Blast from the Past

There's so much that I haven't shared about my husband. Why would I? I normally have enough shit going on in the present to avoid talking about painful past horrors. But something has come up that has taken my brain and my heart and hurled it into the past and the emotions/memories/thoughts welling up are beyond my control.

When I met my husband, he was just a super catch. He was a college graduate, driving an Acura, dressed to the 9's, was so un-womanizing that one would almost think he was gay and was majorly serious about his job. What more could a single mother ask for?

Weirdness ensured early on in our relationship. His constant need for his friends didn't help me with the whole thoughts of him possibly being gay thing, nor did it help that he struggled with a constant impotence problem. Yeah, I said it. He did.

Skip over 2 dramatic years of highs and lows and I'll protect you from all the drama. Turns out that Mr. Perfect had an oxycontin addiction.

I found out much later that before dating me, he was a weekend dabbler with pain prescriptions. He had no pain, he was just a punk who liked a Vicoden at the club. This is how the story goes and after being trained in how to detect lies from my husband, I believe this to be truth.

He was so smitten with Luke and I that once we began dating seriously, he decided to totally kick the dabbling. I was his first serious relationship and he planned to kick the pills and dive head on into what he always wanted - a family of his own. However, the more he tried to quit without help or support, the further into his own personal hell he drifted.

The lies became out of control and I later found out that about 90% of that time that he was "hanging with Scott" whom I assumed to possibly be his gay crush or even lover, that he was actually hanging at his mother's house waiting for his "dealer" to call him and let him know he could go pick his stuff up. Oh and I guess you've figured out by now where the impotence was coming from...if not then google side affects of opiate addictions.

He was so embarrassed by his addiction that even his closest friends had no idea that he had fallen off the deep end.

By the end, when I finally gave up on his unidentified weirdness, he was a full blown addict with a $100 to a $300 a day addiction.

How could I be so stupid? Well, I won't defend myself except to say that until the last few months, when we were together he was my absolute best friend and was amazingly adept at hiding his addiction...until the end when I put it all together and had the AHA moment.

So of course we break up, he hits bottom, he climbs out from bottom, regains his health and we reconcile and he's been clean/sober for over 3 years now (we've been married for almost 2 years).

I rarely think of those times. In his sobriety he has embraced being a husband and a father and other than being a typical manhole every so often, everything is good. We never underestimate the power of the disease and we still work hard at staying humble and on the sober path.

A friend found him today. A friend from the past called him. A friend he hasn't talked to in years. Now, of all of those friends, this guy is probably the safest. He was also duped as much as I was by Ziggy's addiction and while this guy was a drunk and a pot head, he had no idea of the low that Ziggy had hit.

Ziggy did the model thing. He called me right away, before even talking to the guy to tell me that he had called and that he wanted to be sure that I was ok with calling him back and that he has no intention of even being around him except just to shoot the shit and catch up a bit as old friends.

That's when the panic set in. While I have honestly gone through so many steps to forgive him, a well of almost hatred boiled up in me as every memory came rushing back in as if yes, the forgiveness IS there, but I realized that forgetting will never be possible.

Anyway, that's where I am right now. I wonder at times why I even put myself through this. Why didn't I just change my cell phone number as EVERYONE advised me to do when he was at his bottom? And then I look down and see my belly and I remember how far we've come and how much we've grown and changed. We've seen the fires of hell together and we managed to walk away from it, and that is something that can cement a relationship more than most people can imagine.

I honestly believe that I sleep a wonderful man every night, but damn I sure do wish that this guy had never found him so that I could just be pissed about the dirty clothes on the floor again.

I have no happy ending yet. Ziggy is a little upset with my reaction and is being a little jerkish right now, which after some down time I know he'll have his own AHA moment. I can't really talk it out because it's not Luke's bed time yet - so I have no idea how this will play out.

Starting Over

The thought of starting over has been hitting me a lot lately. I look at my 8 and 1/2 year old and I see an almost grown adult. He can pour his own cereal, run his own bath water, totally dress himself, wipe his own ass with minimal skid marks left behind and do his own homework most of the time.

