Life Family and the Pursuit of Sanity

or… adventures in infertility and babies and family drama!

It Must be Just Like Living in Paradise November 26, 2010

Filed under: Marriage — arminta @ 3:47 am

Well, folks, looks like I’m a blog failure this month. Caring for two little ones and starting a business will do that to your hobbies. A business? Yes, I am currently building stock, designing a marketing campaign and setting up an Etsy shop for my new crochet/knit wares line. I’m thinking it shall be called Baby Stitches. We’ll see. But, alas, I find the need to sell my goods and contribute more to the family financially.

 

Why?

 

Well, two reasons. Firstlies, I’m used to being the primary income. It feels very odd to be contributing so little. I was not prepared for this feeling of smallness that has come with my income being reduced so dramatically. I feel as if the family checking account does not contain my money and that I shouldn’t spend money on myself, now. I feel like luxuries (like haircuts) should not be wasted on people who don’t earn them (me). Which is, of course, just bonkers. I spent many years contributing, so in a way I’ve already earned these years. Also, I do work 45 hours a week, I just only make $1 an hour. Anyway, I’m having some issues with not earning. I recognize that they are crazy, but I am still having them.

 

The other reason is more to do with G. We have been quite “off” lately. There are three things that I feel he is harboring against me: Baby G fell off of his changing table 5 weeks ago (he is OK, he landed on blankets, we took him to the ER anyway, but everything checked out just fine), the tension with his mother and my not working. He has admitted that he hasn’t forgiven me for allowing the baby to fall. I haven’t forgiven myself, for that matter. On the other hand… I am not a careless mother. I didn’t leave him unattended. I had my hand on him. It was a freak accident. Shouldn’t my husband be understanding and forgiving, especially in light of how hard on myself I’m being? But, he’s not. He’s being quite cold, sarcastic and frankly mean to me.

 

We are having more dust ups than ever before. I tried talking to him about it. He said he didn’t “see it.” He also said he didn’t remember telling me to “shut the fuck up” just five minutes before. But anyway, my point is talking about it didn’t seem to help because today was the same. I know this probably isn’t entirely the case, but I do feel it is related to the substantial drop in disposable cash. He didn’t treat me this way when I was earning enough money that he never had to check on spending whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

 

So, I am starting a business. Trying to up the cash flow. Maybe it won’t help my marriage, but I’ll be able to afford a haircut.

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What to do November 18, 2010

Filed under: Family — arminta @ 3:08 pm

Really… what should I do?

 

Here’s the deal, it’s no secret that G’s mom and I are like oil and water. We don’t like each other. We don’t get along. You get the point. Before the baby was born we were doing the no contact thing. Can’t fight if we don’t see each other. But, after the baby was born I relaxed the boundaries for G’s sake. This was fine for about 7-8 weeks.

 

Then, all hell broke loose.

 

I let her accompany me on a trip to the diaper store. My mistake. I know I need witnesses with her, but I was trying to be nice. Again, my mistake. The day was dump on Minta day. Most of it annoying, but innocuous (like pointing out every possible danger and every car near us on the road). Some of it was more critical, and undercutting (like asking why we didn’t keep the TV on for the baby to watch educational baby videos, then telling the baby “It’s OK, you don’t have to be a genius, you can just be average.” when I explained that we don’t believe in TV for babies under 2, and that the AAP agrees). Some was downright insulting and intentionally inflammatory (like asking my husband if I was lying about the pediatrician saying a breastfed baby can go days without pooping (fyi… he did but alas mine does not) right in front of me). I could go on, but I believe ya’ll get the point: my every action, decision and statement was questioned and criticized. ALL EFFING DAY.

