keeps tut-tutting and telling him they told him so---very helpful---not.

Does anyone think we needed this right now at a time when we are about to deliver a baby? Hopefully a live baby? Nice way to support us, eh?

Plus his business partner was just diagnosed with MALT Lymphoma, and we have no idea how that will work out. I'm just praying the guy is okay. He's pretty shocked right now and can't figure out what to do. The doctors have offered up various treatment plans, etc...but he can't decide which one is best.

As for me, I have a serious pain in my side, just around my left lung that will not leave even if the baby shifts. It's not gas, not intestinal, just very sharp pain. And that UTI? Is killing me because it is Group B Strep and I think it went up to my kidneys by the time I got the right antibiotics. I'm in so much pain I can barely see straight.

So as you can see--life sucks right now. I'm going to get a shower and see if that helps. Then maybe call my doctor.

Thank you for listening to my miserable whine....no I don't need any cheese with that. But a pat on the back would be okay?

Not enough rocks

I'm in one of those moods right now. I haven't slept much in the last two days/nights because my nausea/heartburn is back and I'm feeling really achy because I have to sleep upright again. I'm so exhausted that nothing looks logical or intelligent.

Like----I'm fat, and ugly and everything I wear looks awful, and doesn't fit my enormous freaking stomach. And my husband is bickering with me over stupid things like what to feed the kids, so every single thing he says right now I am pissed off at and suspicious and feeling like really it's all just a prelude to him asking for a divorce since I am so ugly and fat and huge and unattractive.

PLUS, my hairdresser had to reschedule my haircolour appointment last week, due to some silly CT Scan medical emergency thing he had, so my dark roots are showing really badly and I broke some nails, so now I look even more unattractive.

See?

Like last week he went out for drinks with that witch I mentioned before? The one who goes on and on about how incompetent her ex-husband with ADD is, and how much happier she is now she's divorced him. Meanwhile, no one has ever given him proper ADD medication or therapy----but he's "incompetent" to her. And I can barely take my meds anymore because they make my blood pressure go up, so i guess that makes me incompetent too. And she once came on to my husband years ago when we were married, so I really really hate her guts, and I don't care if it's business, he can meet with someone else for fuck's sake, but I don't see why it has to be her?!?

Why why why did he have to meet up with someone who is skinny, and attractive, and has all of her marbles, and is rich and has a high-powered job? Who I am quite sure is still attracted to him and wants to sink her claws into him, or at least convince him that crazy withered up ugly old me should be thrown aside like so much garbage so he can go live a great carefree perfect life.

I spent a whole lot of time this weekend convincing our son that he should go to church with his Dad even if he didn't feel like it, because it means a lot to his Dad, and just out of respect he owes him that much, because it's not like we ask him to do very much around here. All that, even though I personally think Church attendance is pretty useless. I believe in God, very deeply, but church? Meh. Meanwhile, I do this anyway because my husband is very hurt by Kaz's attitude and I want my boys to respect their Dad's wishes even though I think the whole thing is whatever---just like I'm going along with his crazy idea to try another sleepover camp after last year's disaster, and I'm going along with his crazy idea to send him to this giant high school, and all the other ideas he has.

I'm supportive of him in front of the kids even when I don't agree with him. So yeah----I'm feeling a little unsupported and paranoid and sad and abandoned by everyone who matters right now.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go ALL MY MYSELF to my ultrasound and Doctor's appointment where I will find out that I am being abandoned by my Doctor and left to fend for myself while my cervix mercilessly opens at only 34 weeks.

I hate men right now. I just hate them.

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And right after I typed that, I started to cry so hard that I choked on my own snot, and ended up peeing gallons all over the only pair of clean pants that fit my enormous ass.

I give up

Sometimes, I guess there's just not enough rocks....

Fuck Zen

This morning sucked.

My oldest son Kaz is hitting puberty, and puberty is a NIGHTMARE. Imagine toddlerhood tantrums happening in a child who is as big as you, and stronger than you. Imagine further that he is a terribly emotional person already and has ADD, which is driving you insane because hormones + ADD = bad bad bad.

Look, you all know that when my hormones are out-of-whack, I lose my mind. Hormone rollercoasters are bad, but even worse when LD/ADD/mental issues complement the mix. Girls are most often diagnosed with ADD when they hit puberty because their behaviour is so out-of-control, and the best cure ever, is to put them on the birth control pill continuously, and only let them off the pill for a week every six months, and during that week off, batten down the hatches, and coddle them. (And yes, they still need Concerta or Adderall, or whatever...)