The 8 and 1/2 years that it took me to get here were filled with joys and horrors, pain and pleasure. He's such a mature 8 year old that though I would never do it at this age, I honestly think that I could leave him alone at home during the day and I would come home and he would be totally cared for and fine. That, my friends, was a lot of hard work on my part and on the part of my mom at times. (I give little to no credit to the father on this one, sorry, but I can't.)

So now I've been getting anxiety over the starting over. Luke can not only now play Monopoly with zero reading or counting help, but he knows the rules to almost every popular game out there in this world - do you know how hard it is to explain Monopoly or Clue to a child? It's not all that fun to do, and then once they finally "get it" you totally forget and take for granted the pain of getting this little brain to grasp and master such a complex task.

Everything. All. Over. Again. Potty/holding a spoon/reading/tying shoes - all of it - all over again.

I'm certainly not whining or bitching about it. Trust me, I'm not. I'm just afraid of it. A child going on 9 is both sad and joyous. Sad because they rarely snuggle and hug and kiss and love you like mad like they did a couple years ago. Joyous because a certain new freedom returns to your life again where you no longer have a child dependant on you for their...well...their EVERYTHING.

It's that joyous feeling inside that is bringing on the fear of starting all over again. Perhaps this is why normal humans usually have their children closer together than 9 years apart?

Hello Libido

All of a sudden today, I WANTED my husband. Like really WANTED him badly enough to ponder taking care of business on my own if you know what I mean. I guess the second trimester libido is beginning which will be a welcome sight for my poor deprived and desperate husband.

Monday officially begins the second trimester, and while I am totally thrilled, I still have the nagging feeling of doom. I had some worrying this week with a lot of cramping. The doctor says it's round ligament pain from my stretching uterus and that I need to sit/stand a bit slower to ease the pain. Whatever - but she said I need to get more rest. So I took off work today and I'm pondering taking off of school tomorrow too and doing a mani/pedi and some shopping.

I have so much more to say, I really do. I've neglected you guys all week long this week and I'm so sorry for that. Between a trip to Chicago for work and the worry over the cramping, I've been a total douche to you. I did however catch up on all of your blogs today while at home.

Luke has a friend over right now and they are chasing the cats with Nerf guns and I can't focus on what I was going to write. So I'm going to get them to cease fire and I'll come back to post more soon!

Husband for Rent

I have a husband for rent if anyone wants him. My husband normally delivers the newspapers for the Times Picayune 2 or 3 nights a week. This gives us a really good cash flow each month and is always a back up for his spending issues. It basically allows us to still live comfortably even during tougher times and has allowed him the opportunity of pursuing his dream with a friend of buying rental properties - since we couldn't afford that dream without the newspaper money.

Of course it's screwed up our weekends for the past 2 years. I've become used to attending daytime weekend events without him and being sad about that, and having enough alone quiet time to drive me to drink with him sleeping until 4:00 to catch up on being up all night and Luke being at his dad's house.

Well, God has decided to bless us with a little higher salaries than we are used to along with a few other financial blessings. With that and the new baby coming and the list of incomplete household projects unfinished, my husband and I decided to drop the newspaper delivery down to one night a week.

Add that fact to a new medicine regime from his psychiatrist that is working remarkably well and has him more normal than I've ever known him to be, and well, I am exhausted.

He's so full of energy on the weekends now and is often up out of bed before me just tapping his toes waiting for me to get up. This is VERY new for us. Gone are my mornings of silence. Gone are my lunches of silence. They are now filled with trips to Lowe's to give my opinions on the next project he is tackling.

While this has been wonderful in many ways, I'm just so freaking exhausted. I've spent 2 years having my weekends during the school year almost 80% to myself and now I'm having maybe an hour or two to myself with the sound of a saw or a drill in the background anyway.

Last month he replaced all of our exterior light fixtures. This month he is replacing all of our 6 ceiling fans from the 1980's and has plans to completely overhaul the bushes in the front yard that I loathe and create the garden I've dreamed about. He's got pictures and plans and cost estimates and he wants to talk and bond and spend time together.

Just 6 months ago I would have literally killed for this man to become like this and now I'm contemplating a weekend in the hotel down the street and lying and saying that I had to go out of town for work just so that I can have some quiet again.

While it is wonderful to see our dilapidating house finally get some very needed attention and it is fabulous to actually get to know my baby's father again...I'm thinking of renting him out for a day during the weekend.

