A Common Anomaly

28 Weeks

This pregnancy seems to be flying by a lot faster than the last one. I guess that’s because when I was pregnant with Tristan I had too much time to sit around and think about things whereas this time I’m so busy taking care of my Booger that I don’t have the energy to dwell on the passage of time.

I was thinking something like that, how fast things are going, when a couple of comments in the grocery store gave me quite a jolt a few days ago. One guy saw me waddling down the frozen food isle and said “Damn, you’re about to have that baby.” to which I replied “I certainly hope not. I’ve still got three months to go!”

Then another man saw me and, having noticed me before, said: “You’re still pregnant?”

“I’m not due until November!”

Three more months left… Holy CRAP, maybe time isn’t flying by as fast as I thought.

“Wow! You’re not even going to be able to walk by then!”

Holy CRAP, he’s right!

Already I feel like my rib cage is splitting apart and I can barely breathe. My balance is off, making me susceptible to the most undignified lurches and stumbles. I waddle around like a duck. Ah yes, I’m remembering now… By the end of my last pregnancy I was MASSIVE. I had my own moon. Isn’t that freakin’ awesome???

I guess as long as I don’t get any more comments like “You look like you’re about to pop!” and “Are you having TWINS?” then I’ll slip back into my busy routine of Not Keeping Track of Time. Tsk… As if people could bite their tongues.

One little monkey jumping on the bed!

While I was at the store in the produce section Tristan started asking “Abble? Abble?” so I found an apple and showed it to him. After his enthusiastic “ABBLE!” I picked up and orange and told him “This is an orange. Orange!”

He looked at me curiously and said: “Ball.”

“Silly goose! It’s an orange.”

“Ball?”

“Ooooorange!”

“Ball!”

“Ok, you win. For now.”

I haven’t the foggiest idea where the boy gets his stubbornness from. Or his impatience. Or his frustrating need to do the opposite of what I’d like him to do. Ahem. Of course he completely makes up for things like that by being tremendously cute, always laughing so readily, and humming Tchaikovsky as he goes about his business.

Now if only he’s stop showing off his new skill of opening, closing, and locking doors. A tad bit worrisome…

Kostya came on Thursday. Yep, you guessed it, I’m already ready for him to leave. I feel kind of bad for him. And then I don’t. They say that if you don’t have something nice to say then don’t say anything at all. Screw that. And anyway, I don’t say anything about him on this blog that I don’t say right to his face. You see, Kostya is one of those types who is constantly in need of a reality check. I”ll leave the babying to his clingy mother.

The fact is, I only feel bad about his situation because I think Tristan deserves better. I get that Kostya has had a rough time of it but, shit, so have I. The difference is that once I became a parent I stopped wallowing in the mess I had made and starting tidying things up. Ah well, as I’ve said before I’m not going to let it be my problem any more.

Last night my booger got sick. He was fussing over his dinner and when he started crying Kostya picked him up and tried to comfort him. About five seconds after I said “Oh, he looks like he’s about to puke.” poor Tristan threw up all over Kostya, himself, and the floor. I have to give Kostya credit for handling the screaming pukiness so well. He didn’t have a shirt on and vomit was completely coating his left shoulder and oozing down his back but he didn’t even acknowledge it. Don’t I paint a pretty picture?

I have a harder time dealing with ickiness like poop and vomit, especially when it’s in contact with my freakishly sensitive skin, though that kind of thing is pretty much par for the course now.

Anyway, Tristan had a little bit of a fever this morning but after I gave him some Advil it dropped back down and he suddenly started bouncing off walls. He climbed up into my lap while I was checking my email and cheerfully tapped away on the keypad. Then he grabbed one of my little earbuds and stuck it in his ear, looking at me expectantly when he heard no music. So, on came the music and we rocked out and browsed the internet together for a while. Since Kostya has been here Tristan has been hanging on me more which, I must admit, feels very satisfying. I know he’s just a little shy and is coming to me for reassurance, but it feels good because occasionally I need to be reassured too.

Kostya is very doting but I think Tristan appreciates, in his way, the stability and feeling of safety that comes with my more firm character. Although, I think my biggest flaw is that I need to relax more, be more laid back. I struggle with it often but, hey, this parenting stuff is a learning process.

