Jimi made soup tonight with a can of corn, a can of black beans, a can of tomato soup and a bunch of spices. It's like a chili base, but with the perfect amount of hot spice (very little) to make my taste buds tingle. This is one of my new favorites, especially since it was so stupid easy.
I've got to go to Cincinnati tomorrow for the trailer summit, and I'm not even a little bit ready. Oh well. Not much I can do about it at this point.
I just finished reading "The Adultery Diet" by Eva Cassady. She loses a bunch of weight when she starts emailing with an old flame. I'd held out hope that she'd pull back at the end and not screw around on her husband, but she totally did, and i was disappointed. I wanted her to have more class. of course, it turns out her husband was having an affair of his own, so i guess no one could really win in the end. I hate it when no one wins. It feels like a cheat.
I ordered the last two books in Anne Rice's Sleeping Beauty erotic trilogy. Jimi hates the first one; he says it's dirty, and not in a good way. I admit it's dirty, but I would classify it also as "hot". C'est la vie.
"The Adultery Diet", I admit, made me want to move my ass and drop some weight myself. I'm not interested in taking a lover for my daily motivation, though. And, let's be honest, self-control and denial of pleasure are not concepts I fully grasp or am able to exhibit.
This entry is so lame it doesn't even deserve a title. I find that I feel guilty if I don't blog for a few days, and this is the end result when it feels like life is normal. I should embrace these times. God knows, when the shit hits the fan and everything around me is crazy and hectic and emotional and awful, I long for these times. I love my boring little life, even if it does make for a boring little blog.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Helloooooooo Weekend!
We're heading to Cincy here in a bit to visit with Sweet Maggie. The plan is to see her new digs, help her with any remaining moving-in tasks, and make a trip to IKEA to pick up her new table and probably buy stuff I don't need. Tonight, assuming we get home at a decent hour, Brennan and the lovely Tiffany are scheduled to come over to hang out, maybe play some Gloom. I'm just glad to have a day away from work. I won't be so lucky tomorrow.
The boss and I have to go to Cincy Wednesday for Part II of the Trailer Summit. So tomorrow, I've got to go through our fixed assets list and match each trailer number with its correct VIN, because at some point along the way, someone sorted the list and mixed everything up. Isn't that awesome? I was supposed to do this weeks ago, but I've not had a spare minute to even open the spreadsheet. I also have a week and a half's worth of trailer movements that need to be entered into two separate databases. I need to start going in early in the mornings, it's the only time there is to do this stuff during the workweek. And I sure do hate working on the weekends.
Jimi just got home from his work meeting. The weekend has officially begun. He was smiling all big and happy, saying he was just glad to be here, to be home with me, to have the weekend ahead of us. Love that man.
The boss and I have to go to Cincy Wednesday for Part II of the Trailer Summit. So tomorrow, I've got to go through our fixed assets list and match each trailer number with its correct VIN, because at some point along the way, someone sorted the list and mixed everything up. Isn't that awesome? I was supposed to do this weeks ago, but I've not had a spare minute to even open the spreadsheet. I also have a week and a half's worth of trailer movements that need to be entered into two separate databases. I need to start going in early in the mornings, it's the only time there is to do this stuff during the workweek. And I sure do hate working on the weekends.
Jimi just got home from his work meeting. The weekend has officially begun. He was smiling all big and happy, saying he was just glad to be here, to be home with me, to have the weekend ahead of us. Love that man.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sorry I left you on that note.
Jimi has spent the last few nights with his nose buried in internet comic books. I don't see the appeal, but he doesn't get my love for Judge Judy, so whatever. I've been watching a ridiculous amount of television. Nothing in particular, just nonsense. It's all nonsense, though, isn't it?
I don't really have anything to blog about, i just thought if some random person happened by my blog for the first time, the post about us making out in the kitchen might not be the best possible first impression. This probably isn't either, but it's better than that. I hope.
I don't know. Like anyone's going to randomly end up here anyhow.
I don't really have anything to blog about, i just thought if some random person happened by my blog for the first time, the post about us making out in the kitchen might not be the best possible first impression. This probably isn't either, but it's better than that. I hope.
I don't know. Like anyone's going to randomly end up here anyhow.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
You probably don't want to read this.
Jimi and I made out in the kitchen for like 15 minutes yesterday evening. We were in the middle of starting dinner and then we were making out. For 15 minutes. In front of the open windows. And I'm pretty sure the refrigerator door was standing open for at least half that time. It was one of those spine-tingling, knee-weakening, heart-racing, face-flushing, lip-swelling, hot hot HOT make-out sessions; the sort that are invented by romance novelists and soap opera writers and people who find each other incredibly, awesomely sexy, even if the rest of the world is all "What in the world does he/she see in him/her?"
Eff you, OB nurse. Eff you and my hormone levels and your dumb restrictions.
Eff you right in your A.
Eff you, OB nurse. Eff you and my hormone levels and your dumb restrictions.
Eff you right in your A.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
This is what I did today
We went shopping again today. I bought candles and a tablecloth and books. And 100% fruit juice. And a new eye pencil.
At least I'm happy with the little things. Finding 100% fruit juice on sale for $2 a bottle? Totally made my day. AND THEN I found out the books at Book & Music Exchange were buy one, get one free. I mean, who could be sad with shit like this going down at every turn? AND Jimi was right there with me, all kissy kissy lovey dovey and super sexy strong manly looking. Could it even get better than this? I think not.
So then we drove out to J-town to go to the Gaslight Festival with my Momma. I'm this >-< close to instituting a "You can't tell Momma No" rule in my life. Because, really, who am I to be all "No, Mom, I don't want to spend time with you even though you birthed me and raised me and gave me money every time i needed it and still buy me awesome birthday and Christmas gifts."? I can't say no to my mom without a good reason, I've decided. Because that would make me a jerk. And I don't want to be a jerk. And it's not like my Momma's needy. She just wants to see me every now and then.
So we went to Gaslight. Jimi, sweet Jimi, he even went along, knowing there would be much walking to get there, and then much shuffling (the non-walk of festival/fair/car-show goers - the sort of half-step shuffle people do when there's too much of a crowd to enable actual full-stride steps), and probably a large amount of "Oh! Look at this..." as Momma and I ogled some random piece of homemade crap that someone was hawking for $5 at an overpriced "Official Gaslight Festival Vendor" booth, before culminating in the ever unpopular long walk home at the end of the night, half drunk and completely exhausted from fighting the crowds and the cheap boozy atmosphere.
Needless to say, we had a fabulous time. A member of Momma's chorus was singing with a band that was playing in front of the old Ferd Grisanti's. We listened to most of a set, and Momma and I even danced. Poorly, but still. It was fun.
Dylan was home when we got back to the house, and there was a lingering smell of pot smoke outside. Imagine that. He and Jimi watched an episode of Boondocks while me and Momma went out front to smoke cigarettes and talk about women stuff.
Jimi crashed almost as soon as we got home. I hopped on the computer, intending to check my Facebook while the dog ate his dinner. (The dog doesn't eat when we're not home. And since he usually eats his dinner in the early evening, when we leave around that time, he'll leave his dinner sitting in his bowl until we get home.) So I was trying to stay up just long enough for Finn to eat his dinner, and maybe go outside for a poo, but I got distracted by a Facebook conversation and then I started writing this and now here we are. Jimi's snoring in the next room and Finn is keeping my side of the bed warm until I come along and rudely banish him to "YOUR bed, Finn. Go to YOUR bed."
And now I'd like some pizza. But it's one a.m. Should I go to bed hungry, or stay up another hour to heat up and eat some pizza? Gosh, life is full of hard choices.
At least I'm happy with the little things. Finding 100% fruit juice on sale for $2 a bottle? Totally made my day. AND THEN I found out the books at Book & Music Exchange were buy one, get one free. I mean, who could be sad with shit like this going down at every turn? AND Jimi was right there with me, all kissy kissy lovey dovey and super sexy strong manly looking. Could it even get better than this? I think not.
So then we drove out to J-town to go to the Gaslight Festival with my Momma. I'm this >-< close to instituting a "You can't tell Momma No" rule in my life. Because, really, who am I to be all "No, Mom, I don't want to spend time with you even though you birthed me and raised me and gave me money every time i needed it and still buy me awesome birthday and Christmas gifts."? I can't say no to my mom without a good reason, I've decided. Because that would make me a jerk. And I don't want to be a jerk. And it's not like my Momma's needy. She just wants to see me every now and then.
So we went to Gaslight. Jimi, sweet Jimi, he even went along, knowing there would be much walking to get there, and then much shuffling (the non-walk of festival/fair/car-show goers - the sort of half-step shuffle people do when there's too much of a crowd to enable actual full-stride steps), and probably a large amount of "Oh! Look at this..." as Momma and I ogled some random piece of homemade crap that someone was hawking for $5 at an overpriced "Official Gaslight Festival Vendor" booth, before culminating in the ever unpopular long walk home at the end of the night, half drunk and completely exhausted from fighting the crowds and the cheap boozy atmosphere.
Needless to say, we had a fabulous time. A member of Momma's chorus was singing with a band that was playing in front of the old Ferd Grisanti's. We listened to most of a set, and Momma and I even danced. Poorly, but still. It was fun.
Dylan was home when we got back to the house, and there was a lingering smell of pot smoke outside. Imagine that. He and Jimi watched an episode of Boondocks while me and Momma went out front to smoke cigarettes and talk about women stuff.
Jimi crashed almost as soon as we got home. I hopped on the computer, intending to check my Facebook while the dog ate his dinner. (The dog doesn't eat when we're not home. And since he usually eats his dinner in the early evening, when we leave around that time, he'll leave his dinner sitting in his bowl until we get home.) So I was trying to stay up just long enough for Finn to eat his dinner, and maybe go outside for a poo, but I got distracted by a Facebook conversation and then I started writing this and now here we are. Jimi's snoring in the next room and Finn is keeping my side of the bed warm until I come along and rudely banish him to "YOUR bed, Finn. Go to YOUR bed."