Well, boys with ADD have a terrible time as well, except that there is no birth control pill for boys. Sigh... The only thing you can do is send them out into the wild for the teenage years like they did with the Spartans. Or, my fantasy----from the TV Show Alien Nation, where the aliens put their kids into cocoons that hung from the ceilings during puberty and the teenage years. They were allowed out when they were biologically ready to act like adults. Sounds perfect to me this morning.

So what happened? Well, Kaz has made a rule about not letting his little brother in his room. You will note that I did not say that is a parental rule in our house, because it isn't. We want Mac to ask permission and we want them both to show respect for each other's stuff, but I'm not going to make some absolute rule about it because as I've explained to Kaz a dozen/hundred/million times he is just making his room into forbidden fruit and ten times more attractive to Mac.

And frankly, this isn't his house to make rules in. He is the child, he does not own this house, and he is not in charge and can't make any rules. We are the adults, we make the rules. I'll listen to him, consult with him, be open to change, but in the end, we make the rules, because we're the grown-ups. We're smarter and more mature and we know how to run the family better. And someday when he gets older he will realize that we have his best interests at heart, but right now, he just has to live with it, and try to control himself.

This morning, Mac went into his room and was dancing around and waving the plastic vines he bought for his art project, and yelling, "Look at this, isn't it cool" yadda yadda, and then he'd walk up and touch something in the room with one finger and say, "haha, I'm touching your stuff."

All of which is wrong and provocative, blah blah blah but frankly, so fucking what? Kaz is older and knows it's no big deal, nothing was being broken or harmed or wrecked. He should've just gotten dressed and talked to him, and when Mac didn't get a reaction, he would've left. He could've called me, or his Dad, or he could've handled this in a dozen different non-violent ways---all of which I have coached him to do on on numerous occasions.

Instead he started screaming and throwing things at Mac to drive him out of the room and slamming his bedroom door so hard, it almost came off the hinges, and the vines got caught in the door and came apart....and I came up the stairs and discovered Mac in tears, and Kaz in a horrendous rage, screaming and freaking like he had been violated by the mere presence of a family member in his precious air space.

He sense of perception was completely out of whack, and he has somehow gotten the idea that his privacy is more sacrosanct than the cardinal rules of our home.

Number one rule: The most important thing is to always be kind to others.

Number two rule: Reread number one....nothing trumps that, regardless of the provocation.

As part of these rules, violence is always unacceptable. ALWAYS.

I've never hit Mr.Cotta. He's never hit me. We don't hit/spank/or manhandle our kids, and they can't hit us or each other or random strangers who piss them off. Hitting includes throwing things and slamming doors and frankly, doing anything that could put another person in danger.

Obviously, I expect more from older kids than younger ones and more from adults than children. Kaz headbutted me when he was 5 months old and killed one of my teeth. I had multiple root canals and skull surgery from a subsequent infection, but I never remotely blamed him for hitting me beyond once again telling him to be gentle. Same for all the dozens of bruises, scars, and cuts I suffered at his hands and Macs when they were toddlers. As they got older, and they hit, I kept reminding them to be gentle, and then made them sit in the corner, or took their favourite toy away. I gradually expected more of them as they were more capable.

But something got screwed up along the way, and we have not been as consistent with Kaz as we should've. We told him a long time ago that if he slammed the bedroom door, he would lose the door, and that if anyone, his little brother, or anyone else, ever got hurt because of his inability to control his temper, then he would lose EVERYTHING. Every privilege, every toy, every fun activity, his life would be shit.

And then we didn't enforce that. He slams the door, we repeat the threat, maybe we take away a privilege, but we haven't removed the door. We have not kept our word, so he just takes advantage. Part of the reason why we have been inconsistent, is because Mr.Cotta and I disagree about this. He thinks the slamming of doors and violent ourbursts are terrible, but he blames Mac for going in his room and provoking it. Which is blaming the victim, and allowing him to avoid personal responsibility, IMO. We can learn to control our tempers even if the other person tempts us. And if Kaz can't, then he needs to learn to. I think it's because Mr.Cotta treasured his own room, and his own privacy, growing up with 6 brothers and sisters. He views being alone in some kind of nostalgic glowing light, and conveniently forgets how lonely he was as he got older and how happy he is to be in a group of people.

I'm projecting too. I get very very upset when this happens because I remember growing up and living in fear of being hit when even the tiniest thing went wrong in the house. It has made me jump and cower for years, and seeing it where I live all over again? Not good for my blood pressure, not good for my anxiety, not good for me or this baby.

