The last month has been one of the most stressfull times of my life. (Has it really only been a month, it feels like years)
The time since we decided to move has sucked. No, sucked it putting it lightly. It’s been a stressed out, unorganized mess of shit spread on toast so thin that you can’t help but get it smeared all over you. I understand that changes take place while making a transition such as this but let me give you a short summation of what it’s been like around here-
Day 1- Yay! Let’s make this tremendous life change! What can possibly go wrong?
Day 3- Are we sure we want to do this? When are we doing this? Oh, May 2nd works for you! Ok, May 2nd it is. Let’s give notice to our landlord so we have 60 days to pack!
Day 5- Ok, down to 58 days to get our whole lives rearranged, no pressure.
Day 7- Mother in Law graciously informs us that she is happy to let us stay in her house in KC while we get up on our feet. No rent, no problem! Oh, and leave your furniture, sell it so you will have extra move money. We can have hers! Isn’t that nice??
Day 11- Phone call from prospective job that started all this. Position has been filled by someone who could be here faster. We know you were counting on this to be your SOLE family income and that you’ve uprooted your lives to be here. Our bad. LOLOLOLOLOLOL
Day 12- MIL retracts house offer. Oh, you have no income now? Well, no job means no house, rent free or not. MWhahahahahaha
Day 13- Nervous breakdown ensues. Copious amounts of infighting between Hubs and I. Are we or aren’t we? What do we do now?
Day 15- I start spamming the hell out of every hotel in the KC area. HIRE MY HUSBAND! Look at his resume! Isn’t he fabulous? Get it while it’s hot folks!!
Day 16- Sit despondent at the computer screen, shocked that our phone/email is not ringing off the hook with job offers as CEO of all major hotels in KC. Can’t obsesses like this. Gotta get busy. Down to 44 days.
Day 18- Hotels booked for drive across country. Route planned. Dates confirmed. Still no job or house. Why are we doing this again?
Day 20- A phone call! Oh thank you heavens A Phone Call! Hubs has job interview tomorrow at 1pm.
Day 21- Flurry of phone calls. Interviews being requested around the clock – You want to talk to him at 3, sorry, he’s booked, how about 2?
Day 22- Hubs has been on the phone with 6 different hotels. Can’t tell one from the other. Didn’t you already talk to that guy? Wait, if you’re talking to him now then who’s at 4 tomorrow? Damn.
Day 23- Those went so well that there is no way you won’t get an offer by the end of the week. I am going to go start packing the house! La la la, throwing shit in boxes.
Day 24- COMPLETE RADIO SILENCE.
Day 25- Where have they all gone? No offers yet.. I don’t get it. Didn’t they all love your go-get-em attitude and witty repartee? Haven’t they seen your meticulous LinkedIn profile and your dapper smile in said profile pic? Where HAVE THEY ALL GONE???
Day 26- Fine, I’ll call them. I wanna know why my husband isn’t good enough for them. I want one good reason why… oh, the phone’s ringing. Hold on. No, not an offer, another interview? Those Mother Fuckers! Where is your job offer with penthouse and millions?
Day 27- MIL is calling daily wanting updates on our arrival date. Doesn’t seem to accept that we aren’t doing this without a job or house set up. Must have one to get the other. Baby won’t sleep. Please sleep. Please.. Someone give this kid an Ambien.
Day 28- Finally, an offer! Slight pay increase, no penthouse..This is really happening! Contingent on drug test and background check. Well, Hubs hasn’t been making meth and he didn’t get caught when he did that thing that one time so we should be ok, right? RIGHT?
Day 29- Family packing day! We can only take about 1/2 of our crap so everything we don’t want gets thrown out or donated. Day spent frantically throwing shit in boxes or trash bags. Bags and boxes frequently confused for each other. Kid ends up dumpster diving to get coffee pot. Must have coffee pot! Baby cries all day, don’t know why.
Day 30- Take Kid to roller skating party. Declare day off. Fall twice, dislocate hip and left shoulder. Should probably be in traction for this shit. Fucking OW! Cannot pack so I spend the night looking for an apartment. There are no acceptable living facilities to be found. Different kind of panic sets in…30 days left…
Which brings me to now… No coffee, covered in baby puke, scrubbing cat feces off the floor at 7am. I want to go hide in a dark room somewhere. Actually considering getting a hotel room so I can just watch HBO and cry all day. I don’t want to do this anymore but I am caught up in a whirl wind with a deadline approaching at rapid speed.
29 days left….
Hubs and I have been debating a big move for about 2 years now. I am happy to say that we have finally decided that this year is it. We haven’t set a final date yet but it’s going to happen in 2014, probably in July once school is out. His family is in Kansas City and we are pretty much alone out here on the East Coast. With the way the job situation has been for us (not good at all for me) we are hoping that a move will shake things up a bit.