And now I'd like some pizza. But it's one a.m. Should I go to bed hungry, or stay up another hour to heat up and eat some pizza? Gosh, life is full of hard choices.
Friday, September 17, 2010
What I meant to say was...
I meant to say that the OB nurse called me back yesterday and told me that my hcg levels on Monday were 164 and on Wednesday they were 41. Miscarriage officially confirmed. BUT! Oh yes, there is a but. But, I have to go back for a THIRD blood draw one day next week so they can confirm that my levels are negative (zero? it seems like they should be zero. how do you get negative hormone levels?), and oh, by the way, don't have intercourse until after we've confirmed those negative(?) levels.
WTF?
Come on, lady, I'm finally done bleeding out what I thought was going to be our first, our only, child, and you're telling me now I can't even get some of that good ol' fashioned comfort for another week? After what has been the most emotionally traumatic, the most horrifically gross, the saddest experience of my life, I can't fuck out some frustrations? Damn, you're mean. And your stupid lab tech will probably have to stick me twice to find the vein. Again. This shit sucks. You could at least offer me a 2 week script for some xanax or something.
Shit.
But seriously, despite that little rant, I'm good. I'm finding the silver lining. One is that I was able to finish off that bag I bought right before I found out I was pregnant. (HA! Lame stoner humor is funny.)
On a more serious note, Jimi reconnecting with his sister is an awesome repercussion of this pregnancy. I discovered that quitting smoking and drinking is pretty freakin' easy when you have to. And to get ready to try to do this baby-making thing again, I'm going to have to quit my substance-abusing ways. That can only be a good thing. Jimi's motivated to get his ass moving, and he motivates me like nothing else can, so that will be a brilliant plus for us both, and for our future. We have time now to focus on paying off our debts and getting more money stashed away, and we have a focus to keep us on target and help us reach our goals. This feels like it's woken us up to a new level of what we want from our lives, from our life together. And as ridiculous as it may sound, it does give me some comfort to know that if our timing is right, we can totally get pregnant. I'd been unsure. It happened once, though...we can do it again. And we'll be ready next time. We'll do it right. And we'll live happily ever after.
I was only consciously pregnant for seven days. The sadness is more of a whisper already. Jimi's love, my family's love, the love from my friends, the understanding from my work family...it reminds me of how much good there is in my life. I have so much already, anything more is just icing on the cake. I only like a little icing on my cake. Just a little. Maybe a rose or two.
So there ya go. I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last miscarriage post. I'm totally returning to my regularly scheduled boring blogging. Of course, this is probably pretty boring to most anyone who reads it, so I guess I'm still true to my title. Either way, I never made any promises.
WTF?
Come on, lady, I'm finally done bleeding out what I thought was going to be our first, our only, child, and you're telling me now I can't even get some of that good ol' fashioned comfort for another week? After what has been the most emotionally traumatic, the most horrifically gross, the saddest experience of my life, I can't fuck out some frustrations? Damn, you're mean. And your stupid lab tech will probably have to stick me twice to find the vein. Again. This shit sucks. You could at least offer me a 2 week script for some xanax or something.
Shit.
But seriously, despite that little rant, I'm good. I'm finding the silver lining. One is that I was able to finish off that bag I bought right before I found out I was pregnant. (HA! Lame stoner humor is funny.)
On a more serious note, Jimi reconnecting with his sister is an awesome repercussion of this pregnancy. I discovered that quitting smoking and drinking is pretty freakin' easy when you have to. And to get ready to try to do this baby-making thing again, I'm going to have to quit my substance-abusing ways. That can only be a good thing. Jimi's motivated to get his ass moving, and he motivates me like nothing else can, so that will be a brilliant plus for us both, and for our future. We have time now to focus on paying off our debts and getting more money stashed away, and we have a focus to keep us on target and help us reach our goals. This feels like it's woken us up to a new level of what we want from our lives, from our life together. And as ridiculous as it may sound, it does give me some comfort to know that if our timing is right, we can totally get pregnant. I'd been unsure. It happened once, though...we can do it again. And we'll be ready next time. We'll do it right. And we'll live happily ever after.
I was only consciously pregnant for seven days. The sadness is more of a whisper already. Jimi's love, my family's love, the love from my friends, the understanding from my work family...it reminds me of how much good there is in my life. I have so much already, anything more is just icing on the cake. I only like a little icing on my cake. Just a little. Maybe a rose or two.
So there ya go. I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last miscarriage post. I'm totally returning to my regularly scheduled boring blogging. Of course, this is probably pretty boring to most anyone who reads it, so I guess I'm still true to my title. Either way, I never made any promises.
TGIF and all that jazz
I feel good today. I'm happy, work doesn't suck, it's Friday, and I haven't cried or even gotten very sad, not even once.
Our roommate is moving out tomorrow, back to Atlanta to be with her family while she gets back on her feet. Tonight, we're having pizza and tequila to celebrate. Sounds like a heck of a combination, right? It sounds to me like something that could induce some colorful vomiting.
I've never gotten drunk on tequila. Maybe tonight's the night. I drank a few beers last night, the first drinks I'd had since the positive pregnancy test. They were okay. Not great. I haven't missed the drinking, and that's one change I hope sticks. It only makes you fat.
We've got to clean and do yard work tomorrow. Jimi's sister is coming over Sunday. I'm excited.
Even for a blog titled "My Blog Is Boring", this one sure is living up to its name.
Our roommate is moving out tomorrow, back to Atlanta to be with her family while she gets back on her feet. Tonight, we're having pizza and tequila to celebrate. Sounds like a heck of a combination, right? It sounds to me like something that could induce some colorful vomiting.
I've never gotten drunk on tequila. Maybe tonight's the night. I drank a few beers last night, the first drinks I'd had since the positive pregnancy test. They were okay. Not great. I haven't missed the drinking, and that's one change I hope sticks. It only makes you fat.
We've got to clean and do yard work tomorrow. Jimi's sister is coming over Sunday. I'm excited.
Even for a blog titled "My Blog Is Boring", this one sure is living up to its name.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
I went back to work today. It was fine. I was ready, I guess. I feel better. Not so sad. Still sad, but not as sad. I'm trying to look at the good and just accept what is and be happy for what I have. I've got a lot to be happy about.
Jimi talked to his sister the other night for the first time in over 5 years. She's coming over for dinner this weekend. That's pretty exciting. I love his brothers...I can't wait to fall in love with his sister, too.
I'm so far behind at work, but I don't care. I'll get it done this weekend, I guess. It's hard to get excited about drums this week.
This Jersey Shore show is a trip. It's jacked up. I love the drama of it. For about 10 minutes at a time.
I'm feeling particularly boring tonight. I'm writing particularly boring tonight. Such is life.
Jimi talked to his sister the other night for the first time in over 5 years. She's coming over for dinner this weekend. That's pretty exciting. I love his brothers...I can't wait to fall in love with his sister, too.
I'm so far behind at work, but I don't care. I'll get it done this weekend, I guess. It's hard to get excited about drums this week.
This Jersey Shore show is a trip. It's jacked up. I love the drama of it. For about 10 minutes at a time.
I'm feeling particularly boring tonight. I'm writing particularly boring tonight. Such is life.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Retail therapy is my new thing.
Apparently the timing isn't right for pregnancy to be my thing.
I refuse to let miscarriage be my thing.
But I can still shop. And suddenly, I don't need to start stocking up on diapers to get used to accounting for the expense in my budget. All that extra money!!!
So I've gone shopping. Yesterday, I bought new lotions and a lemon-scented body wash. I replaced our immersion blender - guess who's having smoothies for breakfast again? That's right -this girl! I stocked up on colorful plastic tumblers, because I prefer to drink out of a plastic cup and it seems like the few we have are always dirty. So I bought 16 of them. That should last a while. :) I bought Jimi a "ham knife" - an 8" slicing knife. I figured I could find a decent one for twenty or thirty bucks, but the nice ones were more like seventy or eighty (and up), and the only other one I found was the one that came in a set of four blades for $15. Whatever. It's a ham knife. It'll do until I'm willing to spend almost a hundred bucks on a single knife. We ain't that kind of high falutin' just yet. I wanted to buy all kinds of chocolate, but I kept reminding myself that we've got four dozen cookies in the house and two half-gallons of ice cream and that I really don't need to add chocolate to the arsenal, especially not when we're all "Okay, we're going to get healthy and get ready and we're gonna do this thing." I bought 2 lamps, because they were on sale for $7 each and they're super cute and I was just complaining the other day about how the only lights in our bedrooms are the overhead lights and that light is so harsh, you know?
I want to buy jewelry. I want to buy Jimi a watch or a ring, and I want pearls. Diapers don't cost that much, though, so I don't have that sort of money to blow.
Today, I went in for the follow-up blood work. They're comparing my hcg levels of today with those from Monday to confirm what we already know so I can get on with my life. The intake nurse who took my blood pressure and weight and confirmed what was in the computer, she kept saying "oh, honey, you'd be surprised at how many women bleed and are still pregnant." "This isn't that sort of bleeding. I'm not holding out any hope," was my reply, which I thought was more polite than pulling her hair and screaming "DON'T GIVE ME FALSE HOPE, BITCH! I CAN'T TAKE IT!", because that's what I wanted to do after she said "Oh, then you'll just be that much happier when you find out everything's okay." Later, when they did the physical exam, and she was in the room, and the doctor was all "Yes, I think with what I'm seeing down here, I think your assumption was correct, I do believe you have miscarried" I wanted to be real nasty and say to that nurse, "See? THIS is why I didn't need your false hope, you cruel evil person." But that was Monday. Today, I just had to go in, sign in, get stuck twice (only good ones can find the veins on the first try. Most aren't good ones.), wait for 10 minutes so they could get a copy of the card saying I'd had the Rhogam shot, and then I was free to go about my business. There were pregnant women everywhere. The sign on the parking garage, a cut-out of a pregnant woman, made me cry. The woman wobbling toward the building entrance with her husband at her side carrying her overnight bag - she made me cry.