Tristan’s fever keeps going up and down and he keeps going from zombie to rocket so I think I’ll be making him an appointment with his doctor tomorrow if his fever isn’t gone when he wakes up. BLAH, doctors…

Remiel is hyperactive. I don’t know if the little guy ever sleeps. It’s really amazing how much he kicks around in there! And I have to say, even if I had a hundred babies I would never get used to the sensation of a baby moving around inside me, although I definitely appreciate it more this time around. Every little kick reminds me that he is alive and well and, since this is more than likely my last pregnancy, I’m really cherishing these breathtaking moments.

The hormones keep sending my moods all over the place, but at some point every day I just crack a great big smile and say “I’m so happy I’m having a boy!”

Oh, WOW, this little boy is kicking my butt!

I’ve been going back and forth in my head about what I would prefer the sex of the baby to be. I kept finding myself saying that I hope it’s a boy. But then I’d see cute pink baby shoes and frilly flower dresses and I’d hope for a girl. Mostly I thought about how cool it would be if Tristan had a little brother. But then again, it would be nice if I had a girl because then I’d have one of each.

I went for the ultrasound yesterday, and my father and sister Angel came with me. My father was loud and made inappropriate comments, and even talked on his cell a little, but I expect that kind of thing from him. The ultrasound technician, to my pleasure, mostly just ignored him. She did her thing, checking the heart, taking measurements, and then after a little chasing she told me what I already knew.

Family, friends, meet Remiel Sebastian Adams!

I KNEW IT!  I knew it. I’ve been calling the baby “he” in conversations. Usually you say you think you’re having a girl when you really want a boy, and vice versa, so as not to jinx yourself, but I knew. My dad, who has 4 grandsons already, really wanted it to be a girl. I think a lot of the family feels the same. They’ll just have to wait until Carissa gets knocked up because I’VE GOT MY BOYS!

I’m over the moon! Yeah, I’m sure I’ll still sigh whenever I see frilly pink baby clothes but I’m so deeply happy right now. I can’t wait to meet my little Remi. I wonder if he’ll have blue eyes like his father or dark eyes like Tristan. I can’t even begin to picture what he’ll look like. Tristan is simply gorgeous and I’m sure Remi will be a handsome little devil too.

Holy crap I’m excited!

I haven’t forgotten about the near break-in. After the ultrasound I went out and bought a rifle, which I will now have to learn to shoot. I’ll be taking other security measures, too. I have to say, I’m not sorry this happened. It has pushed me to consider safety by reminding me that shit happens, and now I’ll be far more prepared for any future incidents.

No one wants to think about these things, but they should. I’ve got my family to protect and there’s no knight in shining armor to do it for me.

I’d like to end on a cheerful note, though. I’M HAVING A BOY!

My Baby

My baby isn’t a baby anymore. I’ve known that for a while now. He’s getting big, amassing information, developing preferences, and surprising me daily.

I’m thrilled. I’m not one of those mothers who laments that her baby is growing up. People have tried to tell me that one day I’ll look back and miss the little baby that he was. What a bunch of boloney.

Maybe I feel the way I do because Tristan was a particularly difficult baby. Maybe it’s that babies, as miraculous and precious as they are, intimidate me with their unknowable natures and their bewildering means of communication. Or maybe it’s that I’m constantly suffering from an acute awareness of the whole point of parenthood; raising children into good, stable adults.

I am no longer a slave to my emotions, as I was in my youth. I find that with each year that passes I become more logical, more systematic in my thinking. Instead of getting stuck in the moment I find myself, more often than not, following a thread of actions and circumstances and intentions to the most logical conclusion.

It doesn’t mean that I’ve been untouched by his journey through babyhood, though. I’ve been fascinated by Tristan’s development and I cherish every moment with him. He’ll always be my baby. My first, at that!

That’s just the way my mind works. Bah, you’d think by now I’d have given up trying to figure out what is “normal”…

I find myself turning inward a lot these days, focusing my attention on the Herculean antics occurring in my burgeoning belly. I saw the doctor yesterday. Guess what? Friday is the big day. The ultrasound. The doctor was originally going to wait until 20 weeks for the ultrasound but the size of my uterus and my concern that there might be more than one baby in there (Oh, the kicking!) inspired him to schedule it for Friday. Will it be a boy or a girl? Or a boy and a girl? Will they even be able to tell? I hate anticipation…

Is it Friday yet? Yeah yeah, I know. Patience.

How about now?

