My body is not the same since I had the baby.
This is not shocking. In the past year, well, I have done nothing. I ate what I wanted while I nursed and lost thirty pounds in two weeks. Then I held on to that last ten pounds. Then I went back to work and gained back a couple. And it's all in different places.
I've read Linda. I know that it doesn't have to be this way. But clearly, I have not made losing weight a priority and when I am honest with myself.
I am not going to.
At least not right now. And I am a huge believer in dressing the body you have now. Since I can wear my pre-baby jeans well I was. But this was a terrible idea. Low-rise should not be happening for me, possibly ever. I decided that I was going to buy a great pair of jeans because I was tired of feeling like I was failing every time I put on pants.
I just decided to buy the same jeans, one size up. Well. No.
Muffin top. Bad muffin top. And worse, this was the largest size they made. Those of you who have sprung for designer jeans know that the whole point is the fit. If they do not fit perfectly than do not bother. And then I noticed the salesgirl gearing up to ask me something.
"We do have these in our plus size department."
I admit it, I hesitated. I wasn't offended and was actually glad she mentioned it. But I am ashamed to admit that I was ashamed. I don't think badly of plus sized women, in fact I think I made fun of my mother for caring about her size. I mean, as some one with four sizes of pants in her closet that fit, I know that women's sizing makes zero logical sense so there really is no point in worrying about it.
Except apparently I really didn't want to be plus sized.
But up to that department I went. And . . .no one stared. Customers in other departments did not fling things at me. No one screeched "YOU ARE TOO THIN FOR THIS DEPARTMENT." I was oddly sure both of those things would happen.
And they fit. No muffin top, no pulling at the legs. Ass up where it should be.
I should have been thrilled. Good jeans are a Holy Grail. But I admit it took me longer than it should have to decide to buy them.
I got home, blacked out the size and immediately loved them more.
I am angry. I am angry with myself for feeling this way. I am angry that I live in a world where women are supposed to be ashamed of being plus sized. I am sad that apparently my self-esteem is tied to an arbitrary number. And I am embarrassed at how much I am hesitating to type this at all.
But I am hitting publish.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I Choose Aruba
I spent today just hamster-wheeling around. I know everyone has days like this, where your to-do list just gets longer and there is chaos everywhere and I could actually hear my inbox ticking away like a bomb.
There was a time when I thrived on stress. I just piled more and more activity on top of myself. That stress pushed me to do more, to do better. That time has long since passed. The drama makes me want to curl up and hide. The stress doesn't push me to work faster but to throw up my hands in disgust. My capacity for bullshit is almost zero.
I work with some one who never seems overwhelmed. If she makes a distressed face than you know the end of the world is nigh because otherwise she doesn't sweat, she doesn't rage and not a hint of a frown wrinkles her brow. I long to be here, I long for it more than I long for thin thighs which is quite a bit. But, like the thin thighs, I don't think I long for it enough to do the major reconstruction on myself to become that.
I am thirty years old and I am accepting now that I cannot change how I am. I get involved. I want to do my best and I will get charged up if people are throwing obstacles in my way. But if I am not passionate about something I cannot fake it. I cannot make myself feel something that I don't. So the challenge is to find a way to deal with the drama and not explode from it all.
Or win the lottery and head to Aruba.
There was a time when I thrived on stress. I just piled more and more activity on top of myself. That stress pushed me to do more, to do better. That time has long since passed. The drama makes me want to curl up and hide. The stress doesn't push me to work faster but to throw up my hands in disgust. My capacity for bullshit is almost zero.
I work with some one who never seems overwhelmed. If she makes a distressed face than you know the end of the world is nigh because otherwise she doesn't sweat, she doesn't rage and not a hint of a frown wrinkles her brow. I long to be here, I long for it more than I long for thin thighs which is quite a bit. But, like the thin thighs, I don't think I long for it enough to do the major reconstruction on myself to become that.
I am thirty years old and I am accepting now that I cannot change how I am. I get involved. I want to do my best and I will get charged up if people are throwing obstacles in my way. But if I am not passionate about something I cannot fake it. I cannot make myself feel something that I don't. So the challenge is to find a way to deal with the drama and not explode from it all.
Or win the lottery and head to Aruba.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Mystery
One of the things I found most frustrating when I was pregnant was all the unknowables. You could buy clothes ahead of time but you didn't really know what size your baby would be. Would she be a swing baby or a bouncy seat baby? Co-sleep? Crib? Would she be a good sleeper? Would she like to eat? All of the articles and advice would wrap up the same thing--only you know your baby.
But I didn't know my baby, and deep down in places I don't talk about much because EW, I was worried I wouldn't know her ever really. That she would always be a mystery to me.
And while I still maintain that trial and error is a really stupid method of parenting a baby it really is the only way (wouldn't it be awesome if we could evolve so that babies could use a morse code in the womb--three taps if you will love the swing, five if I should just skip newborn sizes). I have to confess I really do understand my daughter.
I know the "I'm still asleep and need a minute to shut up cry" and the "I'm freaked out get your ass in here" cry. I know that when she makes that hard K noise it means milk. I know that the only place I can hide my cell phone where she will not find it is somewhere high above her head. I know that she has to have something fleecy over her face before she will sleep. I know the best way to stop a tantrum is to brush her hair. I know that you will always eat more than I expect--chop up an extra three strawberries and it should be right.
And then I think about all the things I don't know. I don't understand why she liked pureed pears but are not so hot on the real thing. Why does she chew on the rail of grocery carts? Why does she become a royal bitch at 4:30 regardless of how she napped? I mean I knew she can't really talk but gah SHE COULD BE POINTING AT ANYTHING!
Oh evolution FAIL.
But I didn't know my baby, and deep down in places I don't talk about much because EW, I was worried I wouldn't know her ever really. That she would always be a mystery to me.
And while I still maintain that trial and error is a really stupid method of parenting a baby it really is the only way (wouldn't it be awesome if we could evolve so that babies could use a morse code in the womb--three taps if you will love the swing, five if I should just skip newborn sizes). I have to confess I really do understand my daughter.
I know the "I'm still asleep and need a minute to shut up cry" and the "I'm freaked out get your ass in here" cry. I know that when she makes that hard K noise it means milk. I know that the only place I can hide my cell phone where she will not find it is somewhere high above her head. I know that she has to have something fleecy over her face before she will sleep. I know the best way to stop a tantrum is to brush her hair. I know that you will always eat more than I expect--chop up an extra three strawberries and it should be right.
And then I think about all the things I don't know. I don't understand why she liked pureed pears but are not so hot on the real thing. Why does she chew on the rail of grocery carts? Why does she become a royal bitch at 4:30 regardless of how she napped? I mean I knew she can't really talk but gah SHE COULD BE POINTING AT ANYTHING!
Oh evolution FAIL.
Monday, March 09, 2009
How Do You Do It?