I was in great shape when I got to work. I started crying almost immediately. I wanted to be almost anywhere else - except maybe for the doctor's office or parking garage. Rick gathered up my paperwork, handed me his laptop, and sent me home. I'm working from home today. Thank goodness. I wasn't ready to be there. To be around everyone being sad for me. Christi brought me a rose. It smells really nice. It makes me smile.
I've sorted my paperwork, I've done my billing, and now I've got orders to enter and a lot of data entry. But I took a break, because on my way back to work this morning, I stopped at Walgreens and bought some pads. The pads I bought? Look like they were made for dolls. They're tiny and not at all what I needed. I fail at buying pads. I'm a 30 year old woman, and I'm incapable of purchasing the correct menstrual product I need to get me through a single monthly cycle. Thank goodness my boyfriend knows what he's doing. So I had to go to the CVS this afternoon to purchase the correct pads - the ones like the package Jimi bought. While I was there, I decided I needed to get some hair dye, too. In that dark red color Jimi's been saying he'd like to see on me. And a new lipstick, because maybe it'll make me feel better if I feel prettier. And some peanut butter M&M's. Because i couldn't resist the call of the chocolate any longer.
I swear retail therapy is my new thing. Miscarriage is NOT my thing. I just need to talk about it a little bit, I guess. I'm sorry. I'll try to be happier again soon. I promise.
I refuse to let miscarriage be my thing.
But I can still shop. And suddenly, I don't need to start stocking up on diapers to get used to accounting for the expense in my budget. All that extra money!!!
So I've gone shopping. Yesterday, I bought new lotions and a lemon-scented body wash. I replaced our immersion blender - guess who's having smoothies for breakfast again? That's right -this girl! I stocked up on colorful plastic tumblers, because I prefer to drink out of a plastic cup and it seems like the few we have are always dirty. So I bought 16 of them. That should last a while. :) I bought Jimi a "ham knife" - an 8" slicing knife. I figured I could find a decent one for twenty or thirty bucks, but the nice ones were more like seventy or eighty (and up), and the only other one I found was the one that came in a set of four blades for $15. Whatever. It's a ham knife. It'll do until I'm willing to spend almost a hundred bucks on a single knife. We ain't that kind of high falutin' just yet. I wanted to buy all kinds of chocolate, but I kept reminding myself that we've got four dozen cookies in the house and two half-gallons of ice cream and that I really don't need to add chocolate to the arsenal, especially not when we're all "Okay, we're going to get healthy and get ready and we're gonna do this thing." I bought 2 lamps, because they were on sale for $7 each and they're super cute and I was just complaining the other day about how the only lights in our bedrooms are the overhead lights and that light is so harsh, you know?
I want to buy jewelry. I want to buy Jimi a watch or a ring, and I want pearls. Diapers don't cost that much, though, so I don't have that sort of money to blow.
Today, I went in for the follow-up blood work. They're comparing my hcg levels of today with those from Monday to confirm what we already know so I can get on with my life. The intake nurse who took my blood pressure and weight and confirmed what was in the computer, she kept saying "oh, honey, you'd be surprised at how many women bleed and are still pregnant." "This isn't that sort of bleeding. I'm not holding out any hope," was my reply, which I thought was more polite than pulling her hair and screaming "DON'T GIVE ME FALSE HOPE, BITCH! I CAN'T TAKE IT!", because that's what I wanted to do after she said "Oh, then you'll just be that much happier when you find out everything's okay." Later, when they did the physical exam, and she was in the room, and the doctor was all "Yes, I think with what I'm seeing down here, I think your assumption was correct, I do believe you have miscarried" I wanted to be real nasty and say to that nurse, "See? THIS is why I didn't need your false hope, you cruel evil person." But that was Monday. Today, I just had to go in, sign in, get stuck twice (only good ones can find the veins on the first try. Most aren't good ones.), wait for 10 minutes so they could get a copy of the card saying I'd had the Rhogam shot, and then I was free to go about my business. There were pregnant women everywhere. The sign on the parking garage, a cut-out of a pregnant woman, made me cry. The woman wobbling toward the building entrance with her husband at her side carrying her overnight bag - she made me cry.
I was in great shape when I got to work. I started crying almost immediately. I wanted to be almost anywhere else - except maybe for the doctor's office or parking garage. Rick gathered up my paperwork, handed me his laptop, and sent me home. I'm working from home today. Thank goodness. I wasn't ready to be there. To be around everyone being sad for me. Christi brought me a rose. It smells really nice. It makes me smile.
I've sorted my paperwork, I've done my billing, and now I've got orders to enter and a lot of data entry. But I took a break, because on my way back to work this morning, I stopped at Walgreens and bought some pads. The pads I bought? Look like they were made for dolls. They're tiny and not at all what I needed. I fail at buying pads. I'm a 30 year old woman, and I'm incapable of purchasing the correct menstrual product I need to get me through a single monthly cycle. Thank goodness my boyfriend knows what he's doing. So I had to go to the CVS this afternoon to purchase the correct pads - the ones like the package Jimi bought. While I was there, I decided I needed to get some hair dye, too. In that dark red color Jimi's been saying he'd like to see on me. And a new lipstick, because maybe it'll make me feel better if I feel prettier. And some peanut butter M&M's. Because i couldn't resist the call of the chocolate any longer.
I swear retail therapy is my new thing. Miscarriage is NOT my thing. I just need to talk about it a little bit, I guess. I'm sorry. I'll try to be happier again soon. I promise.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Yesterday was going to be the day I sat around the house and relaxed and recovered. Instead, I was at the doctor's office and the hospital all day. So, here I am, sitting on my ass in my sweat pants and wife beater and no bra with my Snuggie wrapped around me and my feet propped up and the TV on and the computer on my lap and the heating pad on my belly.
I may or may not get up and shower and go shopping later. I might just sit here all day.
It's awfully pretty outside, though. I should at least take the dog for a walk. Especially after all the cookies I've eaten in the last few days.
I may or may not get up and shower and go shopping later. I might just sit here all day.
It's awfully pretty outside, though. I should at least take the dog for a walk. Especially after all the cookies I've eaten in the last few days.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Wake me up when it's over.
The doc pretty much confirmed what I already knew, but I have to go back for more blood work on Wednesday for the final word. I spent all day at the hospital waiting, being poked and prodded, waiting, waiting, napping, waiting, more poking, more prodding. Saying those awful words again and again, to new nurses who only meant well...they didn't know that I wasn't a newly expectant mom, all giddy with excitement. Except maybe for the dark circles under my eyes. Or the sadness that just sort of hung around me all day. Even the waitress at lunch asked me 3 times if I was okay, despite my assurances, that yes, I am, thank you.
Blah. I'm not going to be this way forever. I just need to be sad for a little while. Just for a little while.
Jimi's making some dinners. A pork roast, with green beans and corn on the side. Yum. And there are whole-wheat rolls. And there's ice cream, and Dawn's delicious cookies.
I keep intending to do some retail therapy - to buy myself something pretty to make me feel better - but until I feel like actually going out around people, I'm going to eat. Just for a day or two. Don't judge me. I need all the comfort I can get right now, in whatever form it may present itself.
Blah. I'm not going to be this way forever. I just need to be sad for a little while. Just for a little while.
Jimi's making some dinners. A pork roast, with green beans and corn on the side. Yum. And there are whole-wheat rolls. And there's ice cream, and Dawn's delicious cookies.
I keep intending to do some retail therapy - to buy myself something pretty to make me feel better - but until I feel like actually going out around people, I'm going to eat. Just for a day or two. Don't judge me. I need all the comfort I can get right now, in whatever form it may present itself.
I'm waiting for a call from the OB nurse so I can get in to see the doctor today. I can't say the words out loud without crying. I couldn't even leave the message without getting choked up. "Um, I had an appointment with the doctor for my first appointment on 9/27, but I think I (sob) miscarried over the weekend and (sob) I'm Rh negative (sob) so I need to see about coming in as (sob) soon as possible to get everything (sob) checked out. (sob...long pause while I catch my breath) please call me at..."
God, this sucks. This sucks so freakin' bad. I wish Jimi could've stayed home with me today...he is my strength right now. He's the reason I got through the day yesterday. Every time I got sad, he was right there with his arms around me, reminding me that it's all going to be okay. And I know it's going to be okay, but God, why does it have to hurt so bad right now?
It was only here for a week. I only knew for a week. In a week, my whole world changed. Now it's flipped right back to the way it was. Why do I feel like something's been taken from me? Why do I feel so empty inside? Like all my happiness, all my excitement, all the good was just sucked right out of me. I feel lost.
Okay, I know this shit happens all the time, to women who are better-prepared, who want it more, who try for years, but still I want to climb on top of the roof and scream as loud as I can "WHY ME???!!!" Why our baby? We only wanted the one...couldn't we have just had this one? I didn't want to be that one in four who loses the baby in the first few weeks. I wouldn't want to wish it on someone else, but I sure as hell didn't want it to be me...to be us. Ours.
And oh, I'm so scared to "try". I'm so scared to make an effort...what if we can't have babies? I can't take that heartbreak. What if it's not meant to be for us? When it was us making the choice, it was one thing, but to not have a choice to make? Oh, I don't think my heart could take it. Not after this.
The OB nurse called. I'm seeing them at 11:30. I'm so not shaving my legs.
