Most times when I feel myself feeling too “whatever” I don’t act on it, I just walk away and steam or cry in the bathroom and feel really [insert emotion here].  Later I can look back and see that it was (usually) just my hormones, and I’m thankful I didn’t say or do anything crazy.

But sometimes I am just irritated that I can’t say what I want to say.  Not always mind you, because I come from a past filled with people that don’t filter, and say the first thing that comes to their mind which was usually cruel, hurtful and sometimes scarring.  I do not believe that’s a healthy way to live, and I don’t want to create that relationship inside my own family.

Sometimes, yes, you do need to say something to stand up for yourself or make a point.  But more often than not I think you should keep your mouth closed and take time to cool off until you can hold a rational conversation and be able to listen and absorb and recognize the other persons point of view and the fact that sometimes, they might in fact be right.  Which in turn means that yes, you might in fact be wrong.  It’s a novel concept for many people, I know.

All that to say 1) these pregnancy hormones are really getting to be annoying and 2) it should go without saying that due to the previous statement, my husband is driving me crazy.

He still only works two days a week but they are full days and he’s gone about 8am to 8pm so we don’t see him.  Now he’s involved in this pseudo-documentary thing that he works on every other day so, we don’t see him.

[Enter my hormonal rant today]

For one, we haven’t seen much of him in over a week and have spent almost zero time together since he’s started.  I’m trying to be supportive about it because at least it’s something film related and he doesn’t have much if any of that in between Chicago in the summers but, and a huge but here, but I don’t really care.

Second, it leaves me in a lurch with childcare.  We had planned to put Avelyn in a preschool program two or three days a week starting this month but decided there weren’t any programs available that fit our specific needs at this time.  We thought we found a great solution when a friend was free the two days a week I needed and were really excited about her watching Avelyn in the home without other kids to worry about but due to a scheduling conflict that fell through too.  Kevin’s parents have watched her when necessary but I don’t want that to be a permanent solution, for multiple reasons.  The broadest being I think grandparents deserve to treat grandchildren like grandchildren, and if they are responsible for keeping her on a regular basis then they really need to make an effort to stick to our rules and our schedules and do things our way, just like a regular babsitter would be expected to do.  That’s been an ongoing issue with them from the beginning.  It’s not a situation that is fair to me as a parent or to them as a grandparent either.  Also, I don’t feel like Kevin ever really hears me on this topic.  I always feel like he’s totally annoyed with me when we talk about it and I tell him I don’t want his parents watching her as often as they do.

Coming back to the documentary subject, I’m a little ashamed to say I just don’t care.  I don’t.  I’m being supportive in the best way I can be right now in my condition which basically means keeping my mouth closed and staying out of the discussion.

In case you didn’t know, I am pregnant.  Almost thirty four weeks pregnant to be exact and my body is kicking into nesting gear and preparing to give birth.  I am still working 36 hours a week and I’m tired.  When I’ve been gone for 14 hours a day I don’t want to come home to a dirty house and an excuse that he was gone all day too and was too tired or too busy still working on something to clean up when he got home.  Because as far as I can tell, he got home by 7 or 8pm, and it’s midnight when I get home.  I’m sure that somewhere in those 4 or 5 hours he could have found 30 minutes to pick up and straighten.  I know this is possible because somehow on my days off I always spend at least the first half hour after breakfast cleaning the mess from the days before.

I’m stressed about getting things done that need to be done before the baby comes.  I’m stressed because we still don’t technically have a name yet.  (We actually have a first name we both like but I just found out it’s a lot more popular than I thought it was and I HATE that.  Also we haven’t totally settled on the middle name.  There are two possible options in the works.  One sounds better than the other and is a family name but the second is a family name that means more to me.  What to do, what to do…)  I’m stressed about working up to giving birth because physically I just can’t do what I used to be able to do and I don’t want anyone at my job to think I’m slacking.  I’m stressed about spending enough quality time with Avelyn before the new baby comes; I just love our time together so much.  I’m stressed just thinking about him going away for the summer again because it will be so hard for me, in so many ways.  I’m stressed thinking about what will happen if I go crazy after having a baby.  I freaking hate having people help me with anything.  I’m STRESSED because I’m so irritated with Kevin all the time, and I remember how hard it was after Avelyn was born, for months. Heck, maybe years?  (While we’re on the subject, can I add that I’m stressed about opening up comments again, something I would really like to do?  I’ve received enough email comments from people being really supportive about closing them and now I miss hearing from you guys.  I am opening up comments on this one post.  We’ll see how it goes.  I doubt I will open them up for good again because I know the people who often annoyed me with their words will starting stressing me out again.  Ugggggh.  It really sucks when one or two people ruin it for everyone else. Namely me )