Just a reminder to always be conscious of what you're wishing for. My house is loving it and for the most part, so am I...but come on...please let me take a nap!

Grandparents

My mother in law, Ralph is at her craziness again. She has taken up an obsession over what my child will call her and her husband (when I say obsession, that is an understatement). I find this hilarious when new grandparents do this...because the vast majority have no choice in what they wind up being called.

My dad wanted to be Papa. My eldest nephew called him Pop. Thirteen years and 3 grandkids later, he is still Pop. My mother wanted to be called Granny. My son called her Nee Nee (which we spell NeNe at her request). Eight years and 3 grandkids later, she is still NeNe. (Don't ask why my parents both have 3 grandkids and yet not the same grandkids in case you were smart enough to catch that...it's a long story).

So my MIL is searching the Internets for the most perfectest grandparents names on earth, even going so far as to try on the Ukrainian names for grandparents. While I guess that I can understand her excitement, I still find it hilarious because the child will wind up calling her whatever he/she chooses and that will be that.

My father in law's request? "Call me Joe. All my kids just call me Joe, so this one can call me Joe too." Now Joe is a nutcase...but in this moment, he seems most sane. Why do grandparents, grandmothers in particular, seem to obsess over what their grandkids will call them?

I'm not saying that I will be perfect and not do this at all when my time arrives - but at this moment, I couldn't give two shits what my grandkids call me as long as it's not something like "Fatty" or something equally horrifying.

And to explain very quickly the number of grandkids thing above - here is a 30 second flowchart description.

Barry marries Laurie and produces Brenda
Susie marries Henry and produces Heather
All parties divorce
Barry marries Susie and produces Sandy
Barry and Susie divorce
Brenda gets married and has 2 sons
Sandy gets knocked up and has 1 son
Heather gets married and has twin sons
In that order
Hencetheretofore - both of my parents have 3 grandsons, though not the same grandsons since neither acknowledge the divorced step child's children as their grandchildren. I have 2 sisters whom I share blood with, but each of my two sisters only has one sister with whom they share blood with. Good times. I have 4 nephews and they each only have 1 nephew.

Got it?

Yep, I know, my family is whack. Now let me bring in gay Uncle Lee and crazy Auntie M and I can really shake you up!

Good night ya'll!

Gun Show

First I need to ask you all to keep lovely Kristen in your prayers tonight - http://kristenwiley.blogspot.com/. God Bless, Kristen.

For Ziggy's birthday, I promised him two things - the sex and the gun show. Ugh, what was I thinking? The sex wasn't bad - I put on the maternity babydoll nightie that he had bought me for Valentine's Day and I gave him about 15 minutes of birthday boy happiness. The gun show on the other hand....

I mean seriously. Both types of people who attend the gun shows are the types that you are taught as a woman to fear and avoid and lock your car doors if you see one. There is the total redneck type who like their women thick and their cigarettes hand rolled and are all plotting on their takeover of the American government. Then there are the thugs with diamond teeth and hands holding up their ridiculously baggy pants.

And then it occurred to me - these two genres of humans are so immensely similar to one another nowhere else in this world except here at this gun show. On the street they hate eachother. They speak horribly of one another and would definitely not shed a tear over the loss of one of the other kind.

But here in this gunshow, they are the same - they are all staunch supporters of the second ammendment and would pick up a gun and defend that ammendment together, side by side, if it came down to that.

Kind of odd to think of it like that, but here in the South, whether you own a piece of farmland, or you live in a housing project, you probably own a firearm of some kind and the nasty ass gun show is the only place on earth where you will see these two separate breeds come together in a true sense of friendship and understanding.

Just big blobs of fat

Interesting things seen or heard today:

First - most interesting thing seen award goes to....the poo thumb print on the roll of toilet paper in Luke's bathroom. While I KNOW that the poo thumbprint belonged to my 8 year old, I am praying that the act of pooing actually occurred immediately before his bath and not at any other time of day.

Second - most interesting thing heard today award goes to....again to Luke with a fabulous tie. I just love this commercial on TV lately where a bunch of 10 to 13 year olds tell their parents to talk to them about sex. The commercial is ALL over the TV and no channel is safe from it. I've seen it with Luke in the room at least 10 times this month.

