sweetcoalminer (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sweetcoalminer) wrote,@ 2008-10-02 11:12:00 |
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All this talk about sex is making me hungry
In a stunningly awkward conversation with my father yesterday, I was forced to discuss the status of my marriage. Everyone seems so concerned about Cory's and my marriage. I may be naive, but it seems great to me, if you can overlook the 11.5 month old who is still sleeping in our bed.
My dad was concerned that Cory's and my marriage wasn't going to make it the 10 months apart. I am more concerned that if we stayed here trying to raise these two kids completely alone and being as financially challenged as we are right now, we wouldn't make it. I really do think I could be a very successful lawyer, and, again, maybe I'm naive, but it takes time which I never have. I can't put in 13-hour days while letting Cory nurture his career, which is at a very critical point. Especially since Mei "spit up" at preschool yesterday, leaving me to ponder exactly when Mimi and Frank will commence vomiting, too.
Yesterday, Cory didn't get home until after 7 pm, leaving me with 2 kids, all of Mimi's peed-on laundry to wash and dry before they close the laundry room at 9 (she's been peeing on her blankets, and since we only have 2 and she pees on one at night and one at school, I have to keep up), dishes, etc. I nearly strangled him when he walked in the door. He had told me 6-6:30ish, so I was counting on a hand to make/serve dinner and bring the laundry back. I can't do it. I keep putting them in their room with toys and projects, and within seconds they are under my feet eating soggy crackers out of the trash. There is no way I could live like this. No way. I can carry Frank and the laundry if the laundry basket is on top of the dryer, but I can't lift our flimsy little laundry basket off the floor without spilling the clean laundry onto the filthy floor with the baby in my arms. I almost cried yesterday when I saw someone had moved our basket to the floor. While listening for the timer and trying not to poke the nice old man who lives upstairs in the eyeball because he's chatting my ear off while my arms are slowly breaking off of my body and Mimi is screaming at the door that she has her shoes on now, can she come out, and that the dogs are going to get her.
I can't handle that stress. I am not that woman. But at my dad's house with willing arms for the kids at crucial times like bath time and dinner time, I might just survive. There is no dryer there, though, so hanging and drying laundry is a major pass time. Hopefully Mimi will get up and pee herself at night. Or at least pee when we take her to the bathroom every few hours instead of slapping me and telling me I'm not her friend.
My dad had quite a stern talking-to for me, which is fair. I take full responsibility for our financial situation. The truth is I've never made as much money since lawschool as I was making before, and that has mostly to do with my choice of family over career more than anything else. I keep thinking a better job is around the corner, and it never is. I also screwed us by taking time off with both kids and quitting my job, although, again, I think it saved my sanity. He also has quite a bit of parenting advice. It is a different culture. I shudder to think what they will say if they discover that Frank is still nursing - it is just not something done with toddlers over there, but I am loathe to wean him before we move. I think once we are situated, it will be a much better time. My stepmother also admonished me that as soon as Frank learns to walk, we will potty train him, which is fine with me. She toilet trained 2 kids before they were 2, so more power to her.
But these last weeks it is driving me nuts having Frank in the bed. We CIO'd in the crib earlier this week - first 45 min, the next night 17, and then 6. Last night he fell asleep in my arms, so it doesn't count. But he sleeps in his crib in our room and wakes up screaming several times a night after about 3 hours. The easiest way to quiet him is to nurse him in bed. It's too hot to close up all the windows and let him CIO in the middle of the night right now, although it is VERY VERY VERY tempting.
Cory fondly asks, remember how Mimi used to play and play and play quietly in her crib? Frank is not like that AT ALL.
So, anyway, I find myself glaring at Frank, who is snuggled up on a pillow in between us. He usually either has his hands behind his head and his feet splayed so as to take up more space than a 1-year-old really needs to sleep, or he will be on his side, holding on to some part of me with his feet touching Cory. I want my bed back. It's really his sense of entitlement that I resent, more than anything - as though he has every right to be sleeping in my bed. And the mornings that he wakes up while one of us is tending to Mimi - fuhgeddaboudit. He knows that when he wakes us up by slapping us, shoving his pacifier in our mouths, crawling all over us, etc., that it's his time to bask in all of the attention he misses out on to squeaky wheel sister the rest of the day.
Then I read an article in a magazine about "knowing" your husband every night for just one week, which sounds great, but cue the crying baby (who is very nearly a year old and needs to fucking sleep through the night like a normal person). I really think it's a great idea, and I would call it National F&*( Your Husband Week. I'm all for it, but we are harboring a fugitive. I really want my bed back.
And, since I really try to write this as a baby book for the kids, let me just add one thing that will not make them cringe. Frank communicates. But yesterday, while I was trying to transfer the pot roast to a plate and keep them out from under my feet, I put both kids in the crib. Frank was so forlorn, and so I gave him a little toy remote control. Mimi wanted it desperately. She kept asking if she could have it, and I kept saying no, because it was Frank's toy and he was using it. I asked Frank, "Here's another toy. Can Mimi have that one? Will you please give it to Mimi?" And Frank said clearly, "No!"
When, on the other hand, I ask him if he would like to go for a walk to see the doggies, he nods emphatically with a big smile. I am so amazed at these little people growing up so quickly.