God, this sucks. This sucks so freakin' bad. I wish Jimi could've stayed home with me today...he is my strength right now. He's the reason I got through the day yesterday. Every time I got sad, he was right there with his arms around me, reminding me that it's all going to be okay. And I know it's going to be okay, but God, why does it have to hurt so bad right now?
It was only here for a week. I only knew for a week. In a week, my whole world changed. Now it's flipped right back to the way it was. Why do I feel like something's been taken from me? Why do I feel so empty inside? Like all my happiness, all my excitement, all the good was just sucked right out of me. I feel lost.
Okay, I know this shit happens all the time, to women who are better-prepared, who want it more, who try for years, but still I want to climb on top of the roof and scream as loud as I can "WHY ME???!!!" Why our baby? We only wanted the one...couldn't we have just had this one? I didn't want to be that one in four who loses the baby in the first few weeks. I wouldn't want to wish it on someone else, but I sure as hell didn't want it to be me...to be us. Ours.
And oh, I'm so scared to "try". I'm so scared to make an effort...what if we can't have babies? I can't take that heartbreak. What if it's not meant to be for us? When it was us making the choice, it was one thing, but to not have a choice to make? Oh, I don't think my heart could take it. Not after this.
The OB nurse called. I'm seeing them at 11:30. I'm so not shaving my legs.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Real men buy pads.
I think I've lost the baby.
The spotting I had yesterday? It turned into a full on flow about 3 this morning and hasn't stopped. I'm cramping like its that time of the month. My boobs don't hurt anymore. There's still a chance, but I'm not holding out any hope that this is anything other than a miscarriage.
I'm not devastated. I'm very, very sad. My heart is a little broken. I wish we had been able to keep a secret, because it hurt to tell my Momma this morning, knowing that it was probably breaking her heart. I'm so sad for Jimi, because he was so excited. I'm so sad for us, because we wanted this so much.
But it will all be okay. It'll be fine. We prayed for a healthy baby, and this is the universe's way of saying, "This one wasn't going to make it, guys. There was something wrong and it wasn't going to work out." But we can try again. Jimi wants to try again. I still want to have a child that's a perfect blend of all the best things about both of us. This one just wasn't meant to be.
He went to the store and got me a box of pads. (They say tampons can lead to infection.) I didn't even have to ask, he was all "Want me to go to the store and get you some pads?" What a man. What an amazing, wonderful, kind-hearted, considerate, loving, attentive, sweet SWEET man.
We were up most of the night, holding each other and crying and reminding ourselves that things will be okay, that this is for the best, that we can try again, that this happens all the time, that I didn't do anything wrong, that WE didn't do anything wrong, that it'll all be okay. I feel fine...just tired and drained and sad. So sad. Like I've failed, like my body has failed at the one thing it was made to do. But I know that's not true. I know this happens all the time, to women who are in better shape, eat healthier, have been trying for years to have a child.
And thank goodness it happened now, rather than 3 months from now. Rather than after I'd started feeling movement. Rather than after the point where it can pass like a normal period, rather than when I'd have to go through the horror of delivering a stillborn baby. But it still sucks. It sucks really bad. And I'm so sad.
It makes it worse that I can't even talk to my doctor until tomorrow morning. I'm going to have to go in for an exam, make sure everything's expelled, make sure I don't need a D&C. I'm going to need a shot because I'm Rh negative and Jimi's pretty sure he's Rh positive, and if I don't get the shot, my body will make antibodies that can attack any future fetuses that have Rh positive blood.
It's a beautiful day. It's the sort of day that makes you smile just to be out in it. I can smile through my tears. There's a whole big world out there, and my sadness is just a very very small part of it today. There is still so much happiness to experience. I still have so much to be thankful for. I still have so much love around me.
It's going to be fine. It'll all be fine. It's just sad right now.
The spotting I had yesterday? It turned into a full on flow about 3 this morning and hasn't stopped. I'm cramping like its that time of the month. My boobs don't hurt anymore. There's still a chance, but I'm not holding out any hope that this is anything other than a miscarriage.
I'm not devastated. I'm very, very sad. My heart is a little broken. I wish we had been able to keep a secret, because it hurt to tell my Momma this morning, knowing that it was probably breaking her heart. I'm so sad for Jimi, because he was so excited. I'm so sad for us, because we wanted this so much.
But it will all be okay. It'll be fine. We prayed for a healthy baby, and this is the universe's way of saying, "This one wasn't going to make it, guys. There was something wrong and it wasn't going to work out." But we can try again. Jimi wants to try again. I still want to have a child that's a perfect blend of all the best things about both of us. This one just wasn't meant to be.
He went to the store and got me a box of pads. (They say tampons can lead to infection.) I didn't even have to ask, he was all "Want me to go to the store and get you some pads?" What a man. What an amazing, wonderful, kind-hearted, considerate, loving, attentive, sweet SWEET man.
We were up most of the night, holding each other and crying and reminding ourselves that things will be okay, that this is for the best, that we can try again, that this happens all the time, that I didn't do anything wrong, that WE didn't do anything wrong, that it'll all be okay. I feel fine...just tired and drained and sad. So sad. Like I've failed, like my body has failed at the one thing it was made to do. But I know that's not true. I know this happens all the time, to women who are in better shape, eat healthier, have been trying for years to have a child.
And thank goodness it happened now, rather than 3 months from now. Rather than after I'd started feeling movement. Rather than after the point where it can pass like a normal period, rather than when I'd have to go through the horror of delivering a stillborn baby. But it still sucks. It sucks really bad. And I'm so sad.
It makes it worse that I can't even talk to my doctor until tomorrow morning. I'm going to have to go in for an exam, make sure everything's expelled, make sure I don't need a D&C. I'm going to need a shot because I'm Rh negative and Jimi's pretty sure he's Rh positive, and if I don't get the shot, my body will make antibodies that can attack any future fetuses that have Rh positive blood.
It's a beautiful day. It's the sort of day that makes you smile just to be out in it. I can smile through my tears. There's a whole big world out there, and my sadness is just a very very small part of it today. There is still so much happiness to experience. I still have so much to be thankful for. I still have so much love around me.
It's going to be fine. It'll all be fine. It's just sad right now.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Another awesomely boring blog entry...
I'm going to try so hard not to let this become a pregnancy blog, but this has always been an "ALL ABOUT ME" blog, and this is the biggest thing that's ever happened to me, so bear with me, please, will ya? I'll have something else to talk about eventually, I swear.
Having said that, I had some spotting earlier today. Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyhow), that freaked me rightthefuck out. Of course, everyone on BabyCenter says it's normal, so I'm going to try really hard not to stress about it at this point. Man. This is going to be a long 9 months.
I'm irritable. Everything gets on my nerves. So, I'm trying to spend some time by myself and focus on things that don't irritate me. It's a hard row to hoe, let me tell ya. I hate that I'm such a bitch sometimes. A few more weeks and I'll be fine. It has to be true. In the mean time, I'm taking lots of showers (so I can cry) and lucky Finn is getting lots of walks (so I can get out of the house to avoid screaming and throwing things).
I've been having crazy vivid dreams. I don't know if I'm sleeping more deeply or if it's the hormones or what. I like it, though. Even when I wake up and I'm all "WTF was that about?" I like dreaming. It's like reading, but without any effort.
Having said that, I had some spotting earlier today. Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyhow), that freaked me rightthefuck out. Of course, everyone on BabyCenter says it's normal, so I'm going to try really hard not to stress about it at this point. Man. This is going to be a long 9 months.
I'm irritable. Everything gets on my nerves. So, I'm trying to spend some time by myself and focus on things that don't irritate me. It's a hard row to hoe, let me tell ya. I hate that I'm such a bitch sometimes. A few more weeks and I'll be fine. It has to be true. In the mean time, I'm taking lots of showers (so I can cry) and lucky Finn is getting lots of walks (so I can get out of the house to avoid screaming and throwing things).
I've been having crazy vivid dreams. I don't know if I'm sleeping more deeply or if it's the hormones or what. I like it, though. Even when I wake up and I'm all "WTF was that about?" I like dreaming. It's like reading, but without any effort.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Dude.
He got mad at me because I had toaster strudel for dinner. It's not healthy enough for the baby.
Fuck. It's gonna be a long 9 months.
Fuck. It's gonna be a long 9 months.
Boring update.
I'm obsessed with BabyCenter. I'm spending all my time there.
And I'm starving. And Jimi's not feeling well. And did I mention I'm starving? And nothing really sounds good. And nothing is easy to fix unless it's bad for me, but is not eating at all worse than eating bad-for-me foods?
*Sigh*
Life is hard.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
I don't have anything to blog about.
Nothing new here.
I'm hungry every 2 hours. I'm eating healthier that I have in, well, maybe ever. And the beer and cigarettes? Don't even miss them. Not even a little bit.
I miss the pot, though. I've needed an attitude adjustment a few times and man, I wish I could just have a puff or two. I've found articles and studies that show that babies born to pot-smoking moms score higher on cognitive, developmental, and emotional tests than babies born to non-smoking moms. But only a few articles and one in-depth study. Everything else says it will make my baby have 3 arms, ADD, and cancer...of course, their sources are generic "some studies", but it's still not worth the risk. Smoke is bad for baby. Period. I'll have to find another method of stress release. So far, crying in the shower is working so-so. It'll get better.
Mostly, I'm bored. I'm watching TV and internetting and bringing work home trying to keep myself occupied, but I'm still just so bored. It's amazing how much more interesting things seem to be when I'm high; how much more focused I get on dumb shit, like Facebook and The Sims 3. Now it all seems ridiculous and lame and dull and just plain boring. This too shall pass.