 

But, I kept my cool. I didn’t bite. I just let her go. In other words, I completely under-reacted. Which is probably why I finally blew sky high and over-reacted. After her 10th (or more or less, hell I lost count) criticism of breastfeeding,  I went to my bookcase, got down two books about breastfeeding and gave them to her. I asked her to read them, maybe they’d change her mind about breastfeeding. (Not the over-reaction.) She ignored me and set them on the couch. She continued to talk shit about breastfeeding. So, when she was packing up to leave I took her the books once again and said “I’d really appreciate it if you’d read these.” To which she responded “I don’t need to.” So, I said “If you don’t want to educate yourself on the subject, I don’t want to hear anymore criticisms regarding how I feed my child.” (Still, not over-reacting.)

 

Her response? And-I-Quote “When have I ever criticized you?”

 

This would be the point where I lost my shit. Suffice it to say much shouting followed. Both parties shouting, neither listening. I don’t know who raised their voice first, but I know that this is the point where I turned off. After several minutes of pointless arguing, I asked her to leave. When she refused I told her to get the fuck out of my house. Eventually my husband had to physically help her out of the house. At which point she leaned around him, made a face and flipped me off. My vision went red. If my husband hadn’t been there I’d have beaten her close to death, I’m sure. As it was I merely shouted about tearing the bitches fucking head off, and tried unsuccessfully to get around him. He asked what happened to flare me up, I told him, she lied about it right in front of me. I threatened to call the cops if she didn’t get off of my property, slammed the door in her face and cried. (There we go, there’s the over-reaction.)

 

That was about 4 weeks ago.

 

Since then she has not been welcome in my home. She has not seen my baby. She has talked a lot of shit about me to anyone who’ll listen.

 

Despite all of that, I recognize that what’s best for my son is a HEALTHY relationship with all of his grandparents. Crazy or not. So I told G that if his mother asked to see the baby he should invite her over for a family talk. We should discuss what happened, bring it to a resolution and discuss how to move forward with Baby G’s best interests at front. He agrees that would be best if we weren’t talking about his mother, who he doesn’t believe his capable of this kind of conversation (and he’s right), but he also agreed it’s the best plan we’ve got. He invited her, she refused.

 

She refused. She said that she’s not going to be lectured to by me and she’s not participating in this “childish bullshit.” I’ll admit, that’s fine by me. The responsibility is now on her. But, G is saying things like “are we just going to withhold the baby until she does what we want?” To which I say “yes.” I say she learns to play by the rules, or she doesn’t get to play. I can’t enforce that with G, but I can with myself and my son.

 

Which brings me back around to what to do… Well, what would you do?

 

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In other news, please meet the world’s cutest lion boxer:

 

And see how well he plays with others:

 

Also, I was fo’ relz about him lovin’ the Suess:

 

 

The Key to Making Time Fly November 6, 2010

Filed under: Baby G,We're parents? — arminta @ 9:41 pm

I cannot believe he is ten weeks old already!

 

Ten weeks! Almost three months.

 

Almost a quarter of a year.

 

He is a little chunk. Don’t let people tell you that breastfed babies are tiny compared to their formula fed counterparts! My guy was 12.5 pounds even at 8w6d. He’s not that tall, though, only 22.5 inches. He’s going to be short and stocky like his parents it seems (so says our tall, lanky pediatrician).

 

He is so much fun right now. He loves to be read to. The Cat in the Hat is his favorite. He love, love, loves bath time. He kicks and splashes and has a ball in his tub. He loves to lie in bed with us before night night time. He’ll just lie in bed between us, nursing off and on for an hour before going to sleep for the night. He does not like to sleep alone, not even during the day. I have allowed the dreaded co-sleeping to start. And… I like it.

 

And… it hasn’t hurt my sex life, because we never did it in the bed, anyway! Yes, we have resumed a sex life. It is so cool/weird/awesome to have sex just because. With no other factor influencing except our desire. Which is up.

 

Because I have now lost 70 pounds. That’s a 7 and a 0, as in 7 times 10 as in Baby G + Big C. Yowsa! I’m smaller than I’ve been in YEARS. Like 5 years… Maybe more. I only gained 24 during my pregnancy, so a whole freaking lot of that is actual weight loss.

 

In addition to all of that, I wake up to this every morning… Every morning. I am the happiest girl in blogland tonight.