I cooked today. Pan seared salmon with mango salsa and a side of broccoli, washed down by a tall glass of my newest addiction, orange juice. The cravings are nuts this time around! With Tristan I didn’t really get any cravings but I couldn’t stand to eat any junk food. No sugary stuff, no salty stuff. Nowadays I want chips and cupcakes and even, on occasion, soda. Yech, right? It’s not all bad stuff I’m craving though. More than anything I want red meat and orange juice.

And this child! I’ve been feeling him move for a while, but now I can feel him kicking from the outside. He’s so strong and active! I’m actually enjoying this. Ok, pregnancy still sucks but I’m so excited! And I’m assuming it’s a boy.

Look at that brow...

There’s been some baby daddy drama, but I’m done. DONE. I’m not going to let poor Tristan get tangled up in Kostya’s yo-yo of emotions. I’m filing for child support and I’m even thinking about changing Tristan’s name. Yeah, it’s that bad. I’m really not sure what I was thinking when I named him. I guess I hoped that fatherhood would change Kostya and that he would always be involved in Tristan’s life. It’s just not going to happen, and it’s probably better that way. What a fucking weighty decision, though. I’m just glad Tristan is too young to understand this crap.

I hate cowardice. I hate excuses. I hate when people feel sorry for themselves. I hate when people refuse to take responsibility. We’ve all got our battle scars. I think a lot about everything that has happened to me. I often talk about it on this blog since a lot of it has helped to shape me into who I am, but I don’t feel sorry for myself.

And you know what? I won’t play the bad guy just because you like to play the victim. Sorry.

I’ve been vacuuming every day. Fleas have arrived on the scene. Those suckers are a bitch to get rid of! I still haven’t found a home for Mina, but I’ve got to get on that. I’m so frantic about cleanliness lately. It’s almost like I’m nesting early. I think it has to do with the bugs. There’s just no way I can prevent them from getting in and to make up for the sense of uncleanness they give me I’m keeping things extra tidy. I need to have my dad come over and inspect the house to see if he can determine where they’re getting in. Maybe he can seal things up a bit.

Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the damn house down. Hey, that ol’ wolf wasn’t “bad”, he was just really freaking hungry.

Holy crap, divorces are a messy business… When I heard my parents were divorcing I actually breathed a sigh of relief. I think they both deserve better and I want them to be happy. But the actual process of splitting up? Yuck. And YIKES.

Now I’m in danger of getting sucked into a sad family drama. I’ve always tried to be kind to my stepmother, even when she was anything but to me. After all, she’s very sick, and I always got the feeling from her that despite her wacky ways she really just wanted a normal life. A family. I can appreciate that. I’ve always wanted a family…

There was a huge amount of drama surrounding their decision to get divorced and Shannon called and asked me if I would let her stay with me until she got back on her feet. Of course I said yes. “Absolutely”. My dad didn’t like that. He went on and on about her, how horrible she is, and I defended her. I’ve always defended her. On the day she was supposed to show up at my house I cleaned like mad and tried to organize things so she’d have a place to put her stuff, and then I waited. And waited.

She never showed up. Then later I got a voicemail from her that blew me away. She had asked me not to tell my father she would be staying with me but of course my dad knew there was only a couple of places she would go, the most likely place being my house. So she leaves me a message saying she didn’t show up because I must have told my father she was staying with me and she didn’t want him to know were she would be living.

?

Then she hinted that the reason she didn’t want him to know was because she didn’t want there to be a scene in from of me and my son. A scene? She basically hinted that my father might come to the house and become violent. That shit pissed me off. Does she think I’m fucking stupid? I know my father. I know their history (I WAS THERE) and I know what they are both capable of now. And as a victim of domestic violence I take issue with a woman faking it to gain sympathy. Oh, not to mention, my father is the one that wanted to separate. He doesn’t want to see her, talk to her, or deal with her in any way, let alone get into some kind of brawl with her.

Not wanting to argue with her, and thereby get sucked onto the psychological battlefield, I never called her back. Then today my dad came over and started in on his usual rant about my stepmother and, as usual, I defended her (though perhaps not as earnestly as before). Then my dad had Angel call Shannon and put her on speaker phone.

I almost choked when I heard what Shannon had to say about me. I’m a liar, I betrayed her, I wouldn’t give her a place to stay… My first instinct was to snatch the phone out of Angel’s hand and give her a piece of my mind, but I didn’t. I wonder if she even realizes what she has done, if she knows she just stabbed her most staunch defender in the back. I’m sure she’ll realize it one day, but there’s no repairing this damage. I’ll be civil with her, but I will not champion her good traits or pep talk her anymore. I won’t defend her.

