What goes up must come down, right? Before I continue… everything appears to be just fine with gestating human child. All children for that matter. This is not another “well, that was short lived” post.
The weekend was pretty craptacular all the same. It started with a fight with my mother. I called her Saturday morning (my 12th wedding anniversary by the way) to make sure she was still babysitting for us so we could go on a birthday/anniversary date. She had forgotten all about it and was currently watching the C’s, and had plans to go out herself but she could cancel them if I wanted her to. Grr… And by the way, my brother’s dying. She’s really worried about him, but at the same time he chose to not take care of himself and she’s not draining her bank account now. Grr… And, I’m too fat, too. And I’m being very “Pollyanna” about this pregnancy and she hopes it doesn’t kill me. Because being too fat almost killed me last time (it was in fact pre-eclampsia, which also happens to thin people) and being too fat is causing my joints to hurt (hmm, here I thought it was the rheumatoid arthritis). So, that was a fun call. She admitted later that she was just being a bitch because she was worried about my brother and but still. Grrrr….
Oh, yeah, and my brother’s health is in bad shape. Like he’s currently in the ICU bad shape. Like his kidney’s are in failure bad shape. Like his blood pressure was 250/160 when he finally went into the ER last night. My brother is dying. His heart and kidneys are damaged, possibly beyond repair.
Mother did finally come and babysit so we could go out for a quick meal together. It sucked. The food wasn’t good, it was so late that I was falling asleep at the table. We ate, went to Walgreens and came home. Not a very awesome evening at all.
Did I mention being terrified for my brother?
When we got home, Mr. G was still up and we had to do the bedtime thing. One of the *best* parts of asthma is that the steroid inhaler causes yeast diaper rashes. Even in kids that don’t wear diapers. The treatment is plain ol’ Lotramin. He hates having gunk smeared around his junk and paws at it. Apparently, I missed it and he put his fingers in his mouth after pawing his Lotramin covered business. Gross. Or, according to G “I’m poisoning the baby.” Poisoning. the. baby. I just fought with him over the puffy. He’s fighting and kicking and squirming to avoid the diaper and the Lotramin and the pajamas. I’m doing all of this half asleep and BY MYSELF and he wants to chime in with “I’m poisoning the baby.” I’m sorry not “the” baby “his” baby. Needless to say, I went the fuck off. This shit is getting really old. So there’s that day ended just as well as it started.
Sunday was another beaut. Full of fighting and blame. Second guessing and criticism. So, I lost my shit again.
So far today is not shaping up much better.