In short, I’m stressed.  I’m irritated.  I’m tired.  I’m worried.  But so much more than that, I’m really, really excited and happy about having this baby, and the fact I sometimes feel all those other things just makes me annoyed today.

What the heck, Life?  Can’t you throw me a bone?  Preferably in the form of a husband who can read minds and subtle cues and just do everything I want him to say and do without me having to say it?  Because that would be suh-weet.

T-minus 44 DAYS OR LESS to go. Holy. Cow.

We’ve been “together” for a little under 12 years, married today for 8 of them.  Isn’t that weird?  It’s weird.

So far I’m having a not too terrible day of watching Beauty and the Beast with my little beauty while Kevin has his first day of school.  We are supposed to go out tonight for dinner, a dinner that hopefully I will be able to smell and taste which is something I have been unable to do for more than a month.

These days I’m feeling exhausted, spend most of my waking hours feeling sick to my stomach and am generally feeling sorry for myself.

I don’t want to go out tonight.  I’m not in the mood.  I’m tired.  I have no appetite.  I like being home when I don’t work.  I really like being home when I don’t feel good.  But… I haven’t felt up to doing anything just the two of us since he got back from Chicago.  We went to a movie last week but again, I felt crappy and was in a bad mood for most of the night.  So I feel like I owe him to go out.  It is after all, a day I’m supposed to reminisce fondly of and want to spend with him, right?  So… I’m going to try to make an effort.  I probably won’t do my hair up or wear anything really nice and hopefully he won’t want to go to some fancy restaurant that takes three hours to eat a meal.  It’s just hard to get into anything feeling the way I’ve been feeling, which is kind of down in the dumps.

Ugh.  Happy anniversary to me.

Earlier today I had a great idea for a post but it was mostly full of things that were irritating me about my husband.  Things like setting his chocolate milk glass and spoon next to the sink instead of inside the dishwasher that had been running for only 3 minutes.

But then I remembered how he put the clothes from the washer into the dryer on his own, without being asked, even though the clothes hadn’t been washed yet and would probably end up with set stains.  Or how he bought me a gallon (a gallon!) of Pink Bubblegum Ice Cream from Baskin Robbins when all I swore I wanted was a pint, and has never once made a comment about how much I shovel in nibble every single night.

So I thought it best not to write that post.  Not on my anniversary.  A sacred and holy day.  The day I signed my life away to spend with someone else forever and ever and ever and everrrrrrrrr.

I wrote this story instead:

Seven years ago today, at around 8 pm the sun was setting in the hills and a vineyard was bathed in golden light.

A girl in a white dress stood behind some rose bushes stomping her foot impatiently, waiting for all the guests to be seated.  “It’s my wedding!” she told her grandfathers, “If I’m ready to go that’s all that matters so let’s get this show on the road!”Parents and grandparents were escorted down the aisle.  Girls in red dresses made the walk too.  Then the music changed, something about air wearing a G-String, and it was time.  All of a sudden the girl in the white dress couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t move.  This was it.  Like IT, it.  Her one and only chance to make this walk, and she was torn between running to meet the guy on the other end and moving painfully slow so as to capture every sight, every smell, every memory there was in the air. And also to make sure everyone saw her in that damn dress that cost her so many pretty pennies.  Her Grandfathers walked her slow, each clutching an arm and making sure she remembered this moment.

They tossed her away presented her to the guy waiting in the black suit.

They said “I Will”.

Then they turned around, married.

And they ran away!

Just kidding.  They only ran to the end of the field.  Because that’s what you do when the William Tell Overture starts up.  You run down an aisle.  Laughing.

They smiled a lot for the camera.

And took a walk in the outrageously hot summer night.

There was food and dancing.