So we are stuck, and I am wondering what to do. I'm thinking I'll edit this post a lot and send it as an email to my husband and explain that regardless of what we do, we can't tolerate this behaviour. I can't put a teenage boy on the pill, but damn I can make it clear that he has to learn to control his temper. I really actually do not give a flying crap about his hormones or his issues. I've tried to help him in a hundred different ways to find a solution that does not involve violence or anger and yet----he does not want to try my way. His way is not working, and it will never work.

Sort of like my attempting calm and zen do not work. My blood pressure is bad today and my head hurts a lot. The next time someone tries to tell you that if you relax you will get pregnant, stay pregnant, stop miscarrying, or have a healthier baby, slap them for me. And if this baby comes out alive and healthy, then hey show them this whole blog. Prove to them that anxiety ridden wretcheswhoareungratefulshittymoms can make a live baby too.

And my refrigerator repair man from Sears has finally shown up, and is an asshole of amazing proportions. Gahhhhhhhh.....

A case of the blahhs and the rambles

I have lots to do---phone calls, buy paints, pay bills, file stuff, and yet, I don't.

After my rather manic post a few days ago, I relaxed a bit as I read your comments and realized that the whole reason I picked my hospital was because they are very good about respecting women and taking care of them during birth. Okay, they sucked back in 2003-04 when it came to miscarriage care before 20 weeks, but they have transferred all obstetrical care to one area of highly trained people, who are better at this, and really, every single hospital always sucks in this area. I wish someone in the system would figure out that there is no magical line, where women need good care when losing a baby after 20 weeks, but losing a baby is nothing and sort of like an appendectomy before 20 weeks.....there is no magical switch people. Really.

One thing about support groups is that you hear lots of stories about lots of different hospitals and how they act during the worst experience anyone can have. You get the good, the bad, and the ugly. And over time, it's important to remember that some can deteriorate, and some can improve. I know a couple of them did such a horrendous job with some patients that a wholesale change occurred throughout the hospital. People were told, policies were changed, and lots and lots of training occurred.

So there is hope, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to have an experience like I did with Matthew, literally the perfect birth scenario, (except for the dead baby part).

Ba-dum-bum--bah

(dead baby joke, scuse me)

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I know I'll feel better after this painting and shifting furniture gets done, I already feel better about the officewhichisbecomingthebabyroom. My organizer came by and she and I emptied years worth of paper and crap and what-have-you. I'm not really sure I need to have 10 year old copies of Today's Parent or Mothering Magazine, and I know that so much has changed that keeping those is pointless. Plus, a lot of these parenting magazines make me feel kind of shitty, you know? I know what my kid needs, but they all seem premised on guilt. Useless.

But dudes, the funniest part is that I hardly go into that office, and really only Mr.Cotta does. And oh lord, the crap he had kept! Half eaten protein bars, old water bottles, empty boxes with disks and user guides from old phones we no longer own, boot disks for Win95, 98 & 2000, backup disks for ancient computers we don't have anymore, critical documents like ownership papers for the car stuffed into envelopes and stuck under other piles of crap, and cables and wires and plugs and earphones all unlabelled for electronics all over the house.

All I'm gonna say is... calling me disorganized and blaming my ADD for the inability to find stuff in this house is no longer fair game. If we can't find a scrap of paper or someone loses something, I am NOT THE ONLY ONE TO BLAME.

I have a filing system by the way. The organizer helped me set it up. I have a beautiful filing cabinet upstairs with all of our stuff in it, one drawer is this years bills and records, alphabetical, and the other drawer is permanent records, like mortgage papers for the house, and warranty documents for stuff. I also have a filing cabinet on the main floor, which is made of nice dark wood to blend into the rest of the furniture and has some temporary files in one drawer, like bills to pay, and in the other drawer has all my electronic stuff for my camera, my computer, etc. all nicely tucked away so no one has to stare at my junk. And my laptop can go in the drawer, or sit on top.

He thinks filing cabinets are nice, but never looks in there. Ever. He asked a question about the mortgage documents the other day, and I told him to look in the filing cabinet and he didn't for days until I pulled the file. I guess it was too hard to reach to his left, only one foot away, open the drawer, and pull out the file clearly labelled, "Mortgage Cotta house - ## Address".

le sigh....

I adore the man, I do. The way I write about him, I'm sure it sounds like I don't, but I figure, well, loving someone means loving them for their good sides and their faults. All of them, all the bits. Even the bits where there they are quite sure they are perfect and are unable to see that have feet of clay too.

