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Issues. Got a tissue?

June 9, 2010

I seem to be having those crazy thoughts dance across my brain more and more often these days. You know the ones where you’re driving along in traffic, and you think, ‘what if I don’t stop when the car ahead of me does?’ Not that I want to cause an accident, not that I want to die, just that I’m numb and wonder if I’ll actually feel something.

Since that horrible Thursday, I haven’t yet gone a day without crying. Some days are worse than others, a lot of times I end up crying when I’m out in the neighborhood walking the dogs. Tuesday I cried on the way to work. Tonight I cried when I was putting V to bed. Saturday I lay down for a nap with B and ended up crying beside him. I was trying find the courage to have the talk. I need to ask him if it’s really over. I mean I know we said this would be the last time, but we’ve said it before. I know logically this should be the last time, but we were so close and as I’ve said before, I’d do it a hundred more times if I weren’t out of money and time. This may sound horrible, but in my mind it would have been better if we hadn’t conceived. I know there are people out there who would do anything to conceive, to get that positive, but to have it, and have it taken away is tearing me apart. Once I start down that path, I start thinking about our missed opportunities to adopt. We’d always intended to conceive through IVF then adopt, but again, we find ourselves out of time.

Pets. Oh my sweet geriatric pets. The week before we found out about the missed miscarriage we had to put our beloved Siamese down. I still miss her, still look for her, and V still talks about her. If I had my way, we’d have another cat already, not to replace her, but because we’ve got the room and the love for another pet, and there are so many out there waiting for us. Hell, if it weren’t for B I could very well be out in the country somewhere running a rescue for cats and dogs, and whatever other abandoned sweeties there are out there. B never, ever wants another cat. As the dogs go, he’ll never want another one either. This is a sore spot to me. I think it’s healthy for V to be exposed to pets, to love them and care for them. He sees them as a mess and burden. Our newest addition, but oldest dog has many problems, her eyesight is bad, her hips/legs are bad to the point that she’ll bambi on our hardwood floors and not be able to stand up again. She’s developed spots on her face that and I need to bring her to the vet and have examinedand she doesn’t have perfect control of her bowels. This one sets B over the edge. Personally, I’m glad we have hardwood floors and an unending supply of disinfectant cleaners. I am very fearful that she will not be with us much longer.

Added to this is B’s crazy shift coinciding with V turning into a demon child. I know there are many out there who are single parents or who are separated from their partners more permanently for work, but I’m old and crotchety and set in my ways. Having and being a fallback parent was a luxury I didn’t fully appreciate. As it is now I’m up with V at 5:30, get her fed, dressed with B’s help, and then off to school, then I’m ‘on’ from 5 until her bedtime. Until recently her bedtime was 7:30. It’s now creeping up towards 8:30-9pm and I need that hour back. And being on means dealing with a very unhappy, often to the point of inconsolable two and a half year old. If mommy suggests it, V doesn’t want to do it.
Me: Want to go to the park? (her favorite activity ever btw)
Her: Nooooooo waaaaaaaaah! *throws herself down on the ground like a limp noodle.
Now replace ‘go to the park’ with ‘eat dinner’, ‘go shopping’, ‘walk the dogs’, ‘have a snack’, ‘play dressup’, ‘have a bath’, ‘go outside’, ‘stay inside’…
When this isn’t happening, she’s fairly content. Fairly content used to mean playing quietly off by herself not getting in to any trouble. Now it means writing on the walls (pen, crayon, buttery hands), spraying poison (organic weed killer, windex), running out the front door, gluing pages of my books together with milk or calling 911. There are days I need a timeout.

I used to have a life. I used to go out in the evenings, to knitting guild, girlie poker, poker, dinners, parties, fundraisers. But how much sense does it make to pay a babysitter to do that? (Oh, have I mentioned we’ve never had a non-family member look after V? NEVER. I wouldn’t even know how to find said sitter, and then they’d have the pets to deal with to – oy.) Now I don’t even clean my house. I could be sewing, I could be scrapbooking or knitting, but instead I accomplish nothing, go to bed and wake up more tired than when I fell asleep. I need to get real people, the kind who don’t expect me to feed them, the ones whose noses I don’t have to wipe, back in my life. I need to do this before Mr. Effexor dances back in. There’s a whole level of crazy I don’t need to deal with.

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