And good times had by all.  Maybe a little too much good time.By the end of the night we were beat and dragged ourselves outside to leave.  The 3.2 people who stayed late enough to watch us go got to see the big finale.

Then it was over.  Just like that.  Thankfully the fun continued as the newlyweds “honeymooned” for a week packing up an apartment to move to Chicago.  It was earthshakingly romantic.  But at least we had a good time.

The wedding.

We went out on our first “official” date on Saturday, September 12, 1998.  In a decision that will go down in history as one of the WORST IDEAS EVER, I had my hair cut a few days before.  It was the start of my senior year in high school and I wanted a change.  I asked for the bob haircut like Cameron Diaz had in There’s Something About Mary (which I had seen at least twice that summer.  I guess a penis getting zipped up in the pants just never gets old).  I ended up with the hair lovechild of Kinicke and Rizzo from Grease.  Yes, it was that bad.  No, there are NO pictures from the entire senior year I spent growing it back out.

Back to our story.  It was our first date, and I had bad hair.  In order to downplay the manliness of the cut I had the brilliant idea to wear the delicate and smart ensemble of – wait for it – khaki pants and a white, long sleeved button down shirt.  Tucked in.  With brown loafers.  Did I mention the really bad hair?  I know, you can’t believe that this story ends in marriage but it does.  Keep reading.

So we ate at Magic Time Machine and I think I had the fried shrimp.  I actually can’t remember what we did between the dinner and the end of the date because my stomach was full of butterflies the size of boulders.  If I could remember in accurate detail anything we had said or thought that night I’m sure it would sound something like this:

Oh my God.  I’m on a date.  Like, a REAL date.  With Kevin Welch.  I wonder when he’ll kiss me tonight.  What if he doesn’t kiss me?  Is it because of my hair?  Shit my hair is bad.  Oh God he keeps saying it doesn’t look that bad.  Liar!  Why do you keep bringing up your hair?  If he doesn’t care just quit bringing it up you idiot!  Seriously!  Shut up about the hair!  Stop touching it!  What if it never grows out?  What if your hair stays like this forever?  I wouldn’t date me looking like this.  Why is he on a date with you?  He is so much cooler than you are.  Aw crap, why did I order the shrimp?  Who’s going to kiss someone with bad hair and shrimp breath?

Yeah, it would have sounded like that.  As it is I can’t remember anything we said or thought that night but I remember the end of the date quite vividly.

My curfew that summer was 2 AM.  You better believe I wasn’t going in that apartment one minute before 2 AM.  So there we were, standing outside my apartment leaning against his car.  Doing what?  Nothing, that’s what.  Just leaning against a car, awkwardly talking about nothing, elbows grazing each other, waiting for the other to make a move.  Finally it was almost time to go inside.  I’ll skip the details and just say we ended up in prime kissing position, if you ignore the fact Kevin is almost 10 inches taller than I am, thus our necks were craned in very awkward positions.

So we both lean in, arms wrapped around each other in what is sure to be the most romantic first kiss of all time, right?  A kiss that will result in fireworks and, you know, probably bring world peace or something.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.” I replied and he did. I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud and probably flooded his face with my fabulous shrimp breath.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, pulling away and looking hurt.

“Uh, because it’s YOU and you’re kissing ME.  It’s kind of weird.”

So he tried it again only this time it wasn’t that funny.  This time it was romance and fireworks, and for a brief second my world felt right.  It was my very last, first kiss.

Me: You know the best part of having a little girl?
[points to laundry and screeches in a high voice]
Me: These colors! Look at this pink and purple! Look at these little pants! They are sooooo cute I want to eat them.
Kevin: You know the best part of being married to a crazy person? These conversations.  Or maybe this is just what it’s like being married to a mom.

when I leave work and pick up my girl,
when we come home and whine and cry until there is food in our bellies,
when we run around the living room playing, giggling, tickling, laughing,
when we are soaked to the bone, me in my clothes and her in her birthday suit after the bath,
when we roll around on the bedroom floor just the two of us,
and we rock in the chair in the corner and read stories as we fall asleep…

Well, after all that I am just pooped.  All of the sudden the amazingly humorous, incredibly witty banter just disappears, and I have nothing left to write about.  All those great one liners that were going to knock your freakin’ socks off just poof! disappeared.

