Cracked
I pulled something in my back, near my shoulder, and the result is me whining and bitching my way through the day, doing my very best to avoid actual parenting, as it requires bending and lifting. At this point I loathe the idea of bending over and touching my toes. Or leaning forward to pick up the coffee mug holding the life-saving nectar of caffeine. Or breathing, really. I hate all of those things. Of course, today would be the day that my daughter is determined to stick her fingers in all of the sockets in the walls, eat dog food, climb in to the fireplace and generally be a baby nuisance. I have considered ordering her a life-size hamster ball, but fortunately for her, I am broke and unable to make my life easier by hindering her baby progress. Ah, hindrance, I dream of you in the dark of night while listening to my daughter stand up in the crib and chew on its wooden bars.
My sister-in-law and I are shaking in fear these days. Our youngest brother-in-law, Erick, was recently told to vacate and never return, but due to the complete disregard to our feelings and sanity, he is back for an undetermined amount of time. I think, at this point, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that our mother-in-law hates us and has been planning this all along. Stefanie and I are now in charge of all three of her sons and she can retire at the lake. Bitch.
Erick isn’t an entirely horrible person, but he doesn’t work and we don’t work and the kids are here and the result is that we are the ones who have to deal with him all day long doing boy things like leaving his socks and shoes out and refusing to lower the toilet seat. And we hate him. He stinks. Seriously. We aren’t sure why, considering the amount of male toiletries that he carries around with him, but there is a definite odor. EW.
Our other main complaint, well, MY main complaint, is that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He messed up and rather than going to play paintball for the government, he is staying here this weekend. He was going to be driven back to my mother-in-law’s house, but she refused him, claiming a toothache. Whatever. I hope her face falls off.
Our whole house is depressed. We walk around like zombies, staring, for hours, at the television, like it holds the answer to something. I want to be perky and optimistic, but looking to the future seems impossible. We are stressed, overworked, broke, and unable to do a damn thing about it.
Mazzy, on the other hand, seems to be thriving. I want to believe that she is completely normal, but the way that she learns things scares me. She can’t just learn one thing one day and something new next week; she has to learn three things in a day. It is weird. And scary. And I am having trouble keeping up. The Maz has managed to meet all of her baby milestones, except walking, for the first year of her life and she isn’t even eight months old, yet. Of course, that does mean that I will be betting a break soon, right? She can’t possibly walk until she is ten months old. Right? RIGHT?! Ugh. Whatevs.
Most days I cry myself to sleep. Shhh…don’t tell anyone. Ha! (It isn’t a secret. I don’t deal well with continual disappointment. Who would?) I listen to Mazzy breathe and wonder if we made the right choice in bringing her in to the world. I mean, we should have been more responsible. Adam and I have been the Universe’s butt-monkey for years and we are delusional if we think that is going to change any time soon. Now it is too late. We have this beautiful child who has no clue that whatever hope she had for a normal life ended the moment she was conceived in my womb. She will be loved, though. I know that. I know that because right now she is chewing on my book and I don’t mind. I know that because her Daddy can’t wait to get home and play with her every day. Mazzy is the only thing we have done that we are consistently at peace with. We see her for the gift that she is, and that is good.
My sister-in-law and I are shaking in fear these days. Our youngest brother-in-law, Erick, was recently told to vacate and never return, but due to the complete disregard to our feelings and sanity, he is back for an undetermined amount of time. I think, at this point, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think that our mother-in-law hates us and has been planning this all along. Stefanie and I are now in charge of all three of her sons and she can retire at the lake. Bitch.
Erick isn’t an entirely horrible person, but he doesn’t work and we don’t work and the kids are here and the result is that we are the ones who have to deal with him all day long doing boy things like leaving his socks and shoes out and refusing to lower the toilet seat. And we hate him. He stinks. Seriously. We aren’t sure why, considering the amount of male toiletries that he carries around with him, but there is a definite odor. EW.
Our other main complaint, well, MY main complaint, is that he wasn’t supposed to be here. He messed up and rather than going to play paintball for the government, he is staying here this weekend. He was going to be driven back to my mother-in-law’s house, but she refused him, claiming a toothache. Whatever. I hope her face falls off.
Our whole house is depressed. We walk around like zombies, staring, for hours, at the television, like it holds the answer to something. I want to be perky and optimistic, but looking to the future seems impossible. We are stressed, overworked, broke, and unable to do a damn thing about it.
Mazzy, on the other hand, seems to be thriving. I want to believe that she is completely normal, but the way that she learns things scares me. She can’t just learn one thing one day and something new next week; she has to learn three things in a day. It is weird. And scary. And I am having trouble keeping up. The Maz has managed to meet all of her baby milestones, except walking, for the first year of her life and she isn’t even eight months old, yet. Of course, that does mean that I will be betting a break soon, right? She can’t possibly walk until she is ten months old. Right? RIGHT?! Ugh. Whatevs.
Most days I cry myself to sleep. Shhh…don’t tell anyone. Ha! (It isn’t a secret. I don’t deal well with continual disappointment. Who would?) I listen to Mazzy breathe and wonder if we made the right choice in bringing her in to the world. I mean, we should have been more responsible. Adam and I have been the Universe’s butt-monkey for years and we are delusional if we think that is going to change any time soon. Now it is too late. We have this beautiful child who has no clue that whatever hope she had for a normal life ended the moment she was conceived in my womb. She will be loved, though. I know that. I know that because right now she is chewing on my book and I don’t mind. I know that because her Daddy can’t wait to get home and play with her every day. Mazzy is the only thing we have done that we are consistently at peace with. We see her for the gift that she is, and that is good.
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