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Archive for the ‘pissy ranting’ Category

I woke up all raring to take Chico to the museum this afternoon.  ‘Rain be damned’, I thought, shaking my fist at the window.  Chico shook hi too, adding, ‘Uh wawa mama uh guhhhhhhhghghgh.’  We finished getting Lucy ready for school; hair brushed, boots on, glasses, jacket, umbrella…

Shit.

Our large umbrella, the one that covers more than one quarter of an adult, has disappeared,

Looks like we’ll be housebound today after all.  If you need me, I’ll be pouting while sorting magazines to be recycled.

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Today Chico discovered my hair and man, did that suck. Today we’re having the towel bar fixed and some hooks hung, for which I have to clear a path thru the pile of soiled babythings in the bedroom. I caught Lucy’s cold. I spent quite some time Monday clearing crap and putting it away, and the place is trashed already. It’s so hard to be a lazy slob when people keep coming to the apt.

Dear child, thank you for returning my breast to me, if only for a little while.

I have to pack Lucy’s lunch.

Tomorrow is Chico’s weight check appointment, to make sure breastfeeding is working. I hope so, but am fearful of being too optimistic. Always fearful.

I have to put you down, little man.  I have to pick you up again.

These first few weeks are such a fog of doing and not realizing or realizing and not doing.  Each morning I am unsure of the day before.  To be honest, I need to get out of the house soon.  I’m going stircrazy, just a little bit.

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Of course on the one day in months that I’ve not felt foul does my child finally (despite repeated warnings that this would happen) pull the towel bar, complete with wall anchors, out of the wall leaving a hole on one side.  Yes, this is the only place on said wall where a towel bar will fit.  So don’t expect to wash your hands in my main bathroom, ok?  Because it ain’t happening.  This, also of course, during the one hour she was *supposed* to lie down on the bed.  For one hour?  She didn’t have to sleep, just stay on the bed for an hour.  Because, you know, home sick from school?  Needs to rest.  Again, didn’t have to sleep, just needed to physically park ass in bed until I came to get her.  And why, you ask, was she hanging on the towel bar?  Because leaning over and moving her step stool so that she could reach the light would simply have taken too much energy.

Fucking four year olds, man.  I swear they’re worse than teenagers.

So here I am, with a hole in my bathroom wall where the towel bar used to be, a towel bar in my foyer, due to have a baby any day now, with a four year old who has a cold but refuses to accept that this means  having any physical limitations.  I have stacks of laundry to put away, a house to get ready for a new baby plus a house guest, and oh, guess what?

My husband lets me know right before he leaves for class that this particular one is held in a room in a sub-basement so he gets no cell phone service.  Which means that I cannot go into labor between the hours of 6 and 9 this evening unless I can truck down to Washington Square and start knocking on doors.  Which, ironically, I kind of found funny until the towel bar incident.  Because, remarkably, I was still in that good mood of this morning until the hole happened.  Now?  I think I’m going to have a good cry because I’m never going to be ready and I know that someone is going to come to see the baby and walk into my house and make a comment about the state of the apartment and I’m going to absolutely fucking lose it.

And so, let’s all repeat after me:

It is not my fault that the humidity won’t clear up, making the place smell like a barnyard.  It is not my fault our walls are shit and splinter so easily.  It is not my fault that the cats drop litter on the floor leaving a perma-grit no matter how much I sweep.  It is not my fault that I simply do not feel like running around picking up all of the little pieces of junk that collect in every corner of the place.  It is not my fault that my cats shed and that I can’t be arsed to vacuum 7 times a day to get rid of all of the hair.  And, mostly?  The first person to set foot in this apartment and make a comment on its cleanliness is going to get smacked with the fucking towel bar.

I was really looking forward to relaxing today, enjoying the fact that I was finally sort of at peace with the whole end of pregnancy thing.  I think that is what sucks the most–I don’t even get one day without bullshit to just enjoy myself.  I give up.