I’m a little sad. I feel sorry for her. But I am NOT going out in this mess. I’ll stay inside where it’s cozy and dry, thanks.

And what’s going on inside, you ask? Kostya sent some extra money this month and insisted I use it to buy Tristan this cute chair:

It’s so freaking adorable seeing him sit in his little man chair! He has completely ditched the little ottoman, though. He hoisted it up and tried to heave it into the kitchen trash, in fact. The boy sure knows how to make his point! He sits in the chair on occasion, but he seems to get more enjoyment out of seating his stuffed animals in it and mostly prefers to sprawl on the ground:

I am feeling SO much better lately. Still fighting off the occasional migraine, but I’m having more and more good days. Ah… The second trimester…

For the past couple of weeks I’ve really been struggling with the physical stresses of this pregnancy. The past few days especially I’ve been getting horrible migraines that require me to tie a black scarf around my head so that the sunlight doesn’t beat against my poor eyelids. I don’t know how many times a day I mutter: “I can’t do this!”

And yet I still manage to find joy. I’m sprawled on the couch grumbling “Why god, why?” when Tristan ambles over, climbs up and sits on my legs, and watches Sesame Street from his new favorite perch. I smile. He claps and giggles and then when he sees me clapping too he flashes me this blindingly beautiful smile that reminds me I can do this.

He blows me away, this child. He’s so happy, always ready to smile. He’s fearless and clever and he’s so eager to be helpful. I feel so lucky.

So much is going on right now. Both my parents are getting divorced. There’s all this chaos in the air and it scrambles my thoughts. Family secrets, old wounds, and a deep old anger threatening to rear its ugly head. But it doesn’t. I’m too tired for that. And busy. I just worry… Instead I bravely fend off my age old nemesis. I wont speak its dreaded name, though I’ll give you a hint: It starts with a D. I just keep trying to inject my blue with a bit a green. One day you’re up and the next day you’re down. Something to keep in mind, lest you become overwhelmed. Or content, for that matter.

Okay, enough of this cryptic blather. I saw the doctor today and got to hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. The doctor said it sounded perfect. I thought so too. He said he’d do an ultrasound at 20 weeks, which is disappointing because I want to see the baby NOW.  Blah blah, something about patience and virtue, blah blah.

My body is still changing. Rapidly. The picture to the left was taken about a week and a half to two weeks ago. The doctor said “Since this is your second pregnancy you may notice that you start showing sooner than the first time.”  YA THINK? I’m just happy he didn’t give me shit for being underweight. I’m 96 pounds as of today, that’s five pounds so far, despite the gut-wrenching nausea that has been my near constant companion.

The doctor I saw when I was pregnant with Tristan gave me shit for being too thin and then I went on to gain nearly 40 pounds. So she can just SUCK IT. No, this doctor is ok. As long as he doesn’t make me shove out another nine pounder. I think that might destroy me. I’m not going to think about that right now, though…

I’m tired. Deeply tired. I made the masochistic mistake of digging around in the past and all kinds of memories came flooding back. Old loves, old hatreds, old jealousies.  For a little while it felt like it might smother me and then it all just suddenly vanished in the flow of my daily life. My current reality.

I think I think too much.

“Understanding and resolving your own struggles, challenges, and emotional issues may be one of the greatest gifts you give your child.” – from Positive Discipline: The First Three Years

I hate asking for help. I’d rather suffer alone under the crushing weight of my problems than ask for help. So, when I DO come out and ask for help it’s a big deal. And I mean it.

Why do I continually allow myself to be upset by the immovable, the unchanging? Why would I expect someone who is hopelessly self-absorbed to pull his head out of his own ass for two seconds and see me? I understand that no man can truly comprehend another mans pain, but one can at least try. That’s compassion. I snapped at him for being such a jerk and amazingly, I felt guilty after.  Because I am compassionate. It makes me tired. Eh. I’m tired of crying over things I can’t control.

A couple days ago my father dropped by and we started talking about relationships and I mentioned that I was fine being alone. The following conversation ensued:

“Yeah, but you’re lonely.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m REALLY not. I enjoy solitude.”

“No… You’re lonely.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m really not.”

It was comical and revealing. Am I so odd? Am I some kind of anomaly for not needing someone around, or is he just totally incapable of understanding people who have different needs than he does? What’s normal, anyway? I guess it depends on a fancy combination of character and upbringing.