Today, I asked Luke, "Well, do you want to go ahead and talk about sex since this commercial keeps saying that we should?"

Luke's reply was, "No, why would we. I mean, you've never had sex, and I never plan on having sex, so why would we talk about it."

And that friends, is the first funniest thing I heard all day.

I said, "Well, son, remember how we talked about eggs and seeds and how moms and dads need to hug and kiss to get the eggs and seeds to meet eachother." (WHAT? It was a book that came HIGHLY recommended when his stepmother got pregnant by his own pediatrician! Don't judge me, I was trying.)

Luke said, "I guess so."

I said, "Well Luke, all that hugging and kissing? Well, that IS sex - that's what it is. You got any questions?"

Luke said, "Nah, I just don't understand why grown up men like boobies so much...I mean, all they are is a big blob of fat - who wants to grab all over blobs of fat?"

Momentary silence.

"OH MY GOD MOMMY, YOU HAD SEX WITH ZIGGY TO MAKE THAT BABY?"

And that, friends, is the second funniest thing I heard all day.

I should have posted the funniest thing heard yesterday which was Luke learning at the dinner table that Ozzie talks and acts so weird from years of too many drugs. Luke thought that it was all of the loud music and cursing that made him like that.

Hey now, I just realized that I talked to my son about sex and drugs - both of them - in one week. Ah, I feel like I need a pat on the back from the creators of totally inappropriate commercials everywhere. Thank god he wasn't paying attention during that Tampax commercial earlier!

Hand That Rocks the Cradle

Today was the Twin's Christening in Baton Rouge. I am a godmother along with my BIL's sister and then there was one godfather. While I was looking forward to seeing my two little men, the thought of the family and gathering made me prefer a fiery death over the afternoon to come.

My sister invited 75 of her "closest" family menbers and friends to the church and to her house after. So not only did I barely get to see her or my godsons, but it was just miserable. EVERYONE knew at this point that I am pregnant and if I got asked one more time how I was feeling, I was going to begin clawing my skin off.

I'm not a social person by nature. I've even had a doctor officially label it as social anxiety once in my life. I loathe social events where more than 5 to 10 people are there. I just freak out and I can't handle it and I'll find any excuse on earth to escape.

Today's escape was for chicken nuggets. Thank god that my sister is a hoity toity snob who had absolutely NO food for a normal 8 year old child. So I volunteered to make the chicken nugget run for the 10 kids that were ravenous after the 2 hour long high mass (great thinking sis...but I guess you'll learn how to party plan around children soon).

Which brings me to the nanny. I got to meet her nanny today. Yes, my sister is such a snob that her boys are too good for normal daycare like the rest of us pathetic folk. She has an in house nanny - $9.50 an hour - comes to about $500 a week.

The nanny is obviously not mentally stable. Why she was even there at all, I haven't figured out yet. Perhaps sis felt the need to include her? There sure wasn't a shortage of old ladies willing to care for the boys, so the nanny was NOT needed. However, she was there.

She totally took over the boys. She would pull them out of family members arms. She would wander off and disappear with them. She was 100% no exaggerating - acting like the mother of the boys. She talked about them like she was their mother and I even overheard her telling someone that the boys now cry when she leaves the house everyday and that she is the ONLY woman that they will smile for. My mother was feeding one and she told my mother how she was doing it wrong. I got the boys confused at one point (they ARE twins) and she went around telling everyone how even their own godmother can't tell them apart but SHE can.

OK, is my sister stupid? Fire the bitch. Seriously. She's weird. She's creepy. She has unhealthy boundaries with your boys. She snatched them out of the arms of poor Aunty M who hasn't seen them since Christmas. Come on now. She's a freak.

That being said, look how handsome my man looked today:

Condoms and cups

There are 4 items sitting on a top shelf of the hutch of my desk. They are a sterile condom, a sterile cup, a pack of birth control pills and a Rx for an antibiotic.

This is THE month. This is the month that we had decided to go full force into fertility testing and treatments. The cup and condom are for Ziggy's sperm analysis and the pills and Rx are for my HSG. Then we planned to do an IUI and injectible cycle in April.

I can't believe I am in that month - the month that we were looking forward to with fear and excitement and stress over money and I JUST remembered that the month is now here.