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I hate when I look up how much I’ve walked and it comes out to a fraction of what it felt like. I hoofed it from 8th St. up to Union Square yesterday, and it felt like I walked ten miles. In actuality? It was only 6/10 of a mile. Happily, my hips seem to not ache quite as much now that it’s cooled down so I’m going to not be so chicken about walking anymore. I do, however, walk at the most insanely slow pace which I find completely infuriating. I’m used to being a seriously fast walker. Anyway, the plan this week is to forgo the cart for the farm share since it makes me nervous to cross the Boulevard of Death at rush hour pushing a cart and trying to hold onto a 4 y/o.

I decided that perhaps I should hit the Greenmarket yesterday to avoid some of the Saturday crowd but it appears that Friday *is* the new Saturday ’round NYC so I was still caught in the throngs of wanderers and meanderers (not to mention rush-hour train conditions at 2pm). I loaded up my backpack with what felt like 20 lbs of food but was probably only 10 lbs–a big jar of honey, pancake mix, apples to get us through the weekend and make up some applesauce, and fixings for a pot o veggie soup which I need to make today before I lose my nerve. Grapes, cheddar, and a cute little plastic jack-o-lantern planted with wheatgrass for Lucy, who alternates between nagging about planting the wheatgrass and effusing about what we’ll do for Halloween. It was a hit. I feel like I got more, but I’ll be darned if I can remember what. Unfortunately, the meat vendors we love aren’t there on Friday but honestly, we barely eat meat anymore so I’m sure we’ll be ok. I’m just a little concerned about the baby coming and ending up spending a fortune on crap foods because we haven’t frozen stuff. Hell, all of the sauce C made is already gone and I keep forgetting to buy more tomatoes to make him make more. But I’m going to stop this train of thought because it only takes me to that place where I end up panicked and up at midnight checking items off of a ten-page list.

C keeps reminding me that we’re ready for the baby so I needn’t worry about anything else, but I’ll be damned if I can calm myself down. I know that as soon as labor hits I won’t give two farts about the shoes lying on the bedroom floor or getting the dresser into my closet* but right now, everywhere I look is like a big neon sign telling me YOU’RE! NOT! READY! It gets so overwhelming and I just don’t know where to start. I’m sure I could self-analyze that I’m nervous about childbirth and transferring my feelings onto everyday tasks (see, I listened in therapy…) but that isn’t any damn fun. What I want is for the perfectionist, Stepford part of me to leap from my brain and get all of this shit done so that the rest of me can make some damn soup, play with my kid and dig in the dirt, and stop being wound up so damn tight.

Unfortunately, I am acutely aware that I’m afraid it was a fluke that I could give birth naturally last time. I still believe very strongly that the pain of childbirth is manageable and that it should be treated as a natural occurrence rather than a medical emergency, but I’m afraid that the difficulty I’ve had this time is telling me that I can’t do it. If my hips and pelvis hurt this badly, how am I going to make it through labor? If I can’t go-go-go up until the time the baby comes out, how am I going to be able to go-go-go through childbirth? What if I’m not as strong as I was last time? I was so proud of myself and of my birth experience with Lucy that I’m really scared that I won’t be able to replicate it and will end up feeling less-than as a result. After all, who purposefully gives birth naturally once and then can’t handle it the second time?

And so I keep putting myself through my paces as though I’m training. If I can walk x distance, I can give birth without drugs. If I can balance 8 projects at once without letting any of them fall, I can balance the pain of labor with the feeling of power that comes from birthing naturally.

If only I could turn my brain off for a little while. I get so frustrated at how not-nice I can be to myself sometimes, and I usually end up taking it out on anyone who dares to insinuate that I’m doing something less-than-perfectly (or can be perceived as such). I’m so not hip to doing that right now.