If we’d been smart we would have done it when we got our tax refund this year. Of course, it didn’t occur to me to bring up the conversation until I had a dream about it a month ago.
I am a bit hesitant about it, as to be expected. I know that it won’t be like when I moved to VA from FL. That was a hell of a jump for me. I lived in small town Florida where it rained every day at 3pm and that was the most exciting thing that ever happened around those parts. When I met Hubs we decided to pack everything into my shitty Ford and drive straight through to VA to start our lives over. It was terrifying for me so I didn’t really think about it much. I just closed my eyes and jumped, following his lead.
In many ways, I’m doing the same here. Moving the two of us, as scary as it was then, is going to be cake compared to making a 15 hour drive with a family of 4 and all our crap. I’ve looked into options already : UHaul vs. PODS vs. Moving Company vs. we are completely broke so we could just sell our shit and use that money to start over… Yeah, there’s that.
We aren’t “completely” broke as most people would say but it looks like this move will take everything we have. Thankfully, his family is being pretty supportive. His mom has been helping on her end since she is already in KC. She has found us a house for $300 less a month than what we pay here. His dad is going to help him get a job with a company that he worked at for 40 years that will (fingers crossed) come with a big jump in pay. Hopefully things will fall into place for us as we go along.
So, I just wanted to tell somebody.
We aren’t sharing it with Special K until we have all of the details worked out and finalized. That way, if things fall through then she won’t be disappointed. We have also decided not to make any “official” decisions until Mercury is out of retrograde. That gives me 24 hours until I can pick a date. Until then, I will continue to run through the thousands of what-ifs in my head. The hamster in that wheel is going to have a stroke before this is done.
Thanks for sharing my secret y’all. I hope this didn’t jinx it.
I know that you all are checking your page nightly and thinking, I wonder what Mommy had to say today? Only to find that there’s nothing new on my blog.
Truth children, is that I just don’t have time to make daily posts. Babies come first and the fingers can’t always hit the keyboard.
But wait! There’s hope!
Check me out on my Facebook Page- MommySaidTheFWord
I am able to update that much more frequently.
Let the hilarity ensue! See you there!
Lately, I feel like my whole life revolves around my boobs. I spend a good 90% of my time walking around the house with a boob hanging out and a baby attached to it. I can’t walk past the baby or my husband without one of them staring at my boobs like it’s time for a treat. For one of them, it is. For the other, he can get over it.
I knew that breastfeeding was going to be demanding but I didn’t realize that it was going to change my entire sense of self. My boobs used to be one of the few parts of my body I was proud of. I walked around with my tig ol’ bittys and my hour-glass figure and I felt like I was hot shit. I got attention, most of it the wrong kind, but I felt great about myself. As I got older, the hourglass turned into more of an apple but I still rocked a tight sweater like nobodies business.
These days, my shirts are all loose necked nursing tees with leak stains complementing the spit up spots. My boobs have jumped from DD to GG’s and they weigh about 15lbs each. It hurts. My nipples are sore and the areola are the size of gourmet salami slices. I can put on a tight sweater but then I have to worry about it restricting my milk production. I have to watch what I wear and what I eat. I have to make time each day to attach myself to this horrible contraption that is supposed to pump the extra milk so they don’t hurt so badly but I am absolutely convinced that it’s an instrument of torture. My hot shit attitude has been exchanged with a hot mess.
I wasn’t able to breastfeed my other kids so being able to breast feed Sy is a totally new experience for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love being able to comfort him in a way that no one else can. But it’s still a way that NO ONE else can. He is always on me, attached to me or being passed to me because he might be hungry. He won’t go to sleep unless I lay down next to him and let him nurse to sleep. Then he won’t stay asleep unless he’s laying nose to nipple with me. He’s actually doing that right now. I swear to God that I am going to create a teddy bear with a big silicone boob attached to it just so he will have something to snuggle with other than me. My boobs have become his security blanket and I fear that I am completely screwed.
I take comfort in knowing that while they may not be spectacular to the outside world, they are still amazing to one little nursling. I am proud that I can provide for my child. I am proud to be a mother, tig ol’ bittys or not. It is only a short time that we will be able to share these special moments and I hope to enjoy each and every one of them, at least until he has teeth.
I am 29 years old with two kids. I don’t know what I am doing and the word “should” is used far too much in my vocabulary.
I should get up before the sun so I can make a hot breakfast for my kid before shipping her off to school. I should be able to complete the small list of chores that I have on my fridge, neatly organized into short lists of daily tasks that should take no more than 15 minutes to ensure a house that sparkles in the frickin sun shine. I should have my 2 month old down for a nap by 11am, where he should nap for at least two hours so I can get in the shower and have time to write my blog posts, which I feel I should have up daily. I should get Special K’s homework done by 3:30 so that she can do her chores by 4:00 and have the optimum 1.5 hours to play outside before it gets dark at 5:30. I should have dinner on the table by 7:00. Dinner should include one well cooked protein, a starch which evenly rotates between a potato, rice or pasta, and a vegetable.