Poor pseudo-ADD man. He thinks it's only me---oh yeah, whatever.

20 tabs and counting, debate still ensuing

I have been unusually bizarrely tired this week. Okay, not so bizarrely, I am still recovering from having the kids home for March Break. Which is why there are 20 tabs of blogs open on firefox waiting for comments from me.

The person who invented March Break really was an asshole, by the way. Almost as big an asshole as the person who invented summers off. Kids need structure and routine, and these endless fucking holidays in which very few camps and sitters are available are the nightmare of every working parent in existence. It was one thing years ago when all the mommies were home and everyone let their kids just run wild all over the neighbourhood, but then we learned about creepy people and figured keeping kids supervised might be slightly safer and then women decided they might actually have the nerve to get jobs outside the house....and then some retro dip shit bozo in the 1970's invented March Break.

Right when all our mothers were trying to get free, they decided to make it more expensive to get a job. Sexist titheads.

I keep having this fantasy that someday every school will be open every day of the year except--maybe a few stat holidays and maybe a rotated few weeks for maintenance. And the schools would be all open like 6 am-9 pm, and they would all have meal and snack programs, and any kid ages 6 months to 18 years old would be able to be dropped off or picked up anytime, and every school would function like a giant community centre/daycare/camp, with mandatory weeks and optional weeks. There would extra teachers and daycare workers and older students would help take care of younger ones.

And nobody would have to send their kids there, but for the poor, the retail worker, the factory worker, the single parent, the person who works contract, the parent who works from home and has weird schedules....it would be fucking heaven on earth. Nobody would leave there kid there all the time, but what are the people who work at the grocery store 11 to 8 supposed to do? Or the nurses who work 3 days a week, 12 hours at a time, then have 4 days off?

And for me, a woman who is nervous about some nanny being alone with her kids? Yeah, I prefer daycare. I really do. I mean, if I can't do 10 hours alone with a toddler without losing my mind, how can I expect someone else to? What if they flip out? What if they let them play with french knives? What if they are bored with my darling babies and ignore them?!?!? I admit it, I really suck as a stay at a home mommy. I'm constantly shocked that anyone on earth can do it. I get paranoid wondering if anyone will be any good at it. I mean, a moron would be better than me, but still, I was hoping for better quality caregiving than "slightly improved than me the moronic mother".

So, I'd love to find a good daycare locally---but it really won't solve the issues I've got around what I do with the older boys when they are off school. And daycare for all three would be more money than the mortgage. And my house would still be a mess. And no daycare is ever open longer than 5 pm. So if I go back to university, or get a real executive type job, I'll never be able to work late or take a class that goes to 5:30, never mind a late evening one.

And someday, I'd like to be gainfully employed again, and not just in some dead end 9 to 5 joke job. I've done those, they suck. No challenge, no interesting stuff to delve into. And as much as I adore my kids, like I said, I'm not very good at the stay at home mom thing. I have waayy more patience if I get out and get a little intellectual stimulation every day, not to mention sunshine and fresh air and adult company.

If I get a nanny now, it will make sense because someone can help me put away the groceries and make meals and pick up the kids when I'm desperate for a nap. I can watch them with my kids now and get some idea of what they'll be like later. I'll already have someone here when the baby arrives, and I'm in round the clock confusion....but damn I feel like a rich dilettante being a SAHM with a nanny. You all do it, I should be able to handle it!

Someone is going to mention my husband pitching in...and for many reasons, including the new company and how many hours he works, plus he has some medical issues that mean he needs extra rest....I can't ask him to do any more. And since he isn't the writer of this blog, it would be unfair of me to reveal anything more about his medical condition here. It's not that big of a deal, it's just that he is already doing a lot to help and frankly, I think this pregnancy and the thought of a new baby, is pretty hard on him, stress-wise. Yes, another thing to feel guilty about.

This debate is killing me....endlessly turning it around in my head. Which is why it looks like I'm stalking you on your statcounters.

Sorry.

Any ideas?

Better and worse

Heartburn - better - all hail Zantac. I may try another kind later, but so far so good.

Steroid shots - lovely Dr.J. gave me one small one in each upper arm, (you don't have to get them in the ass!!!) and the second one was given today by my OB, who said that he couldn't bruise my arms twice, but oh well, he's actually pretty good at this so it didn't hurt too much.

(Many thanks btw to everyone who offered to help with the shots, luckily it worked out, but I sure wouldn't mind if we all got together someday, just to hang and have dinner, no need to see my ass or anything!)

