Kerry: Long time gone, catching up
It has been a while. Really. A long time. But now it’s time to get real again. Had my baby boy. 9 lbs. 6 oz. (same as Babygirl 15 months ago) The birth was traumatic and painful, but I’ll save that for another day. When they (the doctors) said the baby might get too big and get stuck in the birth canal, they weren’t kidding. Next time I’ll pay better attention. There won’t be a next time of course. Hubby’s getting snipped. But baby is beautiful and healthy and I seem to be recovering nicely, so all is well in the land of chaos.
I tried to pretend I didn’t have to write, didn’t have to be creative. I’ve put off painting for so long now, isn’t it easier to just let it go? Not really. I paint in my night time dreams, when I sleep long enough to have one. And I thought I could hide the fact that I sabotage myself and any free time I have. Now I’ll just be the “man” and own up to it. I did not just say that. Do men really own up to anything?
And I wanted to come across as the happy housewife (gag) with a remarkable relationship and children who love me. Ha! And ha again. I have learned, once again, how much my fourteen year old hates me this month, and how my relationship is held together by the frayed threads of a tattered past, and how my seventeen year old aspires to be a high school dropout, living with her illegal alien boyfriend in some ghetto apartment, and how my little angel Babygirl can throw tantrums with the best of the two year olds, refusing to speak in words, expressing herself only in screams.
So my last post was a rant against my significant other, against my life, against everything. I simply wanted to run away. I deleted the post the next day. I figured I should heed that old advice “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” I haven’t had anything nice to say for quite some time. I felt I could not trust my fingers, trust my mind, so I stayed silent. But I’m back. Even if it is merely to write a few words about my day, about the never-ending chaos that is my life. I used to embrace the chaos, smile, laugh a little and get on with it. Has three years in pregnancy and post pregnancy made me so bitter? Or is it my outstanding relationship and darling, loving, helpful children?
And a side note: the experiment in meditation: can I meditate while breastfeeding? No. I can however fall asleep quickly and awaken with drool on my chin, only to burp the little one, switch sides and do it all again.
This weekend we are having a birthday BBQ for my disgruntled teen who turns fifteen. We bought her a trampoline so our house would be “cool” enough to invite her friends to. We have spent $480 and the past two weekends taking her to a driver’s ed class so she can get her permit next week. Oh boy. We bought her a queen bed to replace her twin so she could feel grown up. All in the name of love? Sure. I figured we should spend some time and money on her so she didn’t feel left out when the new baby came. Avoid that jealousy thing. I failed.
Babies are a handful. Babygirl gives her new brother kisses by head butting him. Babyboy has his own issues, like not gaining enough weight, not having enough bowel movements, and spitting up too much. We take him back to the pediatrician every week to get weighed. I’m supplementing the breastfeeding with formula. I never seem to make enough, or something. But breastfeeding is so good for the little ones, I hate to give it up entirely.
Babygirl takes naps in her crib now. A positive, which leaves me a little time alone…to breastfeed and bottle feed the new baby. But, like now, Babygirl has been going to bed earlier, all by herself in her crib, and the little man sleeps, so I have a minute.
I have to wonder if art will again become more important than a nice hot bath? I know I can’t hide forever. I get e-mails from artist friends and the guilt builds up inside of me. It seems like a spend so much of my day hanging on the edge, waiting for that next something to smack me upside the head. Embrace the chaos, embrace the chaos. I’ll just keep telling myself that as I dream of cute young men, margaritas and the beach on the coast of Mexico.