Today I was able to get an appointment to talk to John the midwife. We talked over my ultrasound results, and my options.
Archive for the ‘not so much’ Category
So, this post is going to be personal. And if you know me because we work together or something…maybe you don’t want to read it. It’s going to be major word vomit. It’s going to be TMI. But this is why I have a blog. To get these things out. To find others who can commiserate and make me feel less alone and more like just anyone living their life.
“Well, we must wait for the future to show.”
― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
To come to a point where your dreams move away from your reach is hard.
The hubs and I have discussed putting our house on the market for months. We worked all summer on our home to prepare it to sell. When months zoomed by and it got colder and we weren’t ready yet, we decided to hold off until Spring.
We have many reasons we want to move. We need a better layout of rooms so that when the times comes that we plan for a second child (!!!), our bedrooms are on the same floor. Our neighborhood is not necessarily family friendly. I hate the schools in our district. Our main (and frankly only used) bathroom is very small. The house is over 80 years old. I want to feel safe walking out after dark.
But really, it’s the bedroom thing that’s got me wanting to move. We have two bedrooms on the main floor, and our finished attic acts as a third bedroom. A third bedroom with stairs so steep that we struggled to get a full size bed through the doorway. Meaning: I don’t think we could get a queen size bed up there. If we have a second child – I don’t want that baby or Abby being upstairs while the rest of us are down. The attic doesn’t maintain a comfortable temperature in the winter OR summer. To me, I have a hard time making this house work with a second child.
And talks of that second child have begun.
Unfortunately, realizations of how much debt we’ve accumulated have also come to light.
In this equation, our plan of moving out of this house (which has contributed to our mounting debt) have in essence been shut down because of our debt.
It is our own fault. I knew eventually this would happen. Denial is a powerful thing.
And now? I can’t allow myself to accept this as fact.
“If the market were different, we’d sell our house for a profit instead of breaking even, and we could pay off that debt.”
“Maybe we’ll win the lottery.”
“This isn’t a huge deal-breaker. We can still get a mortgage.”
When I think about it enough, my heart breaks hard and I nearly start to cry. To me, moving was a step towards the future, and I don’t want to put my dreams on hold. I want to know everything will still fall into place. That the choices we made in the past are not totally destroying our dreams for the future.
This is not the end of the world. If push comes to shove, we can make this house work. Knowing that we’ll be paying for our financial mistakes instead of living our lives in a new home? Hurts. Like. Hell.
Tomorrow, I go to work. I haven’t worked a Monday since my return from maternity leave. At the time, 32 hours a week was enough, and I was able to spend an extra day with Abby. Just her and I…Abby/Mama day.
Granted lately, it’s been more like Abby/Mama/Laundry day, or Abby/Mama/Clean the House day. We were still spending time with each other, she’d help me “fold” laundry, or come with me to the grocery store. It was time I cherished, though.
It never occurred to me that I was essentially taking a 20% paycut by not being at work that one day a week. I mean, I *knew* it, but I didn’t really feel it. Now? I feel it. I’ve been struggling to stay above water financially. I’m not in trouble, but I feel like I’ll be there soon if I don’t fix something. So, I decided to go back to work full time.
I technically started back full time last Monday (Labor Day)…which was awesome. Do you know how many holidays fall on Mondays? Pretty much all of them. I haven’t gotten paid for a Monday holiday since 2010.
However, tomorrow I actually have to go to work. Abby actually has to go to daycare. I haven’t really brought it up to her. (Which should really come to no surprise to her since she graduated to preschool last Wednesday and I had no idea. Like – I brought her to her old classroom, only to find all the shit in her cubby, in fact her cubby itself was not there anymore. NO IDEA THIS WAS HAPPENING.) I feel like she might be okay with it, as long as I don’t do something stupid like say “Hey! Instead of Abby/Mama day – you’re going to daycare today. And every Monday from here on out! Yay!”
Although I lost sleep over it last night, I think tomorrow will be okay. I’m going to attempt to ignore the fact that I’m PMSing and I’m probably going to cry, but I’ll be okay! RIGHT?! RIGHT.
One) I started drinking soda again. Yesterday I had three. DAMMIT. I had finally gotten past the headaches and then it was like FUCK IT and then I started drinking them again. Like my friend Martini said – “Soda is addictive, like ciggies. And thank god you’re not addicted to those because that’s way worse.” I couldn’t agree more. So I’m just going to try to cut back. To only one per day max. And then try to have days where I don’t have any. (Yeah RIGHT.) Even the guy at Bruegger’s this morning said “You need the good stuff, right?” after hearing my reply to “Diet or Regular?” (REGULAR DUH.)
B.) My back pain? Not related to the caffeine withdrawal. That sonofabitch Chiropractor really did eff me up. (No offense people of chiropractic persuasion.)
I’m not kidding you, internets. I couldn’t get in and out of bed or the car without yelping in pain and attempting some Cirque du Soliel bullshit maneuvers to do it painlessly. There WAS no painless way. I couldn’t do anything. Sitting made it worse. Standing made it worse. Laying down hurt, but then after a full night’s sleep I’d wake up and be like “WHOA! Back to normal!” and then after standing in the shower for 5 minutes be wishing for hit to be placed on the fine gentleman who “adjusted” my back. Poo on you, dude. Friday I finally went to a doctor (read, someone who would give me pain meds) and he declared that I had a “Severe Muscle Sprain/Strain” in my lower back. No nerve damage. Just some effed up muscles (which I figured.) He prescribed the most useless pain meds ever and some muscle relaxers that knock me on my ass.
I took one after my appointment when I was home resting on the couch, and I went from being in pain and watching some Emmy quality COPS episodes, to knocked the eff out Mike Tyson style. I woke up an hour or so later so mentally handicapped that I spent the next 45 minutes trying to discern whether I was awake, or if I was dreaming that I was feeding Abby a late lunch. Turned out I was awake. And slurring.
I tried taking only half of one last night to be comfortable laying down and hoping to not go back to Mars but I still woke up in the middle of the night with no idea where I was, but believing that I just had a conversation with Cosmo Kramer and that he was probably in the living room waiting to continue our discussion. It took me about 5 minutes before I realized I had been sleeping and that I am not in a Seinfeld episode. OR AM I?
Regardless, my back is sllloowwwllyy getting better. It’s still extremely stiff and now my hips hurt, but I assume it’s from all the overcompensation the rest of my body was doing trying to not have anymore of the worst pain ever. It needs to heal, and fast. A big group of friends is headed to see Jane’s Addiction at a smaller venue on Monday, and then Thursday night I have to fly in a plane for like, 3.5 hours…which means sitting and panicking and also sitting which equals pain. BUT IT WILL BE BETTER BY THEN. Right? Yes, yes it will, Jenna.