BP is still normal, but I found some protein in my urine on the dipstick, probably because of the crappy food and lack of sleep and see the bit below about the fight....it might just be a false positive, I'm getting to pee on more sticks next time, maybe do some bloods.

Gestational diabetes test - flunked by a whisper. Normal upper range for the one hour test is 7.5, and I scored 8.2. Shit....now I have to redo it as the 2 hour ordeal with a 12 hour fast. And I think I even know why I flunked. I had a couple of snacks that morning and breakfast plus a Soy Tazo Chai Latte at S*bucks and filled it with a couple of sugars, etc. No fasting, so what the hell, right? Why not treat myself? Except for how it turned out, duh. Also, no one had told me that any drugs beyond the injectable steroids could cause a false positive, but it turns out that hydrazaline (the anti-itch stuff) can, and I had been trying it out as a safe version of a sleeping pill on the recommendation of my shrink. Or it could be the progesterone suppositories, which can also lead to false positives, (the shots can rarely lead to actually causing GD, bizarrely). Anyway, I'll go off of the hydrazaline and try something else, but I need to stay on the progesterone to keep my cervix together, so I'm a little nervous. I might just skip it for the night before or something then make up the dose. And I'm laughing at the diet they handed me. I actually eat better than this most of the time, lots better. The occasional treat notwithstanding I'm a bit of a health freak and now they want me to eat worse? Not quite...again the assumption that every woman with GD is drinking 10 cokes a day and a box of twinkies. Yep, big ol' bunch of bad mommies aren't we? sigh....

Bit of a large fight with hubby---Kaz got into that school he applied to before Christmas and I really didn't think he'd get in, so I didn't object enough then, and now I may be stuck! Mr.Cotta is so enthused you'd think it was that ridiculous sleepaway camp he sent Kaz to last year, you know, the one that turned into an utter disaster? Meanwhile, Kaz is being incredibly immature about his homework, and frankly, driving me a bit nuts with his tantrums over nothing. He is not ready for a big school, and he is not ready to take total responsibility for his schoolwork.

But once again, I'm going to get steamrolled and this will be a disaster and I will be right once again but can't say it and my poor husband will really lose it this time. He dreams that his kid can be just like him, but he can't, Kaz is his own person, with his own likes and dislikes.

It just kills me to see this happen over and over again. My husband is the single most enthusiastic guy on earth as far as his kids. He is convinced they have perfect character and perfect faith and no illnesses and no problems. He thinks I just overemphasize the issues and if I would just stop talking about it all the time, it would all go away. I prefer to think of myself as realistic. I think my kids are wonderful, fabulous human beings, with feet of clay. Faults, even. Occasional illnesses and some learning disabilities which don't have to stop them if we find the right way to help them.

Anyway, he ends up very disappointed sometimes. My heart breaks for him. I just hope that I can find a way to work it for my husband and maybe even work it out for my son. (And it's supposed to be about him, right?)

Oh yeah, and somehow I have to do this while in the middle of dealing with a high-risk pregnancy and maybe a newborn, hopefully a full-term healthy one....gee, anyone wonder if I need this stress right now?

I guess no-one in real life figured it out, or there wouldn't be a massive family birthday dinner party we are hosting this weekend, and we wouldn't be hosting Easter dinner for like 20 people either. Still don't know how that one happened.....

I'm here

I've just had a rough week and rather than blogging endlessly about it, I've been laying low. I've written several raving insane posts and then NOT published them. Be grateful, you'd wonder if I was the one who should be in the psych ward if you read them. Bad side, cleaning lady never showed up and I've had to do a lot of tidying myself, cleaning any household items lower than three feet from the floor isn't possible with my heartburn and exhaustion. Good side, my cardiologist gave me a clean bill of health and noted that although I've had some episodes of V-Tach they are pretty normal for my pattern and not serious. I'm going back in two months for another check.

Bigger bad side, in the last week, some unfortunate things have happened between my BIL and my husband and my BIL is getting a bit worse, and my husband is really upset, and of course, we've ended up arguing about the best way to handle it. Mostly because we both feel helpless and have no idea what to do. As a result I feel kind of sick, lots of vague pain and cramping and tiredness, but yes the baby is still kicking away. Emotionally, I react one way, and he reacts completely differently.

