Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Time. It flies.

Wow. 60 days left. I can't believe it. So where the hell have I been? Well, I know I suck, trust me I do. We had all sorts of things happening. We finished up renovations, I was diagnosed with low amniotic fluid and spent 2 weeks on partial bed rest (in bed right after work and all weekend), I got sick, Luke got sick, Ziggy had tooth issues, Luke got braces and I hit a slump of 3rd trimester depression, which is probably the primary reason for my absence.

I'm so huge and so uncomfortable and in so much pain CONSTANTLY between my tail bone and my pubic bone and my feet and my everything and rather than whine over it all, I just chose to hide for a while.

I guess the biggest news of the past few weeks is Luke's braces. Wow, what a trauma this has been. He's only about to turn 9, so he has braces SUPER early and because of that he lacks some of the maturity that braces require - to understand pain and that it won't last forever. He lays on the floor for literally HOURS at a time and just wails over the pain. I'm pretty sure that it's half drama and half pain since a game of Clue or a swim in the pool will suddenly take his mind off of everything and he becomes fine.

He got them so young because he plays football and he had a serious permanant buck tooth that was sticking out so far that one solid hit in a football game could sentence him to a lifetime of a falsie. Plus, he was made fun of a few times in school this past year over his tooth and that was reason enough to get the braces on and get him past this as quick as possible.

It's got me thinking a lot about my own childhood and how different Luke's is. Luke has never experienced severe emotional or physical pain yet. Yes, his parents are divorced, but we divorced when he was 6 months old and he's never seen us argue and he has pretty great (for the most part) step parents. It's a far cry from having to call 911 when you're 8 because daddy is beating the shit out of mommy...which was a regular occurance in my fabulous childhood.

For the most part, Luke is living the childhood that I always wished I'd had. His parents are involved in his life and see him as important enough to spend our time at ballparks for hours on end to cheer him on and buy into his dreams. He never has to worry about bills not getting paid (my mother REGULARLY dumped her financial woes onto her children). He has a house and a backyard and his own room and his dad doesn't get drunk and accidentally mistake his bed for the toilet.

It's a fairly charmed life. So when he's wailing on the floor, while most of me pains inside with him and just wants to sit and stroke his hair...there's another part of me that thinks, yep son, this is life, this is pain, I'm sorry you had to meet pain, but here it is, might as well get acquainted with it.

Does that sound horrible? What I'm trying to say is that while his life is charmed, I don't want him to grow to adulthood totally oblivious to difficulties in life and I wonder if maybe I'm partially guilty of overcompensating for my own suck ass childhood by making his life too easy...too cozy...too painfree.

I mean, which life is better? The suck ass life that chews you up and spits you out as an overly independant and responsible adult. Or the charmed life that leaves you naive and vulnerable and brings pain when the perfect world collapses around you.

I don't really want Luke to have either of those lives. I'd like him to fall somewhere in the middle. So while he wails, I do the dishes. I do an appropriate amount of hair stroking and catering and Motrin pushing and ice cream scooping, and then I leave him to figure this all out on his own.

I'm not sure if that's the right decision and I guess I'll find that out if/when he ever requires therapy in adulthood, but for now, it seems right so I'll just go with that instinct for now.

Friday, July 3, 2009

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone

I know that my last post was a bit depressing. Sorry about that. I shouldn't blog right smack in the midst of financial demise. Things are better. Long story, but we liquidated some assets, put in a call to a father and had a stroke of luck with an a/c repairman and all is ok, well, not ok, but livable.

Luke is having a sleepover tonight. His little friend is also an "only" child - I say that because a 28 week old fetus does not yet make Luke less of an only child at home. I thought it would be great for Luke to have a buddy to hang out with for the night (read: not leach onto mommy ALL night for all of his entertainment needs). So I set up the sleepver with another only child from his football team.

So what happens when an only boy child who loves his mommy has another only boy child over to sleep who loves his mommy? Well, you get TWO 8 year old boys following your every move, demanding every second of your attention and needing you to entertain them. They want to watch TV with me even if it's "What Not to Wear" - the Mayim Balik episode no less that I've been dying to see since I was a HUGE Blossom fan. (Speaking of which, when the hell will Blossom reruns ever start?)

On top of that, they are VERY different children. Luke gets his fill of TV, he really does. I've failed at not allowing the TV to babysit my kid on occasion. However, he LOVES to be active also. He plays basketball, swims, plays games - he does...well...stuff. If you give Luke the choice between playing Monopoly or watching the newest Disney Pixar movie in 3D, he will ALWAYS choose the board game or other activity other than TV or movies.

This boy on the other hand doesn't want to do ANYTHING other than watch TV. Hours upon HOURS of TV. He wants constant food supply (he's a bit portly) and a TV.

So I'm sitting here typing this to try and stay awake a bit longer since I guess that being the mom of the sleepover, I should technically stay awake until they go to sleep? Not too sure on that one, but I feel like I should at least.

And I feel bad for Luke. He keeps asking the kid to do stuff and all the kid wants to do is lay on my living room floor, stare at the TV and stuff Cheez Its down his throat. Oh and stick his dirty feet all over my furniture. We aren't snooty "no feet on the table" type folk - but if the bottoms of your socks are BLACK because your mother keeps a dirty house, then I'd prefer if you don't put your feet on my television screen when this is the first time that you are at my house...or ever for that matter.

So I'm trying to think of fun google searches to keep me occupied. I am so tired. I hope his parents come for him early. He's already put in his breakfast order. Ugh.