The list goes on and I recognize that I have developed OCD when it comes to my household.
The truth is, I am lucky if I can snap my kid out of her sleepy stupor to eat a granola bar before she hustles out the door to meet the school bus. My house is not clean. I don’t have 15 minutes to pee and maybe brush my hair, let alone clean the house. Pinterest and their chore charts can bite my ass. This post is only being written because Sy is passed out on my lap. Getting K (or any other member of my family) to do things on my cock-a-mamy schedule is like herding cats into a lake. It’s not going to happen. Most nights, dinner ends up either under cooked or grossly over cooked. Bed time consists of the phrase “go to bed” being recited over 30 times before she finally wrangles a cat and heads up stairs.
At this point, I am starting to understand that it is not the final outcome that matters most but rather the intention with which things are approached. My kids don’t care if dinner is a carefully rotated menu. They do care if mommy is losing her freaking mind trying to stick to a schedule that no one else acknowledges. My husband doesn’t give a shit if his plate is the first on the table. Most nights he catches me mid-breakdown and so politely reminds me to stop worrying about getting his plate and to just get my self taken care of and sit the fuck down so I can give the baby a boob so he will stop screaming. Hell, my husband can’t even get himself out of bed at 6:00 for a 7:00 dinner so why should I worry about getting things on the table on time?
So, having gotten of track, I will come back around to say that I am forgiving myself for the little things. I will no longer try to press myself into the mold that I saw on television growing up. It’s ok if I can breastfeed my son. It’s ok if I can’t. Cloth diapers or disposable… doesn’t matter as long as his ass is covered. I am a good mom, a good wife and a good person. What matters most is that I love my family. I forgive myself.
I’m struggling y’all. I don’t know if it’s post partum depression getting to me or what but the last few days have just been a real battle to keep myself positive. I’m frustrated, exhausted and I’m getting fed up with little things around the house. Maybe it’s just cabin fever from being stuck at home for so long. It just feels like every day is the same and the nasty weather isn’t helping either.
Sy has not been sleeping because of his acid reflux, he’s not keeping anything down at all and he screams.. oh, my God does he scream. Hours on end with nothing to relieve him. I took him to the doctor yesterday and she said that he could have a number of different issues so we need to take him in for an ultrasound this afternoon.
I am terrified that something is seriously wrong with him. I can’t stand to see him in this much pain, all the time and it kills me that I don’t know what to do to help him. He won’t sleep unless he’s on me and even then it’s only for 10 minutes at a time. Since he’s not sleeping I’m not getting anything done around the house, while is driving me nuts. I’m not a total neat freak but I can’t stand it when other people don’t clean up after themselves. I am somewhat understanding with K, since she is only 7 and she is still learning, but the child is actually better than her father. The man is driving me nuts. At least K puts her dirty stuff in the proper places. The living room floor is not his personal laundry bin, his desk is not where his dirty dishes go and when the dishes actually make it to the sink could ya please bother to rinse them off? Is that asking to much?
I know I should just calmly bring it up to him before it becomes a big deal in my own head but as much as it pisses me off I feel guilty about not being able to keep the house clean like I should be. I mean, I’m not working so I feel like I should be able to take proper care of the kids and the house. It’s my job now and if I were my boss, I would fire me.
Now, before you get all uppity at me for not giving myself enough credit, I do, I just want to be a good wife and I guess that my June Cleaver complex really comes into play in this area. Maybe I do need to just take a break and realize that I am doing my best in all areas and that’s all that I can be expected to do. After all, I am worth over $100,000…
It’s been a rough few days kids. Sy has terrible reflux so he’s been screaming and vomiting, non-stop for three days. It seems like my entire house is covered in baby puke. I can’t stand seeing him in this much pain. We are sleeping/nursing sitting up, which means Mommy isn’t sleeping at all.
If anyone out there has any suggestions on how to help him out until I can get to the doctor on Wednesday, they are greatly appreciated!
On a positive note, Hubs has agreed to stay with the kids tonight so that Mommy can have her first night out since Syfy was born. I’ve reconnected with a few old friends and they’ve invited me to a burlesque show. Whoot!
Hopefully I’ll be able to chip away the layers of baby gunk and slather on some makeup so that I will look 1/2 way decent for the evening. I’m actually quite nervous about leaving the kids with Hubs. He’s a great father but I’m ready to pull my hair out so I hesitate to wish that on him.
Well, just wanted to say a quick hey, hi there, hello! to let you know what’s up and why I haven’t been holding up my end of the post a day bargain. Can we forgo the 30 lashes I’ve earned and just consider the screaming baby enough punishment?