Funny thing is, we both react the way we did to crisis when we were growing up. We go for the familiar, not for what is best for us or for each other. We both know it, and after years of therapy we both fight it, but really, isn't it weird the way humans just endlessly repeat the patterns of our lives over and over again, knowing it doesn't help us, knowing how incredibly destructive it is for us, and yet----we fly towards the familiar like moths to a flame. Children of alcoholics marry alcoholics or other children of alcoholics, children who grew up being abused pick spouses or partners who have abusive personalities and even abuse them, children who grew up with rigid controlling parents, or emotionally distant ones grow up and become the same kind of parent, and marry the same kind of partner, all without ever recognizing what is happening. (And yes, the good patterns happen too, and sometimes happy accidents where a fucked up person meets and nice person and gets some healing. This is rare, due to fact that everyone on earth is fucked up to some degree. We are all the walking wounded people.)

It's not just DNA or neurochemicals or genes that determine our future, or random chance or luck or what have you, it's the desperate desire to feel like we're at home. Home in this definition, is whatever we grew up with, even if it was poverty or chaos, or adrenaline filled terror. Even the people like me, who spend years in therapy, and grow up vowing to never ever recreate the way we grew up can barely escape it. It takes every ounce of energy to not follow our instincts to fuck up our relationships, our families, our children.

I, for example, am an expert at driving people away. Good people that is. The better they are for me, the more I shit on them. Like my husband? If there is something I can do to piss him off and make him hate me, it will take a superhuman effort on my part NOT to do it. You see, I sincerely believe that I am worthless and in the end will be left all alone and with not a soul to love me or take care of me, just like when I was growing up, so what do I do? I try to make it come true. To my deeply fucked well-trained brain, he's going to leave me someday anyway, so why not get the pain over with now, right? Just rip that band-aid off!!

(As an aside, this is why I'm never surprised when foster kids or kids adopted later in life act up in a safe secure environment for years on end sometimes. Cause, hey, safe isn't normal, right?)

When every person you love ends up abandoning you, or dying, or disappearing, it's the norm, and the norm feels right, and when there are people left milling around in your life and still here, it feels not normal. It feels odd to be loved.

This past couple of weeks it feels odd to have him come back, it feels odd to still be pregnant with a live baby, and it feels odd to have living kids who still love me and aren't leaving me and are healthy and relatively normal. It feels odd to have a clean organized house and it feels odd to have clean laundry, and it feels odd to have food in the fridge and money in the bank.

I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Quick someone---make something bad happen. I'm not sure how much more I can take.

Yes, he's back, life is normal--weeee

So I've had my husband back for a few days now, and we've jumped up and down celebrating and the kids have forbidden him to ever leave again, and yes, I do care about what happens to my BIL. I had a momentary flash of selfish anger when I missed Mr.Cotta, but I'm feeling a tad more generous now.

(I admit it, I actually muttered, "Just leave him at the side of the road and run away, fuck it..." but I didn't really mean it. Same with the several times I declared that I would kill said BIL myself with my bare hands for putting us through this, if he ever recovered.)

Anyway, it turns out that he is seriously physically ill as well as all the mental/emotional issues so I am glad we brought him back to Canada. He's getting everything fully checked out and readjusted since of course any new drugs he needs will affect his liver and kidney function, etc, not to mention his cardiovascular system. Frankly, this sounds like the kind of thing most people need. I can't tell you how many times I've heard of people with medical issues having their socio-emotional issues overlooked, and how many times I've heard of people with mental illness having their physical issues overlooked. And then everyone is surprised when things fall apart later. Now I'm just hoping it all works out the way they claim it will.

So enough about that for the moment.

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The baby is still kicking away and my tummy is getting bigger all the time. So far, no stretch marks this time...quick everyone knock on wood! I know I won't escape them totally, but I was hoping not to add to my collection. I mean---if my skin has stretched a couple of bunch of times already, then eventually don't I get a free pass?

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I have to do my glucose tolerance test next week, so I'm trying to pick a day with as little barfing possibility as I can find, or at least as much time afterwards for me to recover. I hate the orange stuff they make me drink--blech. I'm hoping I can get something better tasting, but who knows?

After I do the glucose tolerance test, I can get my steroid shots. (My cervix was fine, 3.5 cm, so I probably don't need them but I begged and he gave in, nice man. Love my OB to bits.) Apparently, if the shots are done too close to the glucose test it messes up the test results? Dunno...anyway, I am trying to figure out who can give me one of the shots in my rear, since I can get the OB to do one, but the other one has to be exactly 24 hours later or before. And Mr.Cotta is squeamish about needles and anything medical related. If men had to be the pregnant ones and give birth, we'd be childless for sure....poor man. I'm trying to book an appointment with my GP but just in case she has no space, I need to line up some volunteers.