*I never mentioned that one, did I? Sal Army wouldn’t take my crappy old dresser so we’re keeping it for extra storage. It’s like the poor man’s version of a built-in closet component! I can’t wait to load it up. Yet another thing I have to do before the baby comes but this one I’m actually really psyched about. Thank you, universe!

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Seems as though I’m spending about an hour a day marveling at the impending arrival of my son and the rest howling at the moon.  I guess everyone needs a hobby, right?

The truth is, people are pissing me off lately. I mean, people always piss me off because I generally dislike humanity, but the past few weeks seem to be worse than usual.  I would love, for once, if it could be acceptable, nay, expected, for people to acknowledge that nothing is an absolute.  I am tired to the extreme of judgmental people making over-the-top statements without seeming to grasp that their experience may not be the same as everyone else’s and THAT IS OK.  Christ on a crutch, people, you don’t have all the answers.  I don’t have all the answers.  Deal with it.

The truth is, I am tired of being fed up.  I’m sick of ranting.  And mostly I’m tired of the notion of right and wrong and absolutes and all the bullshit that comes with dogma and rhetoric.  I crave information, but I can’t take the manner in which it’s being presented.  I love dissecting opinion, but not when I can feel myself clench up over it.  It really isn’t worth that much angst, is it?

Anyway, in more pleasant news, I had my weekly baby-check today and we’re still at status quo.  I’ll leave  out the blow-by-blow cervix report, but the doc all but guaranteed that I’ll make it to next week.  Which, of course, is great news since our Lucy-sitter is out of town this weekend and my midwife is on vacation this week.  I am also happy to report that the heat has finally broken and not a moment too soon as I was getting pretty sick of sweating bullets all day every day without the air conditioner.  This has made my physical outlook much better.  The heat has been such a difficult thing to deal with, even with fans and minimal clothing and the like.  Yesterday I damn near burst into tears when I got up from a nap, drenched in sweat yet again, and had to sit for 5 minutes before I felt comfortable standing up.  Actually, even today I got to my appointment and had to be checked because I was so out of breath and sweaty and it wasn’t even hot.  I love public transit but those platforms are tough to deal with until they cool off.

And, in probably the most startling news, we have a name.  I can’t tell until family knows, but I can say how freaking relieved I am.  It was starting to look as though he would have no first name.   Tomorrow I concentrate on getting the co-sleeper set up and sheets put on, and setting up the diaper system.  I’m due in 18 days!  And if I come around here freaking out tomorrow, remind me to chill out and go ogle baby stuff or something because I don’t want to spend the last few weeks of my pregnancy filled with anger and frustration.

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Today’s forecast is for 87 degrees. It is currently 87% humidity. You have got to be fucking kidding me. It has been excruciatingly hot for, like, all of my pregnancy. This is incredibly unfair. Do you know how hot it is on the subway platform when it’s close to 90 on the street? I am furious.

Of course, these incredibly ridiculous temperatures mean that I will not, as I had planned, be going to drop Lucy off at school this morning.  Let me backtrack for a moment and give a little bird’s eye view of how pre-K has been progressing.

Week 1:  we receive list of things to send in on first day of school over the summer.  I am my usual meticulous self and prepare these in advance.  They are as follows:  one canvas bag with blanket and shoebox with complete change of clothes, all marked clearly with child’s name.  This is the sum of the instructions, and so Lucy is sent off to school with a canvas bag holding a blanket and also the shoebox with a complete change of clothes, name marked on the tag of each article except for socks, on which her name is written on the sole of each sock.  I settle in to await furniture deliver.  C returns with the shoebox of clothes and canvas bag.  The shoebox is the wrong size (adult instead of child’s) and the clothes have, written directly on the fabric in orange marker, my child’s name.  Ok, whatever, I’m not thrilled that her clothes have been basically ruined when they already had her name on them but I purposefully sent crap clothes anyway.  The shoebox, well, I suppose I should’ve known they meant child-size and not adult but still, it would have been nice had they specified.  I’m smarting a little from feelings of inadequacy over sending the wrong stuff, but it’s early, everything will be ok.  Day 2, C drops her off with the canvas bag again, which is sent home, and is notified that Lucy should be carrying a backpack.  Fine, we have one of those too, which I would’ve sent her with that morning had we been told The Day Before or, better yet, over the summer when we were initially told what the students would need.  We do not send in the canvas bag again on Friday because it was sent home in the first place.  Lucy’s blanket comes home in a plastic bag with her name written on it.  No further instructions.