I keep meaning to get back to carrying a pocket notebook with me wherever I go.  If nothing else it would help me keep track of my never ending to-do list which grows exponentially by the hour and never gets done because I keep losing the tiny scraps of paper I write  it down on.  Not very surprisingly, pocket notebooks are continually at the top of the to-do shopping list scrap of paper I keep losing.  Ah, the irony of it all.

Oh – Kevin came home tonight   He’s been here for approximately 25 minutes and all I’ve done is show him all of Avelyn’s new toys, and all of Avelyn’s drawings from school and regale tales of Avelyn’s funny new behaviors that have me falling head over heels in love with her more each day, something I didn’t think was possible.  Now I’m going to do something I’ve waited weeks to do — lay in bed WITH MY HUSBAND and WATCH TV.  And also demand he rub my left thigh and maybe my left butt cheek because damn I am old, and all that rolling around on the floor with that super cute girl made me pull a muscle.

I might get around to writing an actual post one of these days but I work tonight and sleep half the day tomorrow.  Somehow I just can’t bring myself to spend time on the computer blogging when I have such a beautiful girl running around filling my house with laughter.  Hope you’re all having a great day.

11 daus until Kevin comes home!

I love you,
Jennifer

My husband says this in a likely attempt to be helpful after I come back from putting Avelyn down for a nap, before I have noticed that her leftover ravioli lunch isn’t on the table anymore.  I turn to the sink and see that ta da!  It has been moved by the sink. 

Okaaaaay.  Because moving it from one surface to another will prevent the cat from licking it again?  I can’t imagine that you didn’t know I would wrap up her leftover lunch and put it in the fridge when I came back since that is what I do ev-er-y time.  Why then, did you not do this yourself?  Why did you simply move the object, thereby not solving the cat-licking-food issue at hand and leaving it for me to do while you watch ESPN?

Sigh.  These are the types of issues I have on my conversation list for our Lord, of whom man was made in his image.

Lucky for my husband he provides quality sperm that makes cute kids.  Guess I’ll keep him around a while longer.

Kevin: She made fun of my Flash check today. 
Me: Who, the realtor lady?
Kevin: Yeah, I asked if she got my check and she said, “Oh yeah, Flash”.  And I was thinking what the hell is she talking about?  And then I was like “Ohhhhhhh right, the Flash checks.”
(Well, you have comic book character checks and you’re almost 32 years old.)

Kevin: I joined the St Mary’s Mobile Learning task force.  I’m part of the task force for the next 2 months.  I sent [some guy] an email and told him I feel like a member of the A-team.  [Some guy] wrote back and said “Yeah, but the A-Team never got hurt.

Kevin: [singing] The bitch went nuts… stabbed my basketball…

Me: Will you rub my feet?
Kevin: [no response]

Me: Will you rub my feet?
Kevin: [no response]

Me: Will you rub my feet?
Kevin: [no response]

Me: Will you rub my feet?
Kevin: If you stop asking.  If you continue to ask I will punch you in the face.
Me: Whateva! It’s my sexy body, I’ll do what I want!

Me: I’m sick for the first time since before Avelyn was born. I’m probably dying.  I can’t stop sneezing.
Kevin: You’ve been sick since Avelyn.
Me: Not like this, not where I’m going to die.

Kevin: This is going to be a very quick footrub.
[100 seconds of foot mashing and mangling]
Me: Thanks hero-man.

Me watching movie trailers: Sunshine Cleaning looks good.
Kevin: It got bad reviews.
Me: That’s sad, it looks good.  And Orphan looks like The Good Son with girls.  I want to see it.
Kevin: You should watch Drag Me to Hell.  It’s got gypsies in it.  Never fuck with gypsies. It’s also got Justin Long in it.  I hope that PC guy is in it too.  I think all Justin Long movies should have PC as the bad guy.
Me: This looks scary Kevin! Why did you make me watch this!
Kevin: It’s just Sam Raimi, it’s okay. 
Me: No! It’s scary and I’m about to go to bed!
Kevin: Don’t worry.  It’s just PC.
Me after finishing the trailer: Okay, maybe it doesn’t look that scary.

All of this went down in the last 20 minutes.  Man I’m glad to be “home”.