There can’t be anything wrong with my preference for being alone as long as I’m happy. And I am. More happy than I’ve ever been in my life. Isn’t that enough for people? I’ve got years to figure out all the little details.

I got a box in the mail this past week. A big one, containing toys for Tristan (including a Tickle Me Elmo), and all of my maternity clothes from when I was pregnant with Tristan. I bought a LOT of cute clothes (back when I didn’t have to worry about rent)! I had Kostya go into my storage unit in Brooklyn to get the clothes, and it’s a huge relief because I don’t have money this time around to buy new ones. Kostya was in one of his helpful moods. Then a couple nights ago he flipped out because I informed him that as the person who will be doing ALL the work when it comes to the new baby (from growing it, birthing it, and raising it) he would get no say as to what his or her name is.

He did NOT take that well. I assured him I’d give the child his last name (along with mine, of course) as I did with Tristan but that I already have names picked out. I’ve had a boys name picked out since before I found out I was pregnant. I was lucky enough to have the name come to me, to KNOW that it was his. As for a girl… It’s a tie between two names, though I’m leaning more toward one than the other. Anyway, I guess it’s customary in Russia for the child’s middle name to be a patronymic, derived from the fathers first name.

I tried to be nice about it at first but he would not hear me so I told him, “Well, this ain’t Russia!” and then he almost sucked me into his favorite little battle of  “My country, your country” complete with “Fuck your country!” and “Americans are stupid!” before I told him to blow it out his ass because I really don’t care. Then I hung up upon understanding that he was no longer willing to send money for Tristan. Which would be a financial nightmare for me at this delicate point in time.

Eh. He was due for another tantrum. I just didn’t think he’d get over it so fast. This morning I had a message from him, sounding  as if everything is just hunky-dory, telling me he sent me money. It’s funny because I can pay my bills at the same place where I pick up the money, so the lady handed me the money and I handed it all right back to her so I could pay the utilities. Sad to see it go so fast, but what a relief…

I’m so emotional lately. I look at Tristan and I feel like I could just melt into a puddle. I would do ANYTHING for that boy.  I will do anything, but as I’ve learned it’s best not to talk about what you plan to do. It’ll just take time.

I lost the internet for a little bit. THAT sucked. I doubt anyone (besides my mom) noticed that I was gone but I have to say, I missed everybody!

Quite a bit has happened. My sister Vanessa got married. I had fun at the rehearsal. Some wedding Nazi had the gall to snap at me “You need to control your child.” and this WHILE she’s telling me to get in my place so I can practice my bit. I may have lost my temper over that, just a little, especially because Tristan was behaving very well for his age. I might have used the word “Bitch” at some point (yeah, with a capital B). And some other pretty words. I swear, give an old broad a clipboard and she thinks she’s God! Other than that little annoyance I had a good time and gorged myself at the rehearsal dinner.

The wedding was pretty and I got to wear a cute pink dress and heels. The heels stopped being fun about half way through the ceremony, though. I caught the bouquet. It was hilarious. I had been all the way on the other side of the building when I heard someone calling me and I hauled ass and arrived just in time to catch the thing. Both me and my mother said, nearly at the same time, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” Maybe I’ll get married one day just to freak everyone out… Haha, yeah, sure. I’ll have to post some pictures on Facebook as soon as I get them from my family.

I am obviously pregnant now. For a little while there I was paranoid that people would look at me and think I was just really bloated or had a pudgy gut but now there’s a definite baby bump there. It’s cute! And my boobs! Oh, the boobs! I am a little paranoid, though, about showing so much so soon. There’s only one in there, right? I’m having scary thoughts… GAH!

Tristan… My sweet little charmer! I’m enthralled. Whenever Sid the Science Kid comes on he runs and grabs his little microphone so he can be like Sid. It just cracks me up!

He got his hair cut. I had to do some damage control when I got home. Why can’t anyone in this town give a decent haircut? Or do I just always pick the wrong one? If you ask me there are a lot of “wrong ones”…

Something amazing started happening about a week ago. Tristan started cleaning up after me. I had changed his diaper quickly and then ran to do something urgent and when I came back for the diaper it was gone. Later when I walked in the kitchen I saw it in the trash can. I thought maybe it was a fluke thing but then, a couple days later, I left an empty wrapper on the coffee table and actually saw Tristan pick it up, trot to the trash can, and drop it in.

My son is awesome. Now I just have to watch him and make sure he doesn’t get carried away and start throwing everything in there (I did catch him dropping a toy in the trash the other day). Seriously, awesome…