Daddy called me tonight to check on me. I love my Daddy. It's only a matter of time before I pull the "Please stop smoking so your grandchild will know how awesome and wonderful you are" card. He'd stopped for months, but has apparently picked the habit back up again in the last few weeks. I'm terrified he's going to die of lung cancer or emphysema, after a long, lingering illness that destroys my Momma, too. But tonight, I was just happy to hear from him, and I was tickled that he was calling to check up on me. It warmed my heart.
Jimi continues to compete for the BabyDaddy of the Year title. He's attentive and understanding and warm and loving and sweet and doting and adorable. He greets me each morning with, "Good morning, baby. Good morning, little baby." When I lost my shit last night and had a meltdown because I couldn't find my sandal so we could take Finn for a walk, he wisely backed out of the room, helped look for the offending shoe, and then just stayed out of my way until I calmed the fuck down. Then we went for a walk like it had never happened. He gets me. He understands I'm crazy right now. He loves me anyhow. I think I chose wisely. (I sure hope so...we're a little stuck with each other now.)
I think we conceived on/around 8/11/10 (the night I got the huge rug burn on my big toe that I almost told you about here.). That makes our due date somewhere around 5/4/11. I'm glad I won't be all big and fat and hugely pregnant next summer. And I can wear super cute spring dresses in styles I never would've worn before because I won't have to worry about trying to hide my belly - by then, I'll be all belly, and I'll want to show it off everywhere I go. AND, I can totally wear elastic waistbands all holiday season and no one will say shit to me when I eat until I'm about to bust. PERFECT timing.
See? Nothing new here. Until next time...
I'm hungry every 2 hours. I'm eating healthier that I have in, well, maybe ever. And the beer and cigarettes? Don't even miss them. Not even a little bit.
I miss the pot, though. I've needed an attitude adjustment a few times and man, I wish I could just have a puff or two. I've found articles and studies that show that babies born to pot-smoking moms score higher on cognitive, developmental, and emotional tests than babies born to non-smoking moms. But only a few articles and one in-depth study. Everything else says it will make my baby have 3 arms, ADD, and cancer...of course, their sources are generic "some studies", but it's still not worth the risk. Smoke is bad for baby. Period. I'll have to find another method of stress release. So far, crying in the shower is working so-so. It'll get better.
Mostly, I'm bored. I'm watching TV and internetting and bringing work home trying to keep myself occupied, but I'm still just so bored. It's amazing how much more interesting things seem to be when I'm high; how much more focused I get on dumb shit, like Facebook and The Sims 3. Now it all seems ridiculous and lame and dull and just plain boring. This too shall pass.
Daddy called me tonight to check on me. I love my Daddy. It's only a matter of time before I pull the "Please stop smoking so your grandchild will know how awesome and wonderful you are" card. He'd stopped for months, but has apparently picked the habit back up again in the last few weeks. I'm terrified he's going to die of lung cancer or emphysema, after a long, lingering illness that destroys my Momma, too. But tonight, I was just happy to hear from him, and I was tickled that he was calling to check up on me. It warmed my heart.
Jimi continues to compete for the BabyDaddy of the Year title. He's attentive and understanding and warm and loving and sweet and doting and adorable. He greets me each morning with, "Good morning, baby. Good morning, little baby." When I lost my shit last night and had a meltdown because I couldn't find my sandal so we could take Finn for a walk, he wisely backed out of the room, helped look for the offending shoe, and then just stayed out of my way until I calmed the fuck down. Then we went for a walk like it had never happened. He gets me. He understands I'm crazy right now. He loves me anyhow. I think I chose wisely. (I sure hope so...we're a little stuck with each other now.)
I think we conceived on/around 8/11/10 (the night I got the huge rug burn on my big toe that I almost told you about here.). That makes our due date somewhere around 5/4/11. I'm glad I won't be all big and fat and hugely pregnant next summer. And I can wear super cute spring dresses in styles I never would've worn before because I won't have to worry about trying to hide my belly - by then, I'll be all belly, and I'll want to show it off everywhere I go. AND, I can totally wear elastic waistbands all holiday season and no one will say shit to me when I eat until I'm about to bust. PERFECT timing.
See? Nothing new here. Until next time...
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The right words, at the right time.
Melinda: So, what are you going to do if you go to the doctor in three weeks and they're all "You're not pregnant!"
I know what she meant. She meant, what if the test you took was wrong, and you got a false positive. She's not being morbid or suggesting I'll have a miscarriage. Still, I was taken aback.
Me: I guess I'd be heartbroken.
Jimi: We didn't plan this, but man, if that were to happen, I think I'd be ready to say "Let's try again, let's do this thing." We're excited and ready for it now.
This, from the man who didn't know if he wanted children.
See, I was married once, and my former husband, when he asked for the divorce, told me that he no longer wanted to have children. I was all, "Well, that makes it easy. I wish you would've told me two years ago and saved me some time, because that's a complete deal-breaker." I relayed this story to Jimi shortly after we began dating. Months later, when we decided to move in together, he confessed that he wasn't sure if he wanted to have any children, either. He further admitted that if he didn't have any children by the time he turned 40, he knew he wouldn't want to have them. (He was 35 at the time.) He knew it was a deal-breaker for me in my failed marriage, and wanted to make sure he didn't set us up for failure from the very beginning.
At that point in my life, though, I was 26 years old, divorced, barely working, and living in my friend's upstairs. Having kids was the absolute last thing on my mind, and I had been enjoying my new single life so thoroughly that I had begun to reconsider my desire to be a mother. Surely it was more fun to have my freedom, right? And i'm awfully selfish...what was wrong with choosing to live my life for me, instead of a brood of mini-me's? So I told him it didn't matter, and I meant it. I loved him, and the idea of walking away from him for the sake of something I only maybe still wanted was insanity.
And the years passed. I started thinking I wanted a child. Sometimes. Not all the time. Some days I'd be crazy with the desire to be a mom, other days, I didn't understand where those crazy thoughts had come from. Jimi was always the same..."maybe one day, but now's not the right time. We're not ready yet. We need to do this, this, and that first." And the days moved right along. We got a dog. We bought a house. We painted the bathroom.
And now, here we are. I'm thinking "WTF have we done?!" and he's all "YAY!! I am a manly man, with strong baby-making sperms!!! We're going to have a baby!!! YAY!!!"
I love that man with every ounce of my being. He always knows just what I need to hear to make everything okay.
I know what she meant. She meant, what if the test you took was wrong, and you got a false positive. She's not being morbid or suggesting I'll have a miscarriage. Still, I was taken aback.
Me: I guess I'd be heartbroken.
Jimi: We didn't plan this, but man, if that were to happen, I think I'd be ready to say "Let's try again, let's do this thing." We're excited and ready for it now.
This, from the man who didn't know if he wanted children.
See, I was married once, and my former husband, when he asked for the divorce, told me that he no longer wanted to have children. I was all, "Well, that makes it easy. I wish you would've told me two years ago and saved me some time, because that's a complete deal-breaker." I relayed this story to Jimi shortly after we began dating. Months later, when we decided to move in together, he confessed that he wasn't sure if he wanted to have any children, either. He further admitted that if he didn't have any children by the time he turned 40, he knew he wouldn't want to have them. (He was 35 at the time.) He knew it was a deal-breaker for me in my failed marriage, and wanted to make sure he didn't set us up for failure from the very beginning.
At that point in my life, though, I was 26 years old, divorced, barely working, and living in my friend's upstairs. Having kids was the absolute last thing on my mind, and I had been enjoying my new single life so thoroughly that I had begun to reconsider my desire to be a mother. Surely it was more fun to have my freedom, right? And i'm awfully selfish...what was wrong with choosing to live my life for me, instead of a brood of mini-me's? So I told him it didn't matter, and I meant it. I loved him, and the idea of walking away from him for the sake of something I only maybe still wanted was insanity.
And the years passed. I started thinking I wanted a child. Sometimes. Not all the time. Some days I'd be crazy with the desire to be a mom, other days, I didn't understand where those crazy thoughts had come from. Jimi was always the same..."maybe one day, but now's not the right time. We're not ready yet. We need to do this, this, and that first." And the days moved right along. We got a dog. We bought a house. We painted the bathroom.
And now, here we are. I'm thinking "WTF have we done?!" and he's all "YAY!! I am a manly man, with strong baby-making sperms!!! We're going to have a baby!!! YAY!!!"
I love that man with every ounce of my being. He always knows just what I need to hear to make everything okay.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Once upon a time...
Kat and I used to talk about how when we got pregnant, we'd never be those super cute moms with little basketball bellies who everyone thinks is just glowing with adorableness. We knew we'd be the fat girls who no one can tell is pregnant until we start to waddle and even then, no one would dare ask "When are you due?" for fear that we'd give them an evil stare and be all "WTF are you talking about? I'm not pregnant!"
I always thought she'd be one of the first people I'd tell when I found myself knocked up; hell, maybe she'd be the one who went with me to buy the test. I was convinced for years that if I ever had a little girl, part of her name would be Katherine, in tribute to the greatest friend I'd ever had. I thought we'd each be in the delivery room when the other gave birth. I thought we'd raise our babies together, like siblings.
And now, here I am, pregnant with my first child, and I don't even know Kat's phone number anymore.
It's funny how life changes, isn't it?
I always thought she'd be one of the first people I'd tell when I found myself knocked up; hell, maybe she'd be the one who went with me to buy the test. I was convinced for years that if I ever had a little girl, part of her name would be Katherine, in tribute to the greatest friend I'd ever had. I thought we'd each be in the delivery room when the other gave birth. I thought we'd raise our babies together, like siblings.
And now, here I am, pregnant with my first child, and I don't even know Kat's phone number anymore.
It's funny how life changes, isn't it?
Monday, September 6, 2010
Who decided to let me have a baby?
The more I read, the more terrified I become. Apparently, EVERYTHING is bad for baby. Everything. I'm starting to feel like no matter what I do, i'm going to fuck up my child in some way shape or form.