Anyone in the Big Smoke wanna shoot me in the ass?

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I want to take my husband to the interior design show tomorrow, since the kids will be busy with other activities. (Mac is at the zoo, and Kaz is going on a school trip.) We need to start deciding on things we would like in the house and I want to get an idea of his taste, etc. so we can work on the house reno. He would rather stick a fork in his eye than go to it. Go figure...

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I spoke to the patient advocate's office about the holter monitor, and between my digging around and theirs, we figured out that there is a way to do this without making women go braless. Basically, 18 months ago they got new monitors that are extra sensitive and if a bra strap goes directly on top of the pad they stick on the skin, they produce artifacts. So the techs just banned bras. Never actually occurred to them that a woman could adjust her bra straps so that they don't cover the pads....fuckin' idiots. So, I have asked that they tell every woman coming in to the situation and make it clear that they could use a sports bra or a camisole with a built in bra, or a bra extender, or whatever, and that the straps can't go directly over the pads, but have to be below or above them.

They seem to think this will be too hard for women to understand, especially uneducated women or ones with ESL problems. I think that if they simply say "No bras" that women will be less likely to get the test, especially immigrants or women who are well endowed, or women who simply have modesty issues, either cultural or religious ones. So, I battle on.

Same issue btw, for the window coverings. Turns out they aren't in the postpartum or L&D or high risk floors...the nurses went apeshit when some goof suggested those be installed over in that department. So I can sigh with relief on that one. As for the cardiology department, they insist no one can see in, but I insisted that is untrue, and even if it was true in some lighting and in some situations----most women don't feel comfortable stripping in front what they perceive to be open windows. Even if it's expensive to change the shades, they could put in a movable screen to cover the bottom part of the window. Exhibitionists can strip away, and the rest of us can put up the screen. Reasonable IMO, impossible in their opinion. So, again, I battle on.

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I have to get my professional organizer in to help me move furniture around in anticipation of the baby coming. I'm not setting up a nursery just yet, but I'm thinking about where things will go, and it looks like Mr.Cotta will be losing his office. And our bedroom will be switched with Kaz's so we can get the baby at night easily without stumbling down to the other end of the hallway. Needless to say, I can't move all this furniture, and my husband has no time, so I'm hoping she can bring in her crew and we can get the place painted and sorted out without too much pain and agony.

So, there you go ladies and gents. A quick rundown of the miscellany of my life. Hopefully not too boring. Then again, boring is nice sometimes. In fact, it can be pretty great.

Almost over

We finally got P. here, and after much travelling and toting, etc, he is almost settled in a hospital. Tomorrow morning he'll be admitted, right now he's in a hotel being watched all night. And in a few minutes, my husband will be home, thank God. P. is being admitted voluntarily for now, btw, and I do believe that this is a mistake. I think he is bullshitting everyone that he is willing to change and get help. I think he is once again, working the system. But at this point, I simply no longer give a damn. I can't. Someone else has to help out and care, because we're at the end of our ropes.

My kids are falling apart, and I've lost my mind days ago. Their behaviour has deteriorated so completely, I have reached the conclusion that Mr.Cotta and I could never separate, never get divorced and never separate our kids from either parent. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to do any of those things at all, just sayin....

Holy mackeral, this experience has shown me that my kids at least, are serious creatures of habit, who need their routine and need to see, that just like every other day of their life, their Dad and Mom are right there every morning and every night. Now, if my kids were used to me doing shift work, or to Dad doing regular travel that was predictable, maybe. But they aren't used to this, any of this.

From now, I swear you will not see me say that kids can adapt to anything, that kids are resilient, that kids can adjust. Maybe they can after a long long time, with a lot of counselling and prep and support and help, but I'm going to have trouble believing it.

A lot.

A little more whine please

Can't have any cheese, being lactose intolerant. Or real wine, being pregnant and all. So I need to whine.

But first, a medical update, last night I found out that P. has come out of his coma, and has no physical repercussions. Unfortunately, he seems to have brain damage of some sort, or else he underwent a total personality change while asleep for 72 hours. He sounds and acts articulate and intelligent, but doesn't seem to comprehend anything that has happened. It's like the antifreeze and pills destroyed the parts of his brain he used to use for executive functioning. And this used to be such a gentle kind wonderful man, a CEO, a brilliant guy who had such class and dignity. He had depression and was taking medication for it, but he was still himself. Now, even my husband, his own brother, barely recognizes him. Unfortunately, his wife is pretty damn useless when it comes to a tough love approach to serious mental illness. She has no idea, (hint lady: consult a psychiatrist and a neurologist? Then force patient to follow through, stop feeding his issues and making them worse). She is completely helpless in any situation that doesn't involve a credit card and designer clothes.