We were all hit with the crappy lung hacks last week. If there is anything more pitiful than a working mom going to work with a fever and no voice because she cannot face staying at home with the baby screeching--well that might be a one year old who starts hacking like a pack a day smoker. My poor MIL is on the mend but since she has asthma her cough is likely to stick around for a few weeks. Even J, with his cast iron immune system, got hit with it.
It might be best just to hose the house down with bleach now.
I also have jury duty this week--which has so far been very anti-climactic and boring. I worked at home today since my group didn't have to report. My group isn't reporting tomorrow either. I would just go to the office but I can already tell they would give me crap if I did have to report on Wednesday. Better to work from home all week than deal with that.
I am not good at balancing the work life thing. I know that a lot of people struggle with it but I feel like I do it worse than anyone else. It's amazing how much more patience I have for my kid if I haven't been dealing with whining people all day. And if I haven't spent a couple of hours on a bus. I want to know how everyone else does this. How do you juggle your life and your kid and your marriage and get dinner on the table?
It might be best just to hose the house down with bleach now.
I also have jury duty this week--which has so far been very anti-climactic and boring. I worked at home today since my group didn't have to report. My group isn't reporting tomorrow either. I would just go to the office but I can already tell they would give me crap if I did have to report on Wednesday. Better to work from home all week than deal with that.
I am not good at balancing the work life thing. I know that a lot of people struggle with it but I feel like I do it worse than anyone else. It's amazing how much more patience I have for my kid if I haven't been dealing with whining people all day. And if I haven't spent a couple of hours on a bus. I want to know how everyone else does this. How do you juggle your life and your kid and your marriage and get dinner on the table?
Monday, March 02, 2009
It Doesn't Take Much
I have long admired Linda and I read her latest entry, and its million comments, with interest. Because LO, I have felt that and, like so many things on the internet, it felt so good to know I was not alone.
But why do we all feel this way? The more I think about it, the more I am convinced. Women, from the time we are tiny girls until we dry up into prunes, receive a pounding of messages. From magazines, TV, books, movies, our friends, everything about why we are not enough. The negative onslaught is constant and honestly, don't we all sort of forget about it after a while. I mean I don't consciously wonder why everyone on TV weighs two pounds and the wives on my TV shows are about 100 degrees hotter than their husbands. But that shit hits us in waves, day after day.
What we have to counteract it is . . well not much. We have people admiring our looks in the form of hitting on us. And we have on-street ogling. I AM SORRY BUT IT IS TRUE.
And once you are married, or seriously involved with some one that well runs dry a bit. As much as I adore J, and I do think it is important he find me attractive. I am his only sexual option, at least the only one that is sentient so he is going to tell me I am pretty. He is not a fool. So that feedback loop is pretty closed.
But the positive feedback, and not the gross graphic shit but just an admiring glance or a hello from a strange man, dries up right around the moment you most need it.
We live in a culture where there are women you fuck and there are mothers. And while I know that the MILF thing is everywhere that is the point. The MILF is supposed to be the exception. She is sexy because she is not like a mother. She is desirable for not being who she is supposed to be.
When you are twelve you still believe that it is possible that you will grow up to be a Brazilian super model. Even though you grew up in Iowa, hypothetically, and stopped growing at 5'7". Also, you have also always had Junk in the Trunk. But once you hit thirty, you are married, you have a child, well reality hits you. Huh, I am not going to have a growth spurt and be 6 feet tall am I? And the laws of reality apply to me! I am not actually going to be nineteen again! Well. Shit. That negative feedback loop is still playing, you are not enough, but there isn't much to defy it. Just your partner who loves you. And sleeps next to you. In that bedroom. That is so close to the knives. Maybe he isn't brutally honest.
He isn't a moron.
I don't think women want to be showered with catcalls on the street, at least not in an obscene way. But there is something, something undeniably unenlightened, but something uplifting about some one of the opposite sex who is not legally obligated to you making a quiet, tasteful gesture. Something along the lines of : hey! I'd tap that!
But why do we all feel this way? The more I think about it, the more I am convinced. Women, from the time we are tiny girls until we dry up into prunes, receive a pounding of messages. From magazines, TV, books, movies, our friends, everything about why we are not enough. The negative onslaught is constant and honestly, don't we all sort of forget about it after a while. I mean I don't consciously wonder why everyone on TV weighs two pounds and the wives on my TV shows are about 100 degrees hotter than their husbands. But that shit hits us in waves, day after day.
What we have to counteract it is . . well not much. We have people admiring our looks in the form of hitting on us. And we have on-street ogling. I AM SORRY BUT IT IS TRUE.
And once you are married, or seriously involved with some one that well runs dry a bit. As much as I adore J, and I do think it is important he find me attractive. I am his only sexual option, at least the only one that is sentient so he is going to tell me I am pretty. He is not a fool. So that feedback loop is pretty closed.
But the positive feedback, and not the gross graphic shit but just an admiring glance or a hello from a strange man, dries up right around the moment you most need it.
We live in a culture where there are women you fuck and there are mothers. And while I know that the MILF thing is everywhere that is the point. The MILF is supposed to be the exception. She is sexy because she is not like a mother. She is desirable for not being who she is supposed to be.
When you are twelve you still believe that it is possible that you will grow up to be a Brazilian super model. Even though you grew up in Iowa, hypothetically, and stopped growing at 5'7". Also, you have also always had Junk in the Trunk. But once you hit thirty, you are married, you have a child, well reality hits you. Huh, I am not going to have a growth spurt and be 6 feet tall am I? And the laws of reality apply to me! I am not actually going to be nineteen again! Well. Shit. That negative feedback loop is still playing, you are not enough, but there isn't much to defy it. Just your partner who loves you. And sleeps next to you. In that bedroom. That is so close to the knives. Maybe he isn't brutally honest.
He isn't a moron.
I don't think women want to be showered with catcalls on the street, at least not in an obscene way. But there is something, something undeniably unenlightened, but something uplifting about some one of the opposite sex who is not legally obligated to you making a quiet, tasteful gesture. Something along the lines of : hey! I'd tap that!
Sunday, March 01, 2009
I Slept Nine Hours Last Night
Yesterday we took the baby to my mom and dad's house, dragged a bin full of clothes and toys and sippy cups in and ran from the house like we had just toilet papered the trees.
We had dinner reservations. True, they were in five hours, but we were drunk on having nowhere to go and no schedule to keep.
Babies have schedules. And our childcare arrangement demands precise scheduling. A high-pressure schedule where everyone is dependant on everyone else. If I take a crap and miss my bus well that isn't good for anyone.
People with digestive disorders really shouldn't have limits placed on their shitting abilities.
So we swept out of their house like the Grinch, only we had rolled up the carpets and left the baby inside. We spent our freedom going to Ikea. We are wild people. Then we arrived early for our reservation and got drunk waiting for a table. We ate beef and talked and I didn't have to order my dinner based on what the child could eat.
I love my child. I am sure that goes without saying. But there is relief in putting that down for a minute. The pressure, the fatigue, the strain. . .Putting that down, having a drink, eating a really really delightful piece of meat was worth every penny. Thank God for grandparents.
We had dinner reservations. True, they were in five hours, but we were drunk on having nowhere to go and no schedule to keep.
Babies have schedules. And our childcare arrangement demands precise scheduling. A high-pressure schedule where everyone is dependant on everyone else. If I take a crap and miss my bus well that isn't good for anyone.
People with digestive disorders really shouldn't have limits placed on their shitting abilities.
So we swept out of their house like the Grinch, only we had rolled up the carpets and left the baby inside. We spent our freedom going to Ikea. We are wild people. Then we arrived early for our reservation and got drunk waiting for a table. We ate beef and talked and I didn't have to order my dinner based on what the child could eat.
I love my child. I am sure that goes without saying. But there is relief in putting that down for a minute. The pressure, the fatigue, the strain. . .Putting that down, having a drink, eating a really really delightful piece of meat was worth every penny. Thank God for grandparents.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Moosh
I am permanently 24 years old in my own mind--still just starting out but not a kid anymore--which makes it disconcerting when J and I do something like celebrate our eighth wedding anniversary like we did this week. That would have made me a sixteen year old bride and since this isn't Alabama well, I never was a genius at math but something isn't adding up here.
Still trying to figure out what . . . I mean clearly I am still 24 right?
After eight years of marriage I would like to think I have figured out a few things. Since many of our friends, who were considered better matches I think, have married after us and are already divorced. We're still here and that should count for something.
The main thing I know is that you can't really know anything about some one else's marriage. I am sure that people see my husband and I and feel sorry for us. They think I am bossy or he is immature (and well YES) and they just thank god that they are not us. While I see things that go on in other marriages and well . . .there are very few people I could be married to. Possibly just the one. Which is fortunate, because well here we are. We have friends who have had affairs, who have vicious fights about laundry, who don't trust each other about money, whatever. But they are still kicking. And while none of those things sound worth it to me--well I don't have to be married to those people so I try not to judge.
TRY. I mean, I am still me.
I do know one thing for certain, when you get married you will fight. Your fight might be about money, it might be about work, it might be about parenting the tiny members of your house. It probably will be about all of those things honestly. It might be about how some one can't seem to fucking throw out the wrappers to Kraft singles even though HOW HARD IS IT TO THROW OUT A SHEET OF PLASTIC REALLY?!?!? I mean, for example.
I did the math the other day and realized that I have been cleaning J's toilets for ten years. TEN YEARS. Because he has never, not once, cleaned the toilet in our relationship. I am pretty sure some of your heads just exploded, either because you would just kill your husband/wife if they did that or you are wondering how J is such a master and does he give classes? It's not that I love scrubbing toilets, because really I think there is therapy for that, but I know he won't do it. And I love not fighting about it (and having to pee in a nasty toilet) more. I mean there are some things that I do that are just as annoying and probably selfish (though really what is worse than making some one clean up after your shit for ten years?). But it's all garden variety stuff. We fight about the normal.
He has shrunk a bunch of my sweaters and I never ever drag the garbage cans out to the curb. Somehow I pretty much always end up cooking dinner and doing the dishes afterwards but well I do NOT clean the cat box. When I add it up I feel so lucky that this is what is out there. The only real negative thing about marriage I can say after eight years is THAT SOCK ON THE FLOOR IS A SOCK ON THE FLOOR UNTIL YOU DIE.
After eight years I feel lucky every single day.
Still trying to figure out what . . . I mean clearly I am still 24 right?
After eight years of marriage I would like to think I have figured out a few things. Since many of our friends, who were considered better matches I think, have married after us and are already divorced. We're still here and that should count for something.
The main thing I know is that you can't really know anything about some one else's marriage. I am sure that people see my husband and I and feel sorry for us. They think I am bossy or he is immature (and well YES) and they just thank god that they are not us. While I see things that go on in other marriages and well . . .there are very few people I could be married to. Possibly just the one. Which is fortunate, because well here we are. We have friends who have had affairs, who have vicious fights about laundry, who don't trust each other about money, whatever. But they are still kicking. And while none of those things sound worth it to me--well I don't have to be married to those people so I try not to judge.
TRY. I mean, I am still me.
I do know one thing for certain, when you get married you will fight. Your fight might be about money, it might be about work, it might be about parenting the tiny members of your house. It probably will be about all of those things honestly. It might be about how some one can't seem to fucking throw out the wrappers to Kraft singles even though HOW HARD IS IT TO THROW OUT A SHEET OF PLASTIC REALLY?!?!? I mean, for example.
I did the math the other day and realized that I have been cleaning J's toilets for ten years. TEN YEARS. Because he has never, not once, cleaned the toilet in our relationship. I am pretty sure some of your heads just exploded, either because you would just kill your husband/wife if they did that or you are wondering how J is such a master and does he give classes? It's not that I love scrubbing toilets, because really I think there is therapy for that, but I know he won't do it. And I love not fighting about it (and having to pee in a nasty toilet) more. I mean there are some things that I do that are just as annoying and probably selfish (though really what is worse than making some one clean up after your shit for ten years?). But it's all garden variety stuff. We fight about the normal.
He has shrunk a bunch of my sweaters and I never ever drag the garbage cans out to the curb. Somehow I pretty much always end up cooking dinner and doing the dishes afterwards but well I do NOT clean the cat box. When I add it up I feel so lucky that this is what is out there. The only real negative thing about marriage I can say after eight years is THAT SOCK ON THE FLOOR IS A SOCK ON THE FLOOR UNTIL YOU DIE.
After eight years I feel lucky every single day.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Why I Hate Award Shows
I knew that Kate Winslet was going to fucking with the Oscar. And I am so sad. I haven't seen the movie, haven't seen any of the movies, but I am so depressed that she won.
I actually really like Kate Winslet. Or I did. I thought she was brilliant in so many movies. I love her attitude about her body, about the business.
But The Reader is horrible. I can say that with 100% certainty without having seen it. And Kate Winslet made it worse. Let it be said that SS guards new exactly what they were doing and they do not deserve to be glamorized or felt sorry for. That it stretches the imagination beyond belief that one could have been illiterate. And to have Kate Winslet nude it up so that you can have the world feel sorry for fucking Nazis?
She has made statements about how "these people didn't know what they were doing. . ." And Kate, I don't think I can forgive that shit. That isn't Holocaust denial but it feeds Holocaust denial. People believe movies are true. They believe actresses. But actresses are playing parts. Parts that are full of fucking shit.
As I understand it, the movies ends with Kate Winslet's character in prison and suffering. And a Holocaust survivor is rich and unforgiving. By the way this is exactly what I wish were true--that all SS guards were in prison and survivors were all rich and happy. But it's not true and as I understand it it is played for sympathy. FOR THE SS GUARD.
Note to the Academy--just because it is a Nazi movie doesn't mean it should win awards.
I actually really like Kate Winslet. Or I did. I thought she was brilliant in so many movies. I love her attitude about her body, about the business.
But The Reader is horrible. I can say that with 100% certainty without having seen it. And Kate Winslet made it worse. Let it be said that SS guards new exactly what they were doing and they do not deserve to be glamorized or felt sorry for. That it stretches the imagination beyond belief that one could have been illiterate. And to have Kate Winslet nude it up so that you can have the world feel sorry for fucking Nazis?
She has made statements about how "these people didn't know what they were doing. . ." And Kate, I don't think I can forgive that shit. That isn't Holocaust denial but it feeds Holocaust denial. People believe movies are true. They believe actresses. But actresses are playing parts. Parts that are full of fucking shit.
As I understand it, the movies ends with Kate Winslet's character in prison and suffering. And a Holocaust survivor is rich and unforgiving. By the way this is exactly what I wish were true--that all SS guards were in prison and survivors were all rich and happy. But it's not true and as I understand it it is played for sympathy. FOR THE SS GUARD.
Note to the Academy--just because it is a Nazi movie doesn't mean it should win awards.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Meme
Oh dear, the relationship meme as stalked from Sundry.
What are your middle names?
Mine is Anne. J's is Lee. Our parents are clearly very original.
How long have you been together?
Almost ten years. And we've been married nearly eight.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I am not sure that we ever even started dating. We uh became close and well he never left.
Who asked whom out?
I asked him to a party. He tried to bring a girl with him. He claims he thought that I was trying to set him up with my friend.
How old are each of you?
We're both 30. I am four months older. J claims this practically makes me a predator.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
His brother. Which is not often. We haven't seen my sister in a couple of years.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Uh. Our infertility prior to having the baby.
Did you go to the same school?
No, I went to a women's college and massage school. J went through a voc school a couple of years ago.
Are you from the same home town?
J is from Modesto, CA and I was born in Des Moines, IA.
Who is smarter?
I'd say that we are probably about the same in very different ways. J is great with technology and puzzling out all kinds of problems. I am better with numbers and the boring book stuff.
Who is the most sensitive?
Oh dear me. I probably should toughen up but since he is pretty much made of leather it would still be me even if I were to do so.
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
A local pizzeria called Brooklyn Brothers. It is close to our house, delicious and a nice relaxing environment.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Florida. For my sister's wedding.
Who has the craziest exes?
Oh there could be so much debate about this. His ex was still living in his apartment when we met (he claims this isn't true but oh I think I remember) and well she was a total nutjob. But essentially harmless. I have a cast of more threatening types but garden variety issues. But I am the only one with a former stalker.
Who has the worst temper?
J without question. I give him credit because he does a really good job of controlling it and fighting fair. But he has the explosive temper. And it looks like Mo inherited it. DELIGHTFUL let me tell you.
Who does the cooking?
I do. He can cook and actually worked as a cook for a time so he does it sometimes. But since I do most of the meal planning I usually cook.
Who is the neat-freak?
Oh I think I would really enjoy a neat freak. Neither of us are at all and this house is small so there is a lot of clutter. And in the ten years we have been together J has never once cleaned a fucking bathroom. This has nothing to do with neatness. I just like to bring up cleaning injustices whenever possible.
Who is more stubborn?
Oh the stubbornness in this house is epic and I really cannot say who is worse. Except the baby who may be the one Stubborn that rules us all. But I am the one with relatives who lived next door to each other without speaking for decades.
Who hogs the bed?
We both do. And we share with two dogs. We really need a King bed but our room is the size of a shoe box so that won't be happening.
Who wakes up earlier?
Me. I'm at work before he gets up.
Where was your first date?
Um. My apartment? I have to admit it is all pretty vague.
Who is more jealous?
Me. But we don't really have that dynamic in our marriage.
How long did it take to get serious?
Almost immediately.
Who eats more?
He does. And yet, until very recently he was really really skinny. UNFAIR
Who does the laundry?
We share it. He is not allowed to do my laundry since he ruins my clothes all the time and yet he still keeps doing it. One of my favorite cashmere sweaters was ruined about a week ago. Latest soldier to die in valiant battle.
Who’s better with the computer?
J is a network administrator. Take a guess.
Who drives when you are together?
J. He thinks I drive too slow. Of course his driving makes me act like my mother and shriek and gasp for breath.
Now everyone else! Link in the comments.
What are your middle names?
Mine is Anne. J's is Lee. Our parents are clearly very original.
How long have you been together?
Almost ten years. And we've been married nearly eight.
How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I am not sure that we ever even started dating. We uh became close and well he never left.
Who asked whom out?
I asked him to a party. He tried to bring a girl with him. He claims he thought that I was trying to set him up with my friend.
How old are each of you?
We're both 30. I am four months older. J claims this practically makes me a predator.
Whose siblings do you see the most?
His brother. Which is not often. We haven't seen my sister in a couple of years.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Uh. Our infertility prior to having the baby.
Did you go to the same school?
No, I went to a women's college and massage school. J went through a voc school a couple of years ago.
Are you from the same home town?
J is from Modesto, CA and I was born in Des Moines, IA.
Who is smarter?
I'd say that we are probably about the same in very different ways. J is great with technology and puzzling out all kinds of problems. I am better with numbers and the boring book stuff.
Who is the most sensitive?
Oh dear me. I probably should toughen up but since he is pretty much made of leather it would still be me even if I were to do so.
Where do you eat out most as a couple?
A local pizzeria called Brooklyn Brothers. It is close to our house, delicious and a nice relaxing environment.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Florida. For my sister's wedding.
Who has the craziest exes?
Oh there could be so much debate about this. His ex was still living in his apartment when we met (he claims this isn't true but oh I think I remember) and well she was a total nutjob. But essentially harmless. I have a cast of more threatening types but garden variety issues. But I am the only one with a former stalker.
Who has the worst temper?
J without question. I give him credit because he does a really good job of controlling it and fighting fair. But he has the explosive temper. And it looks like Mo inherited it. DELIGHTFUL let me tell you.
Who does the cooking?
I do. He can cook and actually worked as a cook for a time so he does it sometimes. But since I do most of the meal planning I usually cook.
Who is the neat-freak?
Oh I think I would really enjoy a neat freak. Neither of us are at all and this house is small so there is a lot of clutter. And in the ten years we have been together J has never once cleaned a fucking bathroom. This has nothing to do with neatness. I just like to bring up cleaning injustices whenever possible.
Who is more stubborn?
Oh the stubbornness in this house is epic and I really cannot say who is worse. Except the baby who may be the one Stubborn that rules us all. But I am the one with relatives who lived next door to each other without speaking for decades.
Who hogs the bed?
We both do. And we share with two dogs. We really need a King bed but our room is the size of a shoe box so that won't be happening.
Who wakes up earlier?
Me. I'm at work before he gets up.
Where was your first date?
Um. My apartment? I have to admit it is all pretty vague.
Who is more jealous?
Me. But we don't really have that dynamic in our marriage.
How long did it take to get serious?
Almost immediately.
Who eats more?
He does. And yet, until very recently he was really really skinny. UNFAIR
Who does the laundry?
We share it. He is not allowed to do my laundry since he ruins my clothes all the time and yet he still keeps doing it. One of my favorite cashmere sweaters was ruined about a week ago. Latest soldier to die in valiant battle.
Who’s better with the computer?
J is a network administrator. Take a guess.
Who drives when you are together?
J. He thinks I drive too slow. Of course his driving makes me act like my mother and shriek and gasp for breath.
Now everyone else! Link in the comments.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
When I started using the Internet
Though I had played around a bit with a BBS in high school I didn't really start using the internet in a real way until my first job. It was with an internet start up crossed with Amway and my bosses didn't really understand what it was about. So I spent my free time (which there was a lot of) looking at internet content and searching yahoo and wasting time online.
This created a weird rabbit hole habit with the internet for me that carries on to this day. One second I am thinking about a movie I saw in second grade and then I am googling and researching the careers of the actors and finding out that their favorite book is my favorite book oh and wait has that author written anything new.
And it's been three hour
Monday, February 09, 2009
Healthy Eats
After ten years together I finally figured out something important about J last year.
Dude doesn't know how to eat.
I don't mean that he can't use a knife and fork, I mean that well his grasp of nutrition was more tenuous than I could have imagined.
I didn't realize that the fucked up girl-culture of dieting teachings women about fat vs. calories, protein, vitamins, etc. I found out that until I told him he actually thought that a piece of white bread with butter on it was a healthy snack.
This explains a lot about his food issues and also about his confusion about why I kept trying to get him to eat something beside canned spaghetti.
My mother dieted for my entire childhood. While I don't want to repeat that experience for my daughter I think it was a gift to learn to eat multiple vegetables at every meal, to eat lots of chicken and pork, to like fish and not eat so much starch. Not a perfect foundation but much better than what J had.
I do not want to create environment of "good" and "bad" foods though. My mother always seemed to believe that thin people could have good and bad foods but if you were fat you had no right to eat anything not scrupulously healthy--also she had "no right" to be hungry. It is just depressing to think about that.
So I consider myself a moderately healthy eater. I do get 5-6 servings of fruit and vegetables each day. I eat a variety of foods. I try to eat more plants, less meat and plenty of fish. I drink milk. I drink water. And I give myself a break. Notice that I don't say that I eat low fat, or low call or low carb. Everything in moderation.
But then again, I am not thin either.
I have low cholesterol, low blood pressure and my doctor said I am a very healthy person (with good bone density). My goal is to be healthy but also enjoy my foods. That is what I want to model for my daughter. I try to use my junky foods for things that I really enjoy since I don't want to eat too many of them.
That being said, there are some things that I know are not healthy and also completely terrible that I just adore. Note: I am not sure these things are really food.
1. Stouffer's lasagna (just the original meat version--not the Italian or chicken or cream whatever)
2. McDonald's Filet O'Fish
3. Queso dip made from Velveeta
4. Hamburger Helper--Cheeseburger Macaroni
5. Pizza Rolls
Does anyone else do this?
Dude doesn't know how to eat.
I don't mean that he can't use a knife and fork, I mean that well his grasp of nutrition was more tenuous than I could have imagined.
I didn't realize that the fucked up girl-culture of dieting teachings women about fat vs. calories, protein, vitamins, etc. I found out that until I told him he actually thought that a piece of white bread with butter on it was a healthy snack.
This explains a lot about his food issues and also about his confusion about why I kept trying to get him to eat something beside canned spaghetti.
My mother dieted for my entire childhood. While I don't want to repeat that experience for my daughter I think it was a gift to learn to eat multiple vegetables at every meal, to eat lots of chicken and pork, to like fish and not eat so much starch. Not a perfect foundation but much better than what J had.
I do not want to create environment of "good" and "bad" foods though. My mother always seemed to believe that thin people could have good and bad foods but if you were fat you had no right to eat anything not scrupulously healthy--also she had "no right" to be hungry. It is just depressing to think about that.
So I consider myself a moderately healthy eater. I do get 5-6 servings of fruit and vegetables each day. I eat a variety of foods. I try to eat more plants, less meat and plenty of fish. I drink milk. I drink water. And I give myself a break. Notice that I don't say that I eat low fat, or low call or low carb. Everything in moderation.
But then again, I am not thin either.
I have low cholesterol, low blood pressure and my doctor said I am a very healthy person (with good bone density). My goal is to be healthy but also enjoy my foods. That is what I want to model for my daughter. I try to use my junky foods for things that I really enjoy since I don't want to eat too many of them.
That being said, there are some things that I know are not healthy and also completely terrible that I just adore. Note: I am not sure these things are really food.
1. Stouffer's lasagna (just the original meat version--not the Italian or chicken or cream whatever)
2. McDonald's Filet O'Fish
3. Queso dip made from Velveeta
4. Hamburger Helper--Cheeseburger Macaroni
5. Pizza Rolls
Does anyone else do this?
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Anger
Reading this post of Her Bad Mother's, I saw so much of myself in it. And I do wonder how this happened.
J and I have long split chores in half. Yes, I complain because he has never, NOT ONCE, in our nearly ten year relationship cleaned the damn bathroom, but he does all kinds of things. He will never think to dust but he does dishes, laundry, etc without ever being asked. Over time I have realized that we have settled in a largely gender traditional set of roles. And I cannot tell you how that happened. But still, the work is roughly 50-50 which is the most important thing. There have been times when I have done the bulk of the work and times when he is carrying more than his fair share. Our marriage is a real partnership and I am both grateful and proud of that.
I assumed this would continue on into parenthood and, for the most part, it has. J is a very involved father. He does half of the actual child care. Sometimes more than half.
And sometimes I am really really angry and resentful of him.
I have tried to explain it to him and failed to do it in a way that didn't make him feel defensive. I am the default parent.
If I am home and do not say PLEASE WATCH THE BABY then he usually isn't. If I work late or there is an accident on the freeway it is an EVENT, even if it is only fifteen minutes. Because he isn't supposed to have her after 4:30. When I stayed home on leave he routinely went out for drinks for HOURS after work. I am not supposed to pee before taking the baby.
I am in charge. Always. This is not about discipline or anything. But I am supposed to be the authority. He doesn't read up about foods or plan her meals. He doesn't buy her clothes or shoes. When he told me he wanted to try cloth diapering, I was the one who had to research everything, buy it and then teach everyone how to care for it. I book her doctor's appointments (though he does usually take her), figure out new outings to takes her on and just manage everything.
It's not that I cannot do those things or even want him to do them. It's that I resent that I have to do them. He doesn't even notice. He gets this incredible credit for doing half of the care--for doing his share. And you know what, he is a great dad, I don't want to take that from him. But, often those same people look down on me for making him do his share. Doing half isn't good enough for mom. I am supposed to keep house and take care of the baby and work and probably have sex and it is just a lot.
Meanwhile his life hasn't changed. I shouldn't say that, it has. He loves her more than anything. He worries about her, he cares for her, he has had to change his schedule. But he has a life. He goes out drinking with his buddies. He makes plans without lining up child care. If he goes on a business trip or wants to leave for a few days the world doesn't stop. He has fitness goals and concerts to go to and things he wants to do. And I have a stack of books to read on my commute and work to do after she goes to sleep (though he does this too) and an early morning schedule to keep.
I shouldn't be angry with my husband. And since going back to work I have found that I am settling into regular angry instead of insane angry which has to be a good thing. I am angry that this is all there is though. The system is bullshit but all hail the system I guess.
In other words I don't think this is about J. It's about my own expectations and not caring about what other people think and fucking accepting the fact that my work really really isn't crazy about women with young children but they will just have to deal. She gets older every day anyway.
And being angry doesn't fix anything.
J and I have long split chores in half. Yes, I complain because he has never, NOT ONCE, in our nearly ten year relationship cleaned the damn bathroom, but he does all kinds of things. He will never think to dust but he does dishes, laundry, etc without ever being asked. Over time I have realized that we have settled in a largely gender traditional set of roles. And I cannot tell you how that happened. But still, the work is roughly 50-50 which is the most important thing. There have been times when I have done the bulk of the work and times when he is carrying more than his fair share. Our marriage is a real partnership and I am both grateful and proud of that.
I assumed this would continue on into parenthood and, for the most part, it has. J is a very involved father. He does half of the actual child care. Sometimes more than half.
And sometimes I am really really angry and resentful of him.
I have tried to explain it to him and failed to do it in a way that didn't make him feel defensive. I am the default parent.
If I am home and do not say PLEASE WATCH THE BABY then he usually isn't. If I work late or there is an accident on the freeway it is an EVENT, even if it is only fifteen minutes. Because he isn't supposed to have her after 4:30. When I stayed home on leave he routinely went out for drinks for HOURS after work. I am not supposed to pee before taking the baby.
I am in charge. Always. This is not about discipline or anything. But I am supposed to be the authority. He doesn't read up about foods or plan her meals. He doesn't buy her clothes or shoes. When he told me he wanted to try cloth diapering, I was the one who had to research everything, buy it and then teach everyone how to care for it. I book her doctor's appointments (though he does usually take her), figure out new outings to takes her on and just manage everything.
It's not that I cannot do those things or even want him to do them. It's that I resent that I have to do them. He doesn't even notice. He gets this incredible credit for doing half of the care--for doing his share. And you know what, he is a great dad, I don't want to take that from him. But, often those same people look down on me for making him do his share. Doing half isn't good enough for mom. I am supposed to keep house and take care of the baby and work and probably have sex and it is just a lot.
Meanwhile his life hasn't changed. I shouldn't say that, it has. He loves her more than anything. He worries about her, he cares for her, he has had to change his schedule. But he has a life. He goes out drinking with his buddies. He makes plans without lining up child care. If he goes on a business trip or wants to leave for a few days the world doesn't stop. He has fitness goals and concerts to go to and things he wants to do. And I have a stack of books to read on my commute and work to do after she goes to sleep (though he does this too) and an early morning schedule to keep.
I shouldn't be angry with my husband. And since going back to work I have found that I am settling into regular angry instead of insane angry which has to be a good thing. I am angry that this is all there is though. The system is bullshit but all hail the system I guess.
In other words I don't think this is about J. It's about my own expectations and not caring about what other people think and fucking accepting the fact that my work really really isn't crazy about women with young children but they will just have to deal. She gets older every day anyway.
And being angry doesn't fix anything.
Monday, February 02, 2009
ALL CAPS
Last week was full of work drama that is barely interesting to me so I won't bore you with it, preparations for Mo's birthday party, drama with J's dad, a visit from his brother, the actually party, the actual visit of his dad and then today I got to work at 6 and didn't get home until 7 am about to collapse really from typing this paragraph.
Also, somehow my monitor died at work this morning and the IT told me to let him know when I bought a new one? WTF dude. So I have no working monitor at the office. And yet, no one thought I should just get to go home.
At any rate, Ramona had a fabulous party and though my house was not spotless I did not die of shame and there were eight thousand children playing in my living room. Everyone ate melty cheese and cupcakes and I got SCHOOLED by a five year old about how the party didn't have a theme and I FAIL being a mom and WOW who let me throw a party.
My friends really have cute and wonderful kids and that exchange was adorable and charming and so matter of fact. Like sorry, AB, you really shouldn't have a baby but BETTER LUCK next year.
If your baby doesn't run away because NO THEME.
So, I am just trying to swim here, all tired and achy, and still feeling very ALL CAPS.
Also, somehow my monitor died at work this morning and the IT told me to let him know when I bought a new one? WTF dude. So I have no working monitor at the office. And yet, no one thought I should just get to go home.
At any rate, Ramona had a fabulous party and though my house was not spotless I did not die of shame and there were eight thousand children playing in my living room. Everyone ate melty cheese and cupcakes and I got SCHOOLED by a five year old about how the party didn't have a theme and I FAIL being a mom and WOW who let me throw a party.
My friends really have cute and wonderful kids and that exchange was adorable and charming and so matter of fact. Like sorry, AB, you really shouldn't have a baby but BETTER LUCK next year.
If your baby doesn't run away because NO THEME.
So, I am just trying to swim here, all tired and achy, and still feeling very ALL CAPS.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
If I were a superhero, I would certainly wear tights
Because without = chafing
OhHellNoWoman. She glares, she thunders, she sweeps into the room and roars "Oh HELL NO!" Once a more reasoned person, OhHellNoWoman found herself transformed by pregnancy via hormones into some one unable to control herself when it comes to bullshit. The second she smells bullshit she springs into action--swinging her head, squaring her shoulders and bellowing into the fray "OH HELL NO." Her voice paralyzes husbands committing acts of idiocy, frightens customer service agents and terrifies those who seek to wreck havoc with her day. She brings about justice, truth and price adjustments for consumer fraud.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
One year
A year ago I was hanging upside down from some sort of wooden bar. Sadly, this is not a chipper tale of a stripper done good. I had been in active labor for almost 24 hours and was doing some bizarre contortions in an effort to Ramona unstuck from my pelvis. This is just as hot and sexy as it sounds. Also dignified.
I was heavily medicated (and thanking the good Lord for it) so I admit the details were vague. Also the ACTIVE LABOR FOR TWENTY FOUR HOURS thing made sleeping a wee bit tough and well yes, the details are hazy. Anyway, we did crazy shit that seemed totally rational at the time that Did Not Work and then they cut me open, gutted me like a fish and out she came (this should all be read with the proper reverence for the birthing of a child).
My baby is going to be one tomorrow y'all.
On one hand, this feels like a tremendous victory for J and I. Not only did we manage to create the family that for a long time we thought would not happen. But we have kept her alive for a whole year! I bet some one had a pool going on that shit. A year later here we are with a healthy, happy child who plays and bleets like a sheep and really likes to take Tupperware out of a drawer. Today she brought me a book to read to her and I am not lying you guys when I tell you that was a real milestone for me. My baby wanted me to read her a story. It was somehow different than when I hold her down before bedtime and force her to listen to the Very Hungry Caterpillar. I wasn't even mad when she wandered off at the end. She did her best.
On the other hand, I am shocked to find myself deeply sad. It is unlikely we will have another child. So while we are entering a whole new era for our family, the baby (real baby) era is ending. And it was too fast. I know that I rocked her in that chair and chanted YOU NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN and wow that night was really hard. But I blinked and the whole year was over and . . .I don't even recognize myself. This is not me! I laugh at people like me!
This is what my mother would do OH MY GOD SOME ONE HELP ME.
This year was incredibly hard. I look about a million years older, tireder and sadly fatter. J and I had to work on things that we never struggled with in our marriage before. We are navigating all kinds of boundary issues with our families.
But it has been the best year of my life. I feel closer with J than ever. I feel closer with my parents and his mom and have become a pile of mush (clearly) about how many people love my kid. We are hosting a party for her (for us really) on Saturday--to celebrate us all making it this far. And while I am freaking the fuck out because my house really is a disaster and somehow I am going to get it clean before than? but for the first time possibly ever I am looking forward to a social occasion. We are going to eat spicy melted cheese and cupcakes (probably not together) and drink wine and toast my baby girl.
She changed my life. And I hope that I am worthy of her.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Babyless
Her birthday isn't until Wednesday but I am afraid Ramona really isn't a baby anymore.
She has the toddler shriek down, the mood swings, the freak out for no damn reason. BRILLIANT.
As some one who doesn't think of herself as a baby person I am taken aback by how sad I am by her growing up. I will miss my baby. Even as I am excited by the new little girl in her place.
Except for the shrieking. Fuck that noise.
She has the toddler shriek down, the mood swings, the freak out for no damn reason. BRILLIANT.
As some one who doesn't think of herself as a baby person I am taken aback by how sad I am by her growing up. I will miss my baby. Even as I am excited by the new little girl in her place.
Except for the shrieking. Fuck that noise.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sunday
My parents come to visit every weekend, usually for Sunday afternoon. Most of the time, the timing is good and they arrive as she is waking up from her afternoon nap. If we are lucky she gets two hours and is delightful all afternoon. If we are not lucky she only gets an hour and ends up weeping piteously as they leave--usually with her ass in the air and her head on the Elmo couch.
And then there was today, when my parents arrived a little early, after she had gone down a little late. And my dad fucking woke her up (he doesn't think she still needs naps which everyone who has young children just slapped him in the face) and then he bitched that she was grumpy. Oh and she was grumpy.
My dad has largely forgotten what young children are like--I think because he was not terribly involved in the day to day activities when my sister and I were young. This man, that knows DAMN WELL that my bedtime was seven pm. until I was fucking ten years old thinks it is crazy that Mo doesn't stay up until 8 every night. He has age-inappropriate expectations for her. Note to future grandpas, one year olds do not stop crying if you just tell them to stop crying.
I am so grateful that my parents love my daughter so much. And my mother has pretty low expectations for these visits. She just wants to see the baby, and honestly likes to help me. She would be fine if I left her to play with the baby while I clean the house or take a nap. My dad doesn't really help with anything and I think at this point expects to be entertained. He always seems vaguely surprised that I don't have a roast in the oven and Ramona dressed to the nines to entertain him.
I am afraid he is disappointed every week.
But we all muddled through the day. Ramona ate everything in sight, ran around like a maniac all afternoon and then crashed in a blaze of glory. The rest of us watched James Bond on TNT and ate pizza. I still feel lucky. That really isn't a bad way to spend a Sunday.
My husband is an involved father. Baby care is divided pretty evenly between the two of us. I see now that my dad missed something by doing what he did. He seems to brag about how he doesn't change diapers, he didn't get up with us in the night. I love my dad, it doesn't matter. But my mom gets to enjoy Ramona more and I think she enjoyed us more.
And she also never pisses off her daughter. Which is a lovely trait.
And then there was today, when my parents arrived a little early, after she had gone down a little late. And my dad fucking woke her up (he doesn't think she still needs naps which everyone who has young children just slapped him in the face) and then he bitched that she was grumpy. Oh and she was grumpy.
My dad has largely forgotten what young children are like--I think because he was not terribly involved in the day to day activities when my sister and I were young. This man, that knows DAMN WELL that my bedtime was seven pm. until I was fucking ten years old thinks it is crazy that Mo doesn't stay up until 8 every night. He has age-inappropriate expectations for her. Note to future grandpas, one year olds do not stop crying if you just tell them to stop crying.
I am so grateful that my parents love my daughter so much. And my mother has pretty low expectations for these visits. She just wants to see the baby, and honestly likes to help me. She would be fine if I left her to play with the baby while I clean the house or take a nap. My dad doesn't really help with anything and I think at this point expects to be entertained. He always seems vaguely surprised that I don't have a roast in the oven and Ramona dressed to the nines to entertain him.
I am afraid he is disappointed every week.
But we all muddled through the day. Ramona ate everything in sight, ran around like a maniac all afternoon and then crashed in a blaze of glory. The rest of us watched James Bond on TNT and ate pizza. I still feel lucky. That really isn't a bad way to spend a Sunday.
My husband is an involved father. Baby care is divided pretty evenly between the two of us. I see now that my dad missed something by doing what he did. He seems to brag about how he doesn't change diapers, he didn't get up with us in the night. I love my dad, it doesn't matter. But my mom gets to enjoy Ramona more and I think she enjoyed us more.
And she also never pisses off her daughter. Which is a lovely trait.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Happy O Day Everyone
The IT department at my office failed to consider exactly how many of us would be trying to stream the inauguration on our computers. We crashed the network well before anything began. Fortunately, a friend belongs to the gym next door and we dashed over and sat in their lobby.
I am so grateful I didn't miss a thing.
I feel proud of us all today. Those who voted for Obama and those who did not. I feel energized and hopeful and so thankful that the past eight years are over. I hope we never take our right to vote for granted again. I pray we never give away so much of our freedom again. And I will try to always remember the hopelessness of the Bush Administration. You have to remember the bitter to appreciate the sweet.
My darling girl will not remember today. I know my MIL watched it with her but she probably didn't even notice to TV. If Elmo's not knocking then she is not watching. But she was here. It's amazing to think that just as my husband and I cannot really imagine the segregated world our parents (well really just mine) grew up in, our daughter will not be able to imagine a time when a black man couldn't be President.
I hope that the last eight years will be like the McCarthy era is for me for her too.
God bless us all.
I am so grateful I didn't miss a thing.
I feel proud of us all today. Those who voted for Obama and those who did not. I feel energized and hopeful and so thankful that the past eight years are over. I hope we never take our right to vote for granted again. I pray we never give away so much of our freedom again. And I will try to always remember the hopelessness of the Bush Administration. You have to remember the bitter to appreciate the sweet.
My darling girl will not remember today. I know my MIL watched it with her but she probably didn't even notice to TV. If Elmo's not knocking then she is not watching. But she was here. It's amazing to think that just as my husband and I cannot really imagine the segregated world our parents (well really just mine) grew up in, our daughter will not be able to imagine a time when a black man couldn't be President.
I hope that the last eight years will be like the McCarthy era is for me for her too.
God bless us all.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Not Alone
I went back to my job in May. I feel as though I have been running a marathon for the past nine months. A frustrating, high-wire, stressful, never ending marathon.
I was prepared for most of what was going to be thrown my way when I had a baby (as much as that is possible). I knew that my husband and I would change, our relationship would change. I knew that we would have to have different relationships with our parents. I knew I would be tired (OH SO FUCKING TIRED). I was reasonable person and I was pretty well prepared (except nothing can prepare you for the brutal baby bootcamp of the first couple of weeks). I was woefully unprepared for the realities of being a working mom.
I say this with a lot of respect for those moms and dads who stay at home with their children. That is a different kind of marathon--one I am not entirely sure I could run. But trying to run a household and a family and have everyone get what they need while still doing my actual for-pay job has beaten me down.
I commute two hours a day or more. I get up before 5 each morning. Our schedule is held together with paper clips and chewing gum and if the bus is late or there is bad weather then the whole day goes into the shitter. Last Tuesday my bus was very late and I could feel myself just drowning in anxiety even as the rational part of me is thinking that half an hour should not ruin your day. But when every minute is scheduled the thing that gets scrapped is me. I skip lunch, I don't leave my desk. I run out the door to try to make a bus without waiting even a minute. I get home and play with the baby while I pee. I try to make dinner while reading her a book. It's just running, running, running and there is no break.
Lest anyone think that J is sitting around doing nothing, his schedule is just as hard. He has to split his time at work so his mom can get home early enough to sleep. The reason I need to get home by a certain time is so he can turn around and go back to work. I may to bed time (and the early morning wake up) every week night. But he gets her up every morning. The division of labor is fair--it just fucking sucks.
What I do know is I am not alone. There are millions of us in this situation--actually I would say I am one of the lucky ones. My childcare comes to my house. It never calls in sick or snowed in. We don't have to wake up the baby or pack her meals for the day. She doesn't even have to get dressed. And still it is this unrewarding and relentless hamster wheel. Just running and running. And millions of families do it every day. None of us are alone.
But I am pretty sure we all feel like it.
I was prepared for most of what was going to be thrown my way when I had a baby (as much as that is possible). I knew that my husband and I would change, our relationship would change. I knew that we would have to have different relationships with our parents. I knew I would be tired (OH SO FUCKING TIRED). I was reasonable person and I was pretty well prepared (except nothing can prepare you for the brutal baby bootcamp of the first couple of weeks). I was woefully unprepared for the realities of being a working mom.
I say this with a lot of respect for those moms and dads who stay at home with their children. That is a different kind of marathon--one I am not entirely sure I could run. But trying to run a household and a family and have everyone get what they need while still doing my actual for-pay job has beaten me down.
I commute two hours a day or more. I get up before 5 each morning. Our schedule is held together with paper clips and chewing gum and if the bus is late or there is bad weather then the whole day goes into the shitter. Last Tuesday my bus was very late and I could feel myself just drowning in anxiety even as the rational part of me is thinking that half an hour should not ruin your day. But when every minute is scheduled the thing that gets scrapped is me. I skip lunch, I don't leave my desk. I run out the door to try to make a bus without waiting even a minute. I get home and play with the baby while I pee. I try to make dinner while reading her a book. It's just running, running, running and there is no break.
Lest anyone think that J is sitting around doing nothing, his schedule is just as hard. He has to split his time at work so his mom can get home early enough to sleep. The reason I need to get home by a certain time is so he can turn around and go back to work. I may to bed time (and the early morning wake up) every week night. But he gets her up every morning. The division of labor is fair--it just fucking sucks.
What I do know is I am not alone. There are millions of us in this situation--actually I would say I am one of the lucky ones. My childcare comes to my house. It never calls in sick or snowed in. We don't have to wake up the baby or pack her meals for the day. She doesn't even have to get dressed. And still it is this unrewarding and relentless hamster wheel. Just running and running. And millions of families do it every day. None of us are alone.
But I am pretty sure we all feel like it.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Food For Thought
Like pretty much every American I have food issues. Now, as an adult, I recognize my food issues are not your food issues. J and I have been married almost eight years and we are just scratching the service of how different our shit can be.
Mine stem from being a girl and not ever truly being thin. I remember my mother and grandmothers dieting even when I was very small. My mom did the color diet and slim fast and nutri systems and eventually weight watchers. The weird result is that I did actually learn a lot about nutrition. Of course I also learned that some foods were "bad."
I am thirty years old and I have never dieted. But I have to fight back all sorts of weird guilt about eating and not eating and wow sometimes I feel like I am dancing right on that edge.
J's issues stem from growing up poor. He doesn't really understand nutrition and portion control and wow I do not blame him. I've never gone hungry in my life, I really can't imagine what that does to a kid. Actually I can. It makes him binge eat and snack out of grocery bags. It makes him think that diet soda has fat in it. Or maybe that is just J.
So we are trying to work through this and teach Mo that food is fuel. Tasty tasty fool. That we eat more healthy food than none healthy food. That nothing is bad in moderation. We try to eat better every day.
So that we can saddle with her with some unforeseen food issues that she will tell the internet about in the year 2032.
So, in honor of National De-Lurking Day, what are your food issues? Maybe we'll be inspired.
Mine stem from being a girl and not ever truly being thin. I remember my mother and grandmothers dieting even when I was very small. My mom did the color diet and slim fast and nutri systems and eventually weight watchers. The weird result is that I did actually learn a lot about nutrition. Of course I also learned that some foods were "bad."
I am thirty years old and I have never dieted. But I have to fight back all sorts of weird guilt about eating and not eating and wow sometimes I feel like I am dancing right on that edge.
J's issues stem from growing up poor. He doesn't really understand nutrition and portion control and wow I do not blame him. I've never gone hungry in my life, I really can't imagine what that does to a kid. Actually I can. It makes him binge eat and snack out of grocery bags. It makes him think that diet soda has fat in it. Or maybe that is just J.
So we are trying to work through this and teach Mo that food is fuel. Tasty tasty fool. That we eat more healthy food than none healthy food. That nothing is bad in moderation. We try to eat better every day.
So that we can saddle with her with some unforeseen food issues that she will tell the internet about in the year 2032.
So, in honor of National De-Lurking Day, what are your food issues? Maybe we'll be inspired.
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