For example, unmarinated grilled meats are bad, they say. I had grilled chicken Saturday night and grilled hot dogs and brats last night. I'm supposed to avoid lunch meats, too. And plastic. And probably, my place of employment.
And then, friends who have had babies in the last few years are telling things to help me get prepared:
~ Save money
~ Start looking for daycares now
~ Save money
~ Start buying diapers and wipes now
~ Save money
Apparently babies are expensive.
And then I had the realization that I'll never have any freedom ever again. I'm going to be attached to this little person night and day for the next...well, forever. Even after it starts school, my heart and mind will be with it always, worrying and hoping that everything's okay. Even when it's grown, I'll always be worried and hopeful, wanting only good things for this person that is half of me.
Holy shit. This is so overwhelming.
I'm scared to death that we've done something crazy, something I'm not actually ready or able to handle. Oh man, this is intense. It's serious. This isn't just a dream of rocking and swaddling and singing and playing and laughing. This is real, this is life changing, this is the most fucked up thing I've ever experienced.
God, I hope I don't fuck this up.
For example, unmarinated grilled meats are bad, they say. I had grilled chicken Saturday night and grilled hot dogs and brats last night. I'm supposed to avoid lunch meats, too. And plastic. And probably, my place of employment.
And then, friends who have had babies in the last few years are telling things to help me get prepared:
~ Save money
~ Start looking for daycares now
~ Save money
~ Start buying diapers and wipes now
~ Save money
Apparently babies are expensive.
And then I had the realization that I'll never have any freedom ever again. I'm going to be attached to this little person night and day for the next...well, forever. Even after it starts school, my heart and mind will be with it always, worrying and hoping that everything's okay. Even when it's grown, I'll always be worried and hopeful, wanting only good things for this person that is half of me.
Holy shit. This is so overwhelming.
I'm scared to death that we've done something crazy, something I'm not actually ready or able to handle. Oh man, this is intense. It's serious. This isn't just a dream of rocking and swaddling and singing and playing and laughing. This is real, this is life changing, this is the most fucked up thing I've ever experienced.
God, I hope I don't fuck this up.
Dear little cluster of cells that has taken over my body:
Fancy meeting you here.
I don't really know just yet what to think about all this. I'm a little stunned, to say the least. As recently as yesterday I was all, "I'm totally not pregnant." I was totally wrong. But of course, you knew that already.
So here's what I promised your Daddy, and I'll make you the same promise:
I'll do whatever is in my power to get you here, in our arms, safe and happy and healthy. I'll eat what the doctors tell me to eat, I'll take all the vitamins every day, I'll stick to milk, water, and juice and try to pretend that a cup of herbal tea is totally the same as a cup of coffee that's half cream and one Splenda. I won't smoke cigarettes and drink beer while I read my books on the front porch. I won't get high.
Basically, I'll do what's best for you. Starting right now, and for always.
That's a pretty basic promise, I know. I mean, it's what's expected out of me as your Mom, right? But I'm cool with it, I understand my role in this, and I'll try to be the best mom evar, even though I'll probably suck at it really bad sometimes. Go easy on me, will ya? I've never done this before.
We didn't plan this, your Dad and I. We didn't plan against this, either. We love each other, a lot, and we're thrilled that we're going to have a new member in our little family. Even if your impending arrival has scared us both half to death and has set our minds spinning on all the ways we're SO not ready to be parents. But at the same time, we're in a beautiful place for this to happen now. It'll all be just fine.
You're probably going to have red hair and freckles. I'll beat up any kid who tries to tease you for that, because red hair and freckles are awesome. But of course, you're going to be super smart, so I won't need to remind you of how awesome your skin and hair is...you won't care because you'll insist on being judged for your brilliant mind. You'll be reading before you're out of diapers.
Wow. I'm still just so blown away by today's course of events. Every time I pause to move to the next paragraph, it hits me fresh all over again, a new wave of wonder and awe and fear and excitement.
I'm just so happy you're here, and I'll be so proud to be your Mom. And your Daddy? He's thrilled too, and he's going to be the best Dad any kid ever had.
I'd wish you sweet dreams, but according to this, you're just starting to develop your brain, spinal cord, and nerves, so you're probably not dreaming just yet. Instead, I'll hope that you float along in warmth and comfort and that you can feel the love I have for you already. I can sure feel it...my heart is full.
Until next time, I'll dream of you.
Love,
Momma
I don't really know just yet what to think about all this. I'm a little stunned, to say the least. As recently as yesterday I was all, "I'm totally not pregnant." I was totally wrong. But of course, you knew that already.
So here's what I promised your Daddy, and I'll make you the same promise:
I'll do whatever is in my power to get you here, in our arms, safe and happy and healthy. I'll eat what the doctors tell me to eat, I'll take all the vitamins every day, I'll stick to milk, water, and juice and try to pretend that a cup of herbal tea is totally the same as a cup of coffee that's half cream and one Splenda. I won't smoke cigarettes and drink beer while I read my books on the front porch. I won't get high.
Basically, I'll do what's best for you. Starting right now, and for always.
That's a pretty basic promise, I know. I mean, it's what's expected out of me as your Mom, right? But I'm cool with it, I understand my role in this, and I'll try to be the best mom evar, even though I'll probably suck at it really bad sometimes. Go easy on me, will ya? I've never done this before.
We didn't plan this, your Dad and I. We didn't plan against this, either. We love each other, a lot, and we're thrilled that we're going to have a new member in our little family. Even if your impending arrival has scared us both half to death and has set our minds spinning on all the ways we're SO not ready to be parents. But at the same time, we're in a beautiful place for this to happen now. It'll all be just fine.
You're probably going to have red hair and freckles. I'll beat up any kid who tries to tease you for that, because red hair and freckles are awesome. But of course, you're going to be super smart, so I won't need to remind you of how awesome your skin and hair is...you won't care because you'll insist on being judged for your brilliant mind. You'll be reading before you're out of diapers.
Wow. I'm still just so blown away by today's course of events. Every time I pause to move to the next paragraph, it hits me fresh all over again, a new wave of wonder and awe and fear and excitement.
I'm just so happy you're here, and I'll be so proud to be your Mom. And your Daddy? He's thrilled too, and he's going to be the best Dad any kid ever had.
I'd wish you sweet dreams, but according to this, you're just starting to develop your brain, spinal cord, and nerves, so you're probably not dreaming just yet. Instead, I'll hope that you float along in warmth and comfort and that you can feel the love I have for you already. I can sure feel it...my heart is full.
Until next time, I'll dream of you.
Love,
Momma
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Holy Shit
That's my phrase of the day. I've said it over and over again, and when I don't know what else to say, it's what I go back to, because it just seems to fit my jumbled thoughts so well. Holy shit.
I'm pregnant.
I really don't know what more there is to say. That says it all, doesn't it? Oh, but of course, I won't remember what "all" is in a week, so here, let me tell you about a little of it:
No beer, no smoking.
And I'm going to have to stop cussing so much, because I may as well start practicing now, right?
OMG, how will we pay for daycare, diapers, toys, formula?
I can't even keep my house clean now, how will I manage when there's a little baby that needs a safe clean place to sleep?
My boobs won't hurt this bad for the whole 40 weeks, will they?
And all that comes after the "Holy shit, I've been drinking and smoking like it was no big thing for the last month - I hope my child has a spinal cord" thoughts.
I'm in shock. When I peed on that stick, it didn't even need to think about what the answer was...that line was there before I finished peeing. Jimi was downstairs in the shower. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.
"Baby, I think we're going to have a baby." That's what I said to him. He opened the shower curtain and smiled at me. I was shaking. He kissed me and hugged me and I got in the shower with him and we stood under the warm spray while I tried to understand just how dramatically our lives just changed. I cried a little. I'm sure I'll cry a lot more before the end of this journey.
My parents are shocked, too, but they're happy. They want to know when we're getting married.
Part of me wants to scream from the rooftops "WE'RE HAVING A BABY!!!" but there's another part of me that is so scared to say anything to anyone, because what if something happens?
We're not going to think about that. We're not going to address it as a possibility unless we have to. And we won't have to.
We're going to focus on welcoming into our lives a healthy, happy, perfect little baby some time next May.
And I'm going to try to figure out how I'm not going to freak right the fuck out, because OMG, all of a sudden I can FEEL every way in which I've not been a responsible adult up to this point in my life. I've got to get a budget together, i've got to ramp up my savings, I've got to buy more life insurance, we've got to get those legal papers signed and filed. OH, and I've got to find an OB/GYN.
I'm blown away. I'm thrilled. I'm excited. I'm scared to death. And I love Jimi so much.
Jimi's happy. He's excited and scared, too. He's going to be an amazing father, and I'm glad that I get to travel this path with him.
I just can't believe it. I mean, Holy Shit!!!
I'm pregnant.
I really don't know what more there is to say. That says it all, doesn't it? Oh, but of course, I won't remember what "all" is in a week, so here, let me tell you about a little of it:
No beer, no smoking.
And I'm going to have to stop cussing so much, because I may as well start practicing now, right?
OMG, how will we pay for daycare, diapers, toys, formula?
I can't even keep my house clean now, how will I manage when there's a little baby that needs a safe clean place to sleep?
My boobs won't hurt this bad for the whole 40 weeks, will they?
And all that comes after the "Holy shit, I've been drinking and smoking like it was no big thing for the last month - I hope my child has a spinal cord" thoughts.
I'm in shock. When I peed on that stick, it didn't even need to think about what the answer was...that line was there before I finished peeing. Jimi was downstairs in the shower. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.