Week 2:  We send blanket back in plastic bag because, my crystal ball being broken, I assume this is the actual procedure.  Blanket comes home on Friday in same plastic bag.  Likewise, I send Lucy’s lunch in 2, incredibly easy to open containers that she has little trouble with at home.  We receive back a letter stating that she may not bring them in anymore because she cannot open them without assistance.  Fume, fume, buy Ziploc bags to avoid confrontation.  Instruct child to bring them home at end of day so I may wash them.  This happens about 10% of the time.

Week 3:  Blanket goes to school in same bag again.  Comes home in same bag.  We think we’ve mastered the blanket drill.

Week 4:  Blanket returns to school in plastic bag.  C is informed that we need to send in canvas bag.  Friday comes around and I tuck a canvas bag into the backpack.  Blanket comes home in a paper bag.  I am baffled.

Week 5:  Which brings us to this week.  On Monday I send in an entirely different canvas bag, Lucy’s swim bag in fact, which she lovingly painted.  This bag did not come home.  Curious.  On Tuesday, I go with C to pick Lucy up and we are informed that she has extra homework because ‘somehow her homework book went home with someone else last week.’  Ahhhhh, this one can’t be pinned on me, can it?  Wednesday we send in check for Lucy’s gym class and C is informed that her field trip money is due as well.  Well, according to the sheet sent home, it is not in fact due until the 10th.  ‘I don’t argue with Ms. C,’ sayeth my husband.  In addition, on Wednesday I send Lucy’s lunch in brand new Laptop Lunchbox.  I must not only test her on her ability to open said lunch kit but also must explain that her school will not allow her to continue to carry it if she cannot get it open on her own so to be sure not to make it seem harder to open than it is.  So far no letters, but we’ll see how today goes.  She seems to think that if she’s having a hard time, she can just raise her hand for help.  I marvel at the innocence of youth.

Which brings us to today.  I kept Lucy home yesterday due to a spate of coughing coupled with a truly horrible night’s sleep so I was unable to take in the check for said field trip.  Unfortunately, I am precluded by the humidity level (read:  I damn near pass out on the subway platform when it’s this humid.  Every single time) from accompanying my beloveds this morning, something I was greatly looking forward to since I have no problem whatsoever arguing with Ms. C, especially when it comes down to compliance with rules that may affect my child.  I sent in the check with a copy of the original trip notice just in case, though I will certainly make that trip to the school should there be any issue with Lucy going on this trip.

I have never in my entire life had so much trouble with something like this.  I handled financial reporting on a multi-million dollar government grant without compliance issues, for crap’s sake.  I cannot even fathom that my kid’s preschool has rules so arcane that I can’t figure them out.  Seriously, I’ve gone from feeling chastised, to feeling picked on, to feeling like I’m dealing with idiots, to wondering if I can take so many more months of this.