Never mind.

So yes, ladies and gents, the worst case scenario has occurred, he lives, but not well, and may never again. I feel such agony for my husband's family right now.

The current fight, by the way, is how to get him to either be committed there, or here. Here in Canada is better because he will have no choice but to focus on his own issues, and can't show up sick in front of his kids, but oh how hard it will be to be so far away from them. I'm hoping that when he feels a bit more even keeled, we can get them to come visit, and he may be able to be keep it together for them. Maybe they won't have to grow up without a Daddy.

I have hope that there is worse and better in this situation. He'll never be perfect ever again, but he can be better than he is now, and that's all we can strive for now.

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Back to me for a moment if you don't mind; I'm feeling kind of bitchy and tired since I am alone without my husband and big and pregnant and tired and my kids are acting up and there are a zillion inches of snow, and well, FUCK.

I know that it is selfish of me to be upset about being alone on Valentines Day when my husband is trying to help his sick brother, but would you all understand if I just need to whine a little and not be stoic?

I'm just so tired of being stoic. It takes a lot of energy. Energy I just don't have.

Plus anyone I've spoken to in real life about this just keeps saying stupid things that imply that he is at fault in some way for being sick because he must be such shit to live with and his wife must be some sort of long-suffering martyr----except that SHE ISN'T. She is in fact the polar opposite of a supportive spouse. Oh happy day, no one in blogland has said this stuff to me, and thank you thank you thank you for that. I just want to hit some of those real life twats, because when they start in so smugly on how hard it is to live with "those people" it feels like they are implying that he deserved whatever he got and somehow anyone who attempts suicide is characterless and a write off as a human being.

Oh, I know that isn't coming out of their judgemental lips, but it feels like it.

So I'm sad and frustrated and all alone on Valentines Day. Not precisely the romantic day I had planned.

I'm going to go drown my sorrows in cupcakes now. Specifically chocolate cupcakes with pink icing and sprinkles.

Lots of sprinkles.

A little more news

I'm not sure if it's good or bad news but we know a little more now. My husband arrived at the hospital and saw his brother in the ICU early this morning.

He is still in a coma which they say is a good thing for now. They hope to finish cleaning his blood by tomorrow using dialysis and then try to wake him. The prognosis is fair to good, though we have no idea what the permanent damage might be, if any. His heart and bp are stable for now.

Trouble is, that if they are able to remove all the poison from his body, but they leave him brain damaged for life, a walking shell---this is frankly, not the ideal situation IMO. My husband thinks that the doctors there are doing a really great heroic job and are doing their best to save him. I guess I'm just feeling nervous because I'm wondering what that hospital's version of "saved" is....I've seen many severely brain damaged adults who end up as vegetables in nursing homes, or on the other side, adults who simply can't function properly. They look fine to the outside world, but are afflicted with serious personality changes and serious cognitive dysfunction. Can't work, can't be around their families, rages, anger, other issues. My husband logically knows all this, and he would hate to see this happen as well, but some Doctors just won't tell the family the truth, they lie, they omit, they are afraid to break the bed news, and the result is the family thinks the patient will be fine. But they really really aren't.

We'll know more tomorrow, for now, we wait. Not my strong suit. My husband will be away at least until Sunday, and of course, we have yet another major snowstorm rolling in....and my house is in disarray, and my kids have lots of activities and appointments scheduled. And just now, my oldest gave up on his homework and is in tears. Apparently, definitions of spelling words are just overwhelming at the moment. I can hardly blame him.

On the bright side, I saw Dr.Placenta and since I'm doing so well, so incredibly amazingly well, he told me to just see my regular OB from now on in. If anything looks funny on my US's I can come back, but for now, the baby and my placenta look healthy.

Such a bizarre thing for me to hear, and such a bizarre place for me to be in. The baby is fine, and my brother in law is dying. I feel like Alice in Wonderland...up is down, and down is up.

Our take away message for the day folks----the next time you wonder if suicide is the answer, remember that you may not succeed. In fact, you may wish to god you had succeeded, because there ARE worse things than death, and much worse things than taking a pill and talking to a Doctor.

So don't do it. Just don't.