"Baby, I think we're going to have a baby." That's what I said to him. He opened the shower curtain and smiled at me. I was shaking. He kissed me and hugged me and I got in the shower with him and we stood under the warm spray while I tried to understand just how dramatically our lives just changed. I cried a little. I'm sure I'll cry a lot more before the end of this journey.
My parents are shocked, too, but they're happy. They want to know when we're getting married.
Part of me wants to scream from the rooftops "WE'RE HAVING A BABY!!!" but there's another part of me that is so scared to say anything to anyone, because what if something happens?
We're not going to think about that. We're not going to address it as a possibility unless we have to. And we won't have to.
We're going to focus on welcoming into our lives a healthy, happy, perfect little baby some time next May.
And I'm going to try to figure out how I'm not going to freak right the fuck out, because OMG, all of a sudden I can FEEL every way in which I've not been a responsible adult up to this point in my life. I've got to get a budget together, i've got to ramp up my savings, I've got to buy more life insurance, we've got to get those legal papers signed and filed. OH, and I've got to find an OB/GYN.
I'm blown away. I'm thrilled. I'm excited. I'm scared to death. And I love Jimi so much.
Jimi's happy. He's excited and scared, too. He's going to be an amazing father, and I'm glad that I get to travel this path with him.
I just can't believe it. I mean, Holy Shit!!!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Just a bunch of boring, uninteresting, blah blah blah
Last time I checked, the thermostat in the hallway read 69 degrees. With the windows open and a breeze flowing and the AC finally off after running non-stop for the better part of the last 3 months. Welcome, September! It's downright cool outside, and my toes froze in my flipflops when I ran out to the grocery to pick up milk and juice and waffles and yogurt this morning. The last few weekend-morning trips to the grocery have involved shorts and flipflops and sweating. Oh, I'm so glad fall is almost here!
The sky is blue and beautiful. The air is crisp. Finn-dog is loving laying in the long grass (we've only managed to cut 2/3 of the yard this week), basking in the sun, and every time I go to the door and try to call him inside, he looks at me, sits, and then looks away. As if to say, "You're joking, right? Have you SEEN how nice it is out here? I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you."
I'm in the living room in my long pants and my old t-shirt, and my snuggie. I told you it was chilly in here. I wish I was still in bed, but realizing that the only food I ate yesterday was an order of Dairy Queen biscuits & gravy in the morning and a spoonful of pulled pork at Karen't party last night motivated me to get up and go to the Valu Market to get some breakfast/hangover cure necessities. My body wasn't going to stop feeling like shit until I fed it something. And gave it some vitamins and nutrients and stuff. I still may go back to bed. I feel better, but man, I shouldn't have mixed beer and tequila and jello shots. OH! And vodka...I forgot about my after-work party-pre-gaming. If i'm pregnant, I've just pickled my fetus.
Did I mention that I'm slightly concerned I might possibly be knocked up? I don't follow my cycle closely enough to know if I'm a week late, or if I'm not due to start until today-ish. I've been cramping for a week, light, short cramps that are not normal unless I'm menstruating, but I'm not, so that's weird. And my boobs hurt. And have all week. That's a little abnormal, too. But I've not spent $20 on a pregnancy test because every time I've done that it was for nothing and a waste of my $20 and I'm pretty convinced after 2.5 years of unprotected sex and no Oopsies! that one or both of us is infertile. So I, the Queen of Impatience, decided I would wait until tomorrow, and if I hadn't started my period by then, I'd go spend $20 on a pregnancy test and find out for certain one way or the other. But I'm certain that won't be necessary, as surely if I were pregnant, I'd already know, right? Like I would've dreamed of some little baby coming up and introducing himself and being all "I'm your kid, my name's Joe" or something. I promise when I start, I won't come and blog about it. We'll just pretend this entire conversation never happened, okay?
I'm probably a real asshole for even having a question and still getting smashed last night. You know what? I smoked cigarettes all night, too. And I called Karen's mom by her ex-girlfriend's name, and then went and told the new girlfriend what I'd done and she was all "You're kidding, right? That's AWFUL!" and she meant it. And then Randy agreed and smacked my face (gay Randy, not my dad Randy). And I haven't been taking multivitamins every day because I can't always remember. I'm a total asshole.
We're supposed to camp this weekend, but I backed out at the last minute and then we decided we'd go after all and then we were just going to drive up tomorrow for the pig roast but then we found out the pig roast is today and when we found that out, Jimi really wanted to go camping and we'd talked about just getting up and getting going today but now I'm hungover, he's still in bed at 11 o'clock, and all I want to do is take a nap. It's a beautiful weekend for camping, but i don't want all the work that goes along with it. I don't want to set up a tent, I don't want to pee behind trees, I don't want to wash dishes in cold water. I do want to have a big fire, though, and sit around it with my friends and smell the campfire smells and cook meat on sticks. That part's always good. I don't know what we're going to do, but the longer Jimi sleeps, the more the chances of us packing up and heading out dwindle. I'm fine with that. I want to take the dog for a walk in the park...a nice long walk. And i want that nap.
The sky is blue and beautiful. The air is crisp. Finn-dog is loving laying in the long grass (we've only managed to cut 2/3 of the yard this week), basking in the sun, and every time I go to the door and try to call him inside, he looks at me, sits, and then looks away. As if to say, "You're joking, right? Have you SEEN how nice it is out here? I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you."
I'm in the living room in my long pants and my old t-shirt, and my snuggie. I told you it was chilly in here. I wish I was still in bed, but realizing that the only food I ate yesterday was an order of Dairy Queen biscuits & gravy in the morning and a spoonful of pulled pork at Karen't party last night motivated me to get up and go to the Valu Market to get some breakfast/hangover cure necessities. My body wasn't going to stop feeling like shit until I fed it something. And gave it some vitamins and nutrients and stuff. I still may go back to bed. I feel better, but man, I shouldn't have mixed beer and tequila and jello shots. OH! And vodka...I forgot about my after-work party-pre-gaming. If i'm pregnant, I've just pickled my fetus.
Did I mention that I'm slightly concerned I might possibly be knocked up? I don't follow my cycle closely enough to know if I'm a week late, or if I'm not due to start until today-ish. I've been cramping for a week, light, short cramps that are not normal unless I'm menstruating, but I'm not, so that's weird. And my boobs hurt. And have all week. That's a little abnormal, too. But I've not spent $20 on a pregnancy test because every time I've done that it was for nothing and a waste of my $20 and I'm pretty convinced after 2.5 years of unprotected sex and no Oopsies! that one or both of us is infertile. So I, the Queen of Impatience, decided I would wait until tomorrow, and if I hadn't started my period by then, I'd go spend $20 on a pregnancy test and find out for certain one way or the other. But I'm certain that won't be necessary, as surely if I were pregnant, I'd already know, right? Like I would've dreamed of some little baby coming up and introducing himself and being all "I'm your kid, my name's Joe" or something. I promise when I start, I won't come and blog about it. We'll just pretend this entire conversation never happened, okay?
I'm probably a real asshole for even having a question and still getting smashed last night. You know what? I smoked cigarettes all night, too. And I called Karen's mom by her ex-girlfriend's name, and then went and told the new girlfriend what I'd done and she was all "You're kidding, right? That's AWFUL!" and she meant it. And then Randy agreed and smacked my face (gay Randy, not my dad Randy). And I haven't been taking multivitamins every day because I can't always remember. I'm a total asshole.
We're supposed to camp this weekend, but I backed out at the last minute and then we decided we'd go after all and then we were just going to drive up tomorrow for the pig roast but then we found out the pig roast is today and when we found that out, Jimi really wanted to go camping and we'd talked about just getting up and getting going today but now I'm hungover, he's still in bed at 11 o'clock, and all I want to do is take a nap. It's a beautiful weekend for camping, but i don't want all the work that goes along with it. I don't want to set up a tent, I don't want to pee behind trees, I don't want to wash dishes in cold water. I do want to have a big fire, though, and sit around it with my friends and smell the campfire smells and cook meat on sticks. That part's always good. I don't know what we're going to do, but the longer Jimi sleeps, the more the chances of us packing up and heading out dwindle. I'm fine with that. I want to take the dog for a walk in the park...a nice long walk. And i want that nap.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
What a difference a day makes.
A few hours, even.
I'm hanging out at the "laundromat". "Laundromat" is in quotations because i'm in my basement. The washer is going full speed in what would be (if there were walls down here instead of just support beams) the next room over. Jimi and I are lounging in the "living room" section of this level - the room next to the laundry room, where he's established a guitar practice area. He's got his big amp, his guitars, a little iron/wood table he got from a co-worker for $15, and the two folding chairs that started their lives as my $30 Meijer specials that were the seating spaces in my "den" when I was living in Kimmie's upstairs. In their lifetimes, they've also been the sweet outdoor chairs that went perfectly around the cut drum that was the fire pit in the backyard we adored over on Camp Street. Now they're the downstairs chairs, and they're perfect. I'm lounged back, with my feet propped on the table, my fruity vodka drink next to me (and it's totally okay if I spill it...the floor is concrete!).
On this side of two drinks, the world is much rosier.
And I talked to my Momma. For almost an hour, but then my phone died. Again. I ordered a new battery today, but it'll probably be weeks before I get it. Oh well. Maybe i'll miss a few 2 a.m. phone calls.
I'm not going to quit my job. Obviously. I can't. I can't make this much money somewhere else, not in this economy, not without a college degree. I won't have these benefits. I won't have this much vacation time (not that I get to take any amount of vacation time at any one time - two days, max, and that should be around a weekend, if possible, so the person who has to cover for me has the least amount of work possible to contend with.) I won't have these awesome co-workers, or this awesome dress code, or that fantastic office dog, or the ability to take my puppy to work when the boss's dog isn't there.
i can't quit my job.
That fact makes my stomach hurt.
But I have a job. A damn good one. With great benefits and amazing perks.