In a stunningly awkward conversation with my father yesterday, I was forced to discuss the status of my marriage. Everyone seems so concerned about Cory's and my marriage. I may be naive, but it seems great to me, if you can overlook the 11.5 month old who is still sleeping in our bed.
My dad was concerned that Cory's and my marriage wasn't going to make it the 10 months apart. I am more concerned that if we stayed here trying to raise these two kids completely alone and being as financially challenged as we are right now, we wouldn't make it. I really do think I could be a very successful lawyer, and, again, maybe I'm naive, but it takes time which I never have. I can't put in 13-hour days while letting Cory nurture his career, which is at a very critical point. Especially since Mei "spit up" at preschool yesterday, leaving me to ponder exactly when Mimi and Frank will commence vomiting, too.
Yesterday, Cory didn't get home until after 7 pm, leaving me with 2 kids, all of Mimi's peed-on laundry to wash and dry before they close the laundry room at 9 (she's been peeing on her blankets, and since we only have 2 and she pees on one at night and one at school, I have to keep up), dishes, etc. I nearly strangled him when he walked in the door. He had told me 6-6:30ish, so I was counting on a hand to make/serve dinner and bring the laundry back. I can't do it. I keep putting them in their room with toys and projects, and within seconds they are under my feet eating soggy crackers out of the trash. There is no way I could live like this. No way. I can carry Frank and the laundry if the laundry basket is on top of the dryer, but I can't lift our flimsy little laundry basket off the floor without spilling the clean laundry onto the filthy floor with the baby in my arms. I almost cried yesterday when I saw someone had moved our basket to the floor. While listening for the timer and trying not to poke the nice old man who lives upstairs in the eyeball because he's chatting my ear off while my arms are slowly breaking off of my body and Mimi is screaming at the door that she has her shoes on now, can she come out, and that the dogs are going to get her.
I can't handle that stress. I am not that woman. But at my dad's house with willing arms for the kids at crucial times like bath time and dinner time, I might just survive. There is no dryer there, though, so hanging and drying laundry is a major pass time. Hopefully Mimi will get up and pee herself at night. Or at least pee when we take her to the bathroom every few hours instead of slapping me and telling me I'm not her friend.
My dad had quite a stern talking-to for me, which is fair. I take full responsibility for our financial situation. The truth is I've never made as much money since lawschool as I was making before, and that has mostly to do with my choice of family over career more than anything else. I keep thinking a better job is around the corner, and it never is. I also screwed us by taking time off with both kids and quitting my job, although, again, I think it saved my sanity. He also has quite a bit of parenting advice. It is a different culture. I shudder to think what they will say if they discover that Frank is still nursing - it is just not something done with toddlers over there, but I am loathe to wean him before we move. I think once we are situated, it will be a much better time. My stepmother also admonished me that as soon as Frank learns to walk, we will potty train him, which is fine with me. She toilet trained 2 kids before they were 2, so more power to her.
But these last weeks it is driving me nuts having Frank in the bed. We CIO'd in the crib earlier this week - first 45 min, the next night 17, and then 6. Last night he fell asleep in my arms, so it doesn't count. But he sleeps in his crib in our room and wakes up screaming several times a night after about 3 hours. The easiest way to quiet him is to nurse him in bed. It's too hot to close up all the windows and let him CIO in the middle of the night right now, although it is VERY VERY VERY tempting.
Cory fondly asks, remember how Mimi used to play and play and play quietly in her crib? Frank is not like that AT ALL.
So, anyway, I find myself glaring at Frank, who is snuggled up on a pillow in between us. He usually either has his hands behind his head and his feet splayed so as to take up more space than a 1-year-old really needs to sleep, or he will be on his side, holding on to some part of me with his feet touching Cory. I want my bed back. It's really his sense of entitlement that I resent, more than anything - as though he has every right to be sleeping in my bed. And the mornings that he wakes up while one of us is tending to Mimi - fuhgeddaboudit. He knows that when he wakes us up by slapping us, shoving his pacifier in our mouths, crawling all over us, etc., that it's his time to bask in all of the attention he misses out on to squeaky wheel sister the rest of the day.
Then I read an article in a magazine about "knowing" your husband every night for just one week, which sounds great, but cue the crying baby (who is very nearly a year old and needs to fucking sleep through the night like a normal person). I really think it's a great idea, and I would call it National F&*( Your Husband Week. I'm all for it, but we are harboring a fugitive. I really want my bed back.
And, since I really try to write this as a baby book for the kids, let me just add one thing that will not make them cringe. Frank communicates. But yesterday, while I was trying to transfer the pot roast to a plate and keep them out from under my feet, I put both kids in the crib. Frank was so forlorn, and so I gave him a little toy remote control. Mimi wanted it desperately. She kept asking if she could have it, and I kept saying no, because it was Frank's toy and he was using it. I asked Frank, "Here's another toy. Can Mimi have that one? Will you please give it to Mimi?" And Frank said clearly, "No!"
When, on the other hand, I ask him if he would like to go for a walk to see the doggies, he nods emphatically with a big smile. I am so amazed at these little people growing up so quickly.