I went to the items on the desk and fiddled with them. I read the labels on the cup and the condom, looked for the expiration date on the pills. I put them all in my hand to throw them away. But I can't. I'll be 11 weeks on Monday and I just can't. Not yet. I feel sure that the second they hit the bottom of the trash can, that the blood will flow.

I was struck by such a severe sense of humility. We are here. We made it. And it hit me in the hugest flood of emotion - I am not "trying" anymore - I AM now. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to grasp this and how amazing it feels to finally have it?

I don't need these things and yet, I just can't throw them away yet. I told myself at 4 weeks that I would throw them away when we saw the heartbeat. Now I'm saying the 2nd trimester which is so close I can smell it. Once that arrives, I may just box these things up and keep them forever...as a reminder of where we were and how hard we tried and how far we were willing to go so that I will never take this experience for granted.

Men suck

I encountered suck ass men all day today.

My boss saundered into work at 10:45, left for lunch at about 11:45, got back from lunch after 1:00 and then busied himself gossiping with other men at work all day...while the women float the boat as usual. He sucks ass.

My employee is not very bright. I had to train him on something today and I swear to goodness that it was seriously like trying to train a brick wall. Sometimes I want to bang on his head just to see if he's still alive. He sucks ass.

My husband has gone to sleep every night this week at least 1 hour before me, has done nothing to help me around the house this week at all and wakes up an hour after me and doesn't have our taxes done yet. I'm pissed at him today. He sucks ass.

A guy at work stared at my belly for about 10 minutes while we chatted about computers like he was sizing up a Thanksgiving turkey. It made me feel weird and gross. He sucks ass.

Then the evening closed with my son scoring his very first goal in his soccer game. He saw me carrying the load of clean towels and offered to fold them for me. He said "thank you" when I gave him the glass of milk that he asked for... and then, only then I thought that maybe, just maybe there could be a man in my life that doesn't suck ass?

So when do sweet little boys start to suck ass? Or is it possible that the one that I am raising may be a rare one that doesn't suck ass? Nah - child is now screaming for me to wash his hair...he sucks ass too...just not as big of a one.

Come on, you know I love him.

Cheese and crackers, I hope so.

Uhhhh

I received Baby's first gifts/clothes today from my mother in law. She bought me two gener neutral T-shirts and 2 pairs of gender neutral socks. I walked into the baby's room (AKA, the guest room for the past year and a half) and hung them in his/her closet.

Very surreal. (mental note to thank her for them since she gave them to Ziggy and I couldn't thank her in person)

I spent the entire day on my feet at my company's annual Expo and I am so tired and sore from lack of movement in the past month for fear that I may damage the baby, that I could just cry from the pain. I also have an absolute shit load of cervical mucus...which scared me at first until Dr. Google assured me that a lot of movement can elevate cervical mucus and god knows I moved ALOT more today than usual.

Now I have to do homework, dinner, dishes, bath, clothes, bedtime...and then hopefully crash...very soon.

I'm so happy to be a woman today though. All of the men in the company have to spend the entire evening getting drunk, entertaining customers and taking them to titty bars and I'll get to be asleep before the first dollar is placed in a G-string.

10 weeks

Can I get a What What?

10 freaking weeks!

Oh gawd almighty, I'm in the double digits.

Humbly, I thank you, God.

Babies R Expensive

***EDITED TO CORRECT RETARDED MISSPELLING IN TITLE***

Ziggy and I were bored last night so I took him for his first ever visit in his life to Babies R Us.

Hilariousness ensued as Ziggy sat in awe as aisle after aisle he was bombarded with the expense of having a baby. He was totally stunned at the cost of strollers and sheets and all the things that you "need" when you have a baby.

It was a good time. When we walked out of the store, we laughed together over how we BOTH only seemed to focus on girl things. We didn't spend two seconds looking at boy bed sets or boy clothes or boy anything. We spent over an hour looking at everything pretty and pink and frilly. Was this instinctive? I have no idea, but we both decided that we will be shocked if the wee one has a penis.

In fact, we are already 100% positive on our girl name and haven't even begun to partially agree on boy names.

Very strange indeed. Please God, if it is a girl, please give her my nose!!! LOL!