Maybe the problem isn't the job. Maybe it's my attitude.
Maybe I should have to work 60 hours a week. Maybe if I do, I'll not have to do it forever. Maybe if I work in the evenings or go in earlier or maybe put in a few hours on a Saturday (gasp!), maybe my job won't suck quite so much. Maybe I'll get some shit caught up and maybe it'll make things easier in the long run.
And maybe if I stop trying to be everyone's fucking BFF, I'll get some good managing in, too. Maybe people will start to respect me when they understand i'm not fucking around anymore and this is what i need and this is what i'll make happen for you in return. Maybe if I put in a few extra hours here and there, and didn't bitch about it the entire time, maybe I could arrange to finally have that stupid effing driver's meeting i've been talking about for an effing year, and maybe then, at that time, i'd be able to look these guys in the face and say THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU, DO IT OR GO AWAY and maybe my voice would shake a little, but i know i could do it, i could say those words and stand firm. i could be a leader.
And maybe then they'd turn in their paperwork on time and not bitch when i tell them they have to live load this next pickup and maybe i'd finally feel like i'm doing my fucking job.
I'm sorry if you're offended by the "F" word. Sometimes it just feels better to use it. Sometimes it's just the only word that can get my point across. Yes, I really am just that passionate about certain ridiculous things.
So yeah. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to work tomorrow, at 7, with a new attitude. The attitude that a 10 hour day is what it takes to get it done. The attitude that I can do my job, and do it well, if only i make the time. Even if that means cutting into my personal time now. It will mean more personal time in the future, and that future will be sooner rather than later if I choose this new path over my current "bitch about it and hope something changes" strategy, which is failing me miserably and making me crazy with hate for my job.
And again, having a job, right now, today, is no small thing. It's kind of a big deal. And my salary? Did I mention I don't have a college degree?
Anyone who's ever heard me bitch about my job should probably have smacked my face.
So that's what I'm going to do.
Thanks, Vodka!
(Oh, and Jimi, of course, for making this awesome laundromat in the basement. If we get a Police Trainer video game and bring down the TV, it'll be the best laundromat ever.)
I'm hanging out at the "laundromat". "Laundromat" is in quotations because i'm in my basement. The washer is going full speed in what would be (if there were walls down here instead of just support beams) the next room over. Jimi and I are lounging in the "living room" section of this level - the room next to the laundry room, where he's established a guitar practice area. He's got his big amp, his guitars, a little iron/wood table he got from a co-worker for $15, and the two folding chairs that started their lives as my $30 Meijer specials that were the seating spaces in my "den" when I was living in Kimmie's upstairs. In their lifetimes, they've also been the sweet outdoor chairs that went perfectly around the cut drum that was the fire pit in the backyard we adored over on Camp Street. Now they're the downstairs chairs, and they're perfect. I'm lounged back, with my feet propped on the table, my fruity vodka drink next to me (and it's totally okay if I spill it...the floor is concrete!).
On this side of two drinks, the world is much rosier.
And I talked to my Momma. For almost an hour, but then my phone died. Again. I ordered a new battery today, but it'll probably be weeks before I get it. Oh well. Maybe i'll miss a few 2 a.m. phone calls.
I'm not going to quit my job. Obviously. I can't. I can't make this much money somewhere else, not in this economy, not without a college degree. I won't have these benefits. I won't have this much vacation time (not that I get to take any amount of vacation time at any one time - two days, max, and that should be around a weekend, if possible, so the person who has to cover for me has the least amount of work possible to contend with.) I won't have these awesome co-workers, or this awesome dress code, or that fantastic office dog, or the ability to take my puppy to work when the boss's dog isn't there.
i can't quit my job.
That fact makes my stomach hurt.
But I have a job. A damn good one. With great benefits and amazing perks.
Maybe the problem isn't the job. Maybe it's my attitude.
Maybe I should have to work 60 hours a week. Maybe if I do, I'll not have to do it forever. Maybe if I work in the evenings or go in earlier or maybe put in a few hours on a Saturday (gasp!), maybe my job won't suck quite so much. Maybe I'll get some shit caught up and maybe it'll make things easier in the long run.
And maybe if I stop trying to be everyone's fucking BFF, I'll get some good managing in, too. Maybe people will start to respect me when they understand i'm not fucking around anymore and this is what i need and this is what i'll make happen for you in return. Maybe if I put in a few extra hours here and there, and didn't bitch about it the entire time, maybe I could arrange to finally have that stupid effing driver's meeting i've been talking about for an effing year, and maybe then, at that time, i'd be able to look these guys in the face and say THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU, DO IT OR GO AWAY and maybe my voice would shake a little, but i know i could do it, i could say those words and stand firm. i could be a leader.
And maybe then they'd turn in their paperwork on time and not bitch when i tell them they have to live load this next pickup and maybe i'd finally feel like i'm doing my fucking job.
I'm sorry if you're offended by the "F" word. Sometimes it just feels better to use it. Sometimes it's just the only word that can get my point across. Yes, I really am just that passionate about certain ridiculous things.
So yeah. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to work tomorrow, at 7, with a new attitude. The attitude that a 10 hour day is what it takes to get it done. The attitude that I can do my job, and do it well, if only i make the time. Even if that means cutting into my personal time now. It will mean more personal time in the future, and that future will be sooner rather than later if I choose this new path over my current "bitch about it and hope something changes" strategy, which is failing me miserably and making me crazy with hate for my job.
And again, having a job, right now, today, is no small thing. It's kind of a big deal. And my salary? Did I mention I don't have a college degree?
Anyone who's ever heard me bitch about my job should probably have smacked my face.
So that's what I'm going to do.
Thanks, Vodka!
(Oh, and Jimi, of course, for making this awesome laundromat in the basement. If we get a Police Trainer video game and bring down the TV, it'll be the best laundromat ever.)
It's one of THOSE days.
You know, one of those days when my job is a complete, total soul-sucking whore.
I'm a manager. My job is to manage people and situations.
So why do I feel like every person I try to manage is secretly trying to make me insane or trying to get me to break down or trying to get me to just walk straight the fuck out the door and never come back?
I ask for things to get done, and they don't get done.
I give instructions on how to complete tasks, and the instructions are ignored.
I require that paperwork be turned in every day, and I get it in trickles...a little on Tuesday, some more Wednesday afternoon, maybe a one or two pieces on Friday.
So I end up chasing my tail, running in circles, doing it my fucking self. Because if I do it myself, at least I'll know it got done. And it'll probably be accurate, though I can't swear to that because I'm busy chasing my tail and running in circles while I do a million other things at the same time.
I've been told that i need to ask for help when i need help. So last week, when I was out of town and realized a major change needs to be made in the office and I was all, "Hey, you think you could do this for me? I really don't have time. You can handle this, right?"
And when i got back to town and it hadn't gotten done, I was all, "That's cool. Could you just please make sure it gets done today? I really want to get started on this."
And when i asked about it again today, a full week after the initial request, the shit still hasn't been done. It was "forgotten". Oops.
So now, i'm back to doing it my fucking self. Awesome.
The best part? I thought that person was the one person i could go to to get shit done. i was all, "well, everyone else might think I'm full of shit, but this person knows how stressed I am and respects me and of course they'll be willing to help me out."
i'm incompetent.
i'm a joke
i have no business managing anything
i've got to find a new job
i want to cry
i want to scream
i want to throw things
i want to walk right the fuck out that door and not ever cross the threshold again.
God, this is depressing. My feelings are hurt. Really really hurt and I don't know what to do about it. My self-worth is directly tied to my ability to accomplish the tasks I'm handed, but lately I feel like i'm never accomplishing anything, just barely treading water and keeping myself from drowning. And i suck as a manager, so having that fact reinforced takes me to a dark place and i just want someone to turn a fucking light on.
Time to go back to the office. lunch is over. 5 o'clock, you can't get here soon enough.
I'm a manager. My job is to manage people and situations.
So why do I feel like every person I try to manage is secretly trying to make me insane or trying to get me to break down or trying to get me to just walk straight the fuck out the door and never come back?
I ask for things to get done, and they don't get done.
I give instructions on how to complete tasks, and the instructions are ignored.
I require that paperwork be turned in every day, and I get it in trickles...a little on Tuesday, some more Wednesday afternoon, maybe a one or two pieces on Friday.
So I end up chasing my tail, running in circles, doing it my fucking self. Because if I do it myself, at least I'll know it got done. And it'll probably be accurate, though I can't swear to that because I'm busy chasing my tail and running in circles while I do a million other things at the same time.
I've been told that i need to ask for help when i need help. So last week, when I was out of town and realized a major change needs to be made in the office and I was all, "Hey, you think you could do this for me? I really don't have time. You can handle this, right?"
And when i got back to town and it hadn't gotten done, I was all, "That's cool. Could you just please make sure it gets done today? I really want to get started on this."
And when i asked about it again today, a full week after the initial request, the shit still hasn't been done. It was "forgotten". Oops.
So now, i'm back to doing it my fucking self. Awesome.
The best part? I thought that person was the one person i could go to to get shit done. i was all, "well, everyone else might think I'm full of shit, but this person knows how stressed I am and respects me and of course they'll be willing to help me out."
i'm incompetent.
i'm a joke
i have no business managing anything
i've got to find a new job
i want to cry
i want to scream
i want to throw things
i want to walk right the fuck out that door and not ever cross the threshold again.
God, this is depressing. My feelings are hurt. Really really hurt and I don't know what to do about it. My self-worth is directly tied to my ability to accomplish the tasks I'm handed, but lately I feel like i'm never accomplishing anything, just barely treading water and keeping myself from drowning. And i suck as a manager, so having that fact reinforced takes me to a dark place and i just want someone to turn a fucking light on.
Time to go back to the office. lunch is over. 5 o'clock, you can't get here soon enough.
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