I’m not thrilled about the homework thing either, but so far Lucy doesn’t seem to resent having homework so I’m leaving it alone.  I know it’s supposed to be so good for kids to get this introduction to school and whatnot, and Lucy really loves going to school, but I can’t help but feel like this entire situation is more about rules and figuring out how to follow them than my child having an opportunity to experience formal learning while meeting new kids.  I’m simply not sold on the necessity of pre-K for children.  It’s great to have time to get stuff done without interruption (beyond great, actually.  I don’t know how I’d survive without it anymore) but I don’t know what we’re really getting out of the experience.  I’m not convinced that Lucy hasn’t learned just as much with C and me.  I guess this is what school is about nowadays, and we have to either homeschool or do our best to supplement with creative and experiential learning when we can.  It just seems so…honestly, I can’t get my head around homework twice a week for 4 year olds.  It seems like, well, here we are trying to get Lucy ready to help out for when the baby gets here, encouraging her to become more independent and realize how many things she can do on her own.  And then she goes to school, which reinforces these ideas.  And then she gets home and has homework, and then clean-up time, and then dinner and then bed.  And that’s it.  There’s no time for kid stuff, and it has to be hard to have all of this growing up happening at one time.  It’s a real adjustment for me, and I’m 34.  I can’t imagine how tough it must be for a 4 year old to go through so many changes in the course of a year.  I guess one could argue that we could’ve started her at preschool earlier and gone through some of the changes then, but I just don’t know.  I don’t think we’d have started her in pre-K if she wasn’t only a few months away from turning 5.  I certainly don’t think I’ll be in any bigger of a rush to start Baby X in preschool earlier either.

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Isn’t it ironic that this time a few weeks ago I was freaking out about getting everything done in time, and now I’m complaining about not wanting to get things done in time. I am a sheer delight.

I woke up this morning completely dreading my midwife appointment.  About halfway there, I noticed that Baby X had not been engaging in his usual feats of acrobatics.  Proceeded to fixate on said lack of movement.  Ended up hooked to fetal monitor only to find that Baby was in fact moving around like crazy, I just couldn’t feel it.  That, my friends, is a strange realization.  They gave me an ultrasound to check my fluids (perfect) and to weigh him (6lbs.)  Looks like he’ll be around 7 1/2 lbs, which completely allayed my fears that I  might be carrying Monster Baby.  He refused to allow viewing of his face, but I can confirm that his feet are long and narrow like his sister’s and father’s.

I would complain about having to haul up for the CSA pick-up but frankly, I’m still a little too floaty from seeing mah baby.  Plus I had a nummy bacon cheeseburger for lunch, and we’re getting a baby punkin tonight!  Punkins make everything better.

I’ll leave y’all with the month of September Riot for Austerity numbers. Just because I might as well put all of the ick out there.

  • gas: 8.2 gal
  • garbage: 261.1 lbs (couch was beyond repair. not happy but it is what it is.)
  • recycling: 62.1 lbs
  • electricity: 355 kwh
  • consumer goods: 574.50
  • food local: 52%
  • food bulk: 2%
  • food wet: 45%

Here’s the thing, though. I honestly do not know how our numbers are going to get any lower. Obviously, we will not have an extra 100 lbs of trash for the next months, but we now only have 9.6 lbs remaining for the rest of the year. This means that either I refigure our goals based on adding a 4th member, or we simply cannot make the 90% reduction. We are already way over in consumer goods which I knew was going to happen so no harm no foul. Our electricity…I don’t know why we were so high. We have things on power strips, I’ve been sweating balls without a/c all month, and the only lights that are left on for extended periods of time are CFLs. We used 100kwh more in September than in June and I can’t tell you what we did differently. I’m truly baffled. We’ll make our goal for the year I’m sure, but it really bugs me that I don’t know where this usage is coming from. And then there are the food totals. Without the CSA, we simply cannot make the 70% local food goal. That’s all there is to it. I do not know what we’re going to do over the winter (or when I am unable to walk to the pick-up.) C has class on Tuesday night and I don’t have a car. I’m really at a loss. I mentioned before how dependent on the CSA we are, and it’s even more apparent now. Nobody said it was going to be easy, but the further we get into the year, the more I’m feeling like I didn’t fully think through the commitment.  I know I kept saying that I didn’t expect to make the full 90% reduction, but the truth is, I’m super-competitive and slightly obsessive when it comes to reaching set goals.  I’m hoping that this has just been a bad month and that once we get through October I’ll feel a little less like I